The rhythmic clang of metal on metal echoed through the cavernous warehouse, a metallic counterpoint to the hiss of welding torches. The air hung thick with the acrid tang of sweat and burnt oil, a familiar symphony to Revy. Perched atop a precarious stack of crates, her burgundy hair a vibrant splash amidst the industrial grayscale, she meticulously cleaned her signature Berettas. Each swipe of the oiled cloth was deliberate, a ritualistic dance honed by years of combat.

A shadow flickered at the edge of her vision. Revy didn't need to look to know who it was. The telltale creak of a rusty step—a sound Dutch would never have bothered fixing—announced his arrival before he did.

"Problems with the Blackbird again, Dutch?" She asked, her voice a dry rasp that cut through the metallic symphony. There was no question in her tone, just a sardonic amusement at the inevitable.

Dutch lumbered into view, his face etched with a familiar scowl. He ran a hand through his already ruffled beard, leaving behind a trail of soot. "Yeah, it looks like the coolant leak's worse than we thought. Gotta replace the whole damned engine block."

Revy snorted, a sharp sound that echoed off the metal walls. "Great. Just what we need—another hefty expense before that Lang shipment even comes in." The frustration in her voice crackled like static electricity. Their last job had been a bust, leaving them low on funds and high on tension.

"Don't worry, Revy," Dutch rumbled, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Got a little something to tide us over." He reached into a worn satchel slung across his shoulder, a glint of gold catching the flickering light. "It looks like someone underestimated the Lagoon Company."

Revy's eyes narrowed, a flicker of predatory interest replacing the annoyance. "Client info?"

A slow grin spread across Dutch's face. "It looks like a retrieval job. Some high-end goods got misplaced, and a certain someone's willing to pay handsomely to get them back. "Think you're up for a little detour, Revy?"