Kazimierz. Maybe he once flinched at the impenetrably dense neon, but he knew his duty full well. The day he succeeded, concluded communications, and walked out that glass door, the eternal lights of the skyscrapers drew his shadow long, and it was only then that Bison realized it was late at night. Laterano. At the street corner where the structure above him collapsed with a boom, Bison caught a dessert that almost hit him in the head in his shock. The grand church briefly stole away his senses with its splendor under the sunlight. Soon after, he pushed the door open, where the Legati were sat to capacity inside. Columbia. The never-resting pioneer cities gave him a profound respect for humanity's sheer vitality, and the bleeding-edge science made him pore over every clause and turn of phrase in the contracts all the more carefully. Across from him sat several execs, and Bison was alone at the front of the desk. Sami. He once tested his own disposition and momentarily set foot in the tundra, but unfortunately the youngster's willpower was hard-pressed to bear the might of nature. As Bison huddled in a blanket in the lodge, sipping hot water, a melodious singing voice reached his ears from outside the room. He crawled up to the window, and made a rough note of the lyrics. Siracusa. The sandstorm in the barrens tore the map he was holding to shreds, and Bison had to make it to his destination bar going by the lights alone. He pushed the door open, and the three Lupos inside fell silent. He coolly handed over the goods and info, and turned a blind eye to the cold glint of a firearm peeking out from under the blanket. Yan. He's back somewhere familiar, and familiar too is the party that awaits him again as he enters. Bison recalls his surprise last time candy rained down on him from all over, but now he sees the chaos before him and simply takes the shield his redheaded mentor hands him, now in a very peculiar form indeed, making it hard to tell its original design was of his father's own style. He uses the calm and coolness he's trained on the journey thus far to look as unflustered as possible, but all the charm from across the land flashes across his brain in an instant. Mixed with the music is an explanation to the rough tune of 'We were running a delivery and hit a snag, so we just grabbed it to save our hides. The mods were to make up for that.' Bison accepts it, this present from his father, and plunging through the tunes and the scent of apple pie, he makes his way to the bar counter and begins to write a reply. Title, greeting, main body. He inquires about his father's health, and writes of how his recent work has gone. He lifts his eyes to see champagne flying at the face of some unknown gang's goon, and Bison swiftly tucks the letter into his pocket and raises his shield. If one day, he could take complete charge... on one hand, Bison is trying to reckon with what all these bells-and-whistles modules are even for, and on the other, his mind is looping the thought that he's going to make this place run like an orderly, regular business for just one month! ...No, dream bigger! One year!