Giriko

Giriko stepped out of the airport into the heavy Brazilian heat and slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses as he glanced around. He had left behind his heavy coat and gloves, of course, wearing a safari shirt and a pair of jeans over his shitkicker boots. Even that was fucking hot, but they were going into the jungle and he didn't want to get stung by anything nasty while he was out there. Crocodiles he could handle, but mosquitos pissed him off.

A man wearing a head-to-foot black cloak and a skull-like mask drove up in a jeep. "Ready to go, Giriko-sama?" the man asked. He was likely sweating like crazy in that thing.

"Yeah, just a sec," Giriko said. "I'm waitin' for someone."

He was curious whether Henry would try to kill him again.