"You bet," she mutters. "No contact with the surface. Rapture is a well-kept secret, Ryan's personal bullshit objectivist Eden. If people came and went at will, well, that'd fuck up his perfectly good white supremacist clubhouse." She sighs and reaches up distractedly to fiddle with her hijab. She's never been in a situation where wearing it was as hard as it is here. Manhattan was unfriendly, but this? This is dangerous.

"So yeah, we'll need more than a route. We'll need... hell. I don't know. Explosions, probably. And trust me, we don't really want anything exploding down here." She catches the bartender giving her his traditional unfriendly stare, and she nods at him, an indication of 'sure, fine, I'll have another damn drink'.

"So... here's how it is. I sort of conscripted myself into the service of Ryan's chief political opposer, this guy Fontaine. He's no better. I'd be hard pressed to say which of them I hate more, but then I've never met Ryan face to face. There's a lot of shit getting stirred, basically. Fontaine is planning something, but I don't really know what. It isn't gonna be good."

Her drink arrives, straight whiskey, and she takes a solid swig. "You got here at a weird time."