Agent Brantley approaches a gang of Lillian near a four way intersection lit with a broken negative-lightpost. He eyeballs the forked-tongue prostitutes seeing the youngest at only the tender firm-bodied age of 15 - "You'll do..." he says. Op2 watches from afar, collecting in reconnaissance in non-states of being, wearing a slightly different skin and cloaking his goggles and other equipment to avoid being recognized as an agent of OSK. Little does Brantley know his cluster of selves will soon be contracting for the same source, in fact, he already is being operated remotely. His receptors are tuned to a slightly different scale though, there are substituted notes in play.
Agent Brantley points towards a dingy Motel lit by malefic-neon signs stating 'Thee Moloch Vortex Hotel.' "I've got a room there madame, care to join me?" such a polite tone to his voice. She giggles in agreement. Brantley's gentlemanly arm is already pushing her in the direction of the entrance.
__________
The Door closes behind her. "We'll take it from here. Thank you, Mister Brantley." says a tall associates with hair pulled back in ponytail standing next to 943.5.