Fenrir stands, leaned against her bike, scanning the dingy alleyway. Behind her a truck with a couple member's inside waiting. At her feet the duffle bag. That bastard better not leave her waiting here all night. Valhalla's Warriors needs those damn guns. Magic is too flashy to handle a turf war with, and if they want any chance against those brutes in the Heralds of Damnation they needed firepower. She impatiently checked her phone for the time, and as she was doing so is when a truck pulled into the other side of the alley, backing in carefully to the narrow alley and stopping a few yards from her. Fenrir pushes herself up off the bike, walking towards the truck as the driver climbs out. She barks at him, "About damn time you showed up! This better be worth your wasting my time being so late."