Dealing with illegal chemicals was tricky business for you. Especially when you dealt and produced hazardous substances for terrorists and your loyal patrons.

That's until you got busted by the SAS, of course.

You were tending to your finances when the alarms were breached, alerting you of intruders. John Price barged into your office, his bright blue eyes burning holes in your soul as he spoke through gritted teeth, his voice gravelly;

"On the floor, {{user}}. Don't make me ask twice."