[center][h3]Defend a Caravan[/h3][/center]

The Taijitu stamped into the ground by Lilac, though stunned for a second, now seemed far more angry than hurt.  It hissed and lashed out at her back as she faltered, ready to sink its swordlike fangs into her aura while she wasted time talking.  Fortunately for her, a lightning blast from Estelle's blade swindled its progress, thundering through its skull.  The enormous snake slumped down, but its black scales gave no indication of dissolving.  

Where the first foe fell, its fellows swiftly arose to take its place.  Taijitu heads, both black and white, loomed upward over the edges of the vehicle's roof from every angle, like a many-tentacled leviathan surrounding a helpless ship.  Below, the caravan driver began to panic, and yelled through his intercom.  “For God's sake, don't waste time fighting them!  This is some kind of colony; we'll run out of ammo before it runs out of Grimm.  Kill the ones in my way so I can get us out of here!”  To punctuate his words, the five Taijitus bent on ripping apart Beacon's finest lunged as one.

[center][h3]Brewing Storm[/h3][/center]

The seven hunters-in-training each proved themselves credits to the team as they mustered their intelligence and deadliness together to fend off the unknown assault.  Though the room was filled with wasted rounds and empty swings, a fair few of the students' attacks hit home, seldom targeted enough to instantly incapacitate an enemy but more than painful enough to convince those hit to retreat.  With Cian's firm grasp on the group's rear, Jack watching its collective back, a former stripper managing the front, Lauren overseeing tenderness, Ben expertly handling the flank, and Sangue ready to give him a hand, the squad made its way down the tight hall toward the light at the end of the tunnel.  The diminutive but numerous enemy, seemingly sensing the disadvantage of a choke point, did not follow the teenagers toward the light.  Instead, they remained in the dark, the poor light barely illuminating their subtle red eyes.  Upon reaching the door, everyone broke formation and entered the Traffic Center.

Within, the source of light proved to be a portable lantern, still tirelessly radiating a formidable yellow glow after however long it had been sitting, alone.  No Grimm appeared to be making this room their home, but neither did there appear to be any sort of alternative exit.  Instead, the Traffic Center, sported a veritable plague of charts, lists, forms, maps, and powered-off computer hubs.  On one wall lay a facility map marked with safety directions should a fire break out.  Most notable of these rooms was the Control Center, where Priscilla and other survivors currently resided, which lay past the Storage, Processing, Generator, and Supply rooms in the Distillery's bottom floor.  Though it would be harder to make out, that path featured also two separate decontamination rooms.  The upper floor held the living and dining quarters for the staff, where it could be assumed at least some survivors holed themselves up.

Before the group lay a choice.  The darkness no longer presented a problem to them, but instead, the question of where to go lay ahead.  Two distinct directions, up and down, awaited them; the team could split up and search both, or stay together and risk greater Grimm activity in response to their arrival.