Post by Sym on Oct 16, 2016 8:33:16 GMT
Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
It was quiet. The halls of the old Saigon Trade Center were silent, the aging high-rise office building almost eerie in its shadowed silence in the late night hour. For a moment, Symmetra almost thought the place dead. There was no movement. No lights, save for the dim gleam of emergency exit signs and what few glimmers of illumination filtered in through the windows from outside. Even that was faint, causing Symmetra to squint in the near-dark. it was difficult to see, but she had no need for a light. Not yet. Not yet.
It was quiet. It was too quiet.
In a way, Symmetra was not surprised. It was, after all, why she was here. QuanCorp was a company that had blown onto the business scene, she had been told, completely out of the blue. Companies might have risen and fallen all the time, but QuanCorp's appearance was too sudden. Too neatly. Too clean-- every company and corporation had some form of dirt or stain on their records, but so far Vishkar's attempts had come up with nothing. A suspicious amount of nothing. So she had been sent to Vietnam. So she had been sent to investigate this sudden rising star.
She had covered two floors so far. Empty. Everything was empty. The credentials had checked out: 10 stories of the Saigon Trade Center, licensed to QuanCorp's name. The desks were there. The furniture in place. But there was no life to it. No sign of activity or habitation. Had Symmetra deigned to run a slender finger along the edge of one of the desks, she would find it coated in months' worth of dust.
It was all a fake. A front. A neat little perfect model, as she had quickly concluded. Her guess was right.
But that left the next big question: what was QuanCorp a front for? Who would need this elaborate setup? She had to find out. She had to know. Symmetra hated mysteries. Well. She still had eight stories left to find out...
There was a crash of noise as the woman finished ascending the flight to the third floor. Her throat caught in her breath with a momentary thrill of fear. Her had did not go for her gun-- not just yet. Carefully, she peered around a wall corner, squinting against the darkness, trying to discern the source of where that noise came from, all the while wondering: who else was here?
It was quiet. The halls of the old Saigon Trade Center were silent, the aging high-rise office building almost eerie in its shadowed silence in the late night hour. For a moment, Symmetra almost thought the place dead. There was no movement. No lights, save for the dim gleam of emergency exit signs and what few glimmers of illumination filtered in through the windows from outside. Even that was faint, causing Symmetra to squint in the near-dark. it was difficult to see, but she had no need for a light. Not yet. Not yet.
It was quiet. It was too quiet.
In a way, Symmetra was not surprised. It was, after all, why she was here. QuanCorp was a company that had blown onto the business scene, she had been told, completely out of the blue. Companies might have risen and fallen all the time, but QuanCorp's appearance was too sudden. Too neatly. Too clean-- every company and corporation had some form of dirt or stain on their records, but so far Vishkar's attempts had come up with nothing. A suspicious amount of nothing. So she had been sent to Vietnam. So she had been sent to investigate this sudden rising star.
She had covered two floors so far. Empty. Everything was empty. The credentials had checked out: 10 stories of the Saigon Trade Center, licensed to QuanCorp's name. The desks were there. The furniture in place. But there was no life to it. No sign of activity or habitation. Had Symmetra deigned to run a slender finger along the edge of one of the desks, she would find it coated in months' worth of dust.
It was all a fake. A front. A neat little perfect model, as she had quickly concluded. Her guess was right.
But that left the next big question: what was QuanCorp a front for? Who would need this elaborate setup? She had to find out. She had to know. Symmetra hated mysteries. Well. She still had eight stories left to find out...
There was a crash of noise as the woman finished ascending the flight to the third floor. Her throat caught in her breath with a momentary thrill of fear. Her had did not go for her gun-- not just yet. Carefully, she peered around a wall corner, squinting against the darkness, trying to discern the source of where that noise came from, all the while wondering: who else was here?
