(While most OOC should be kept in the OOC tab, small amounts of OOC can be added to the beginning or end of your post if necessary by using the parentheses symbols '( )'. Also, I do not expect your posts to be this long, please do not feel the pressure to perform like this at all times, but do make a good entrance post!)

New York Slums: Alley Between 12th and Porter

The sound of heavy breaths echoed softly through the alleys of the slums. Large boots over tiny feet pounded the puddles of the murky corridor, frantic, unknowing. The desperate gasps belonged to a young girl, no older than flowering age, likely just entering the cusp of adulthood. Tears cascaded down from her red eyes, her lip quivering, rain and teardrops alike painting her face with each desperate slam of her boot. She was adorned with torn, filthy rags; it was clear she belonged to the one of the countless orphan groups of the slums.

*TAK TAK TAK* Trailing behind her by no more than a few bounds length was one of them. Dark, mysterious, lanky, deadly, just a few of the words used to describe the towering Seekers. The race for freedom was hopeless for the frail girl, even in hurling refuse bins into the nightmare's path while, it simply hurdled over them with ease to continue chase. Rounding into the final neck of the alley, it seemed the girl might actually make it to safety. Closer and closer she inched towards the dimly lit avenue, hoping the crowd of the street would save her, until...

A soft crack echoed through the alleys of the slums

The frail girl let out a faint yelp before falling silent. The large, craning hand of the metal apparition had crossed paths with her skull. Crimson splatter misted into the atmosphere. The victim ragdolled onto the pavement, her face colliding with the cobbled alley floor with a sickening crunch. She was defenseless. The looming figure ripped the delicate body from the pavement by one of her unkempt hair-tails. Slinging the body over its shoulder, the metal contraption returned to the depths of the alley, the light of the street vanishing once more...
---------------------------------
4 Hour Later. Location: Abandoned Apartment Complex 149


Where am I... Why does my head hurt so bad...

Slowly opening her blood-crusted eyes, the feeble girl glanced about the room. She was laying on a decayed mattress in a derelict apartment. Trash pooled to nearly the counter tops, vermin scurrying through the refuse. The girl went to move, only the find her injured body bound to the mattress frame with chain and wire. Her lips were silenced with several layers of packers tape. The young fawn struggled with all her might to escape captivity, but to no avail; She would remain audience to her captors for the time being. Craning her neck, the girl let out a muffled yelp as the bloody scab on her head injury ripped from her skull, remaining with the mattress where it had dried. A small tear escaped, but the had to be strong. She could not show it fear.

From the shadow the beast came lurking. Tall, thin, sophisticated. The violet plating of its armor absorbing the rays of light that poured in from the broken window pain, casting no reflection. It lumbered forward, slowly, step by step, stopping at the end of the decayed bed. The girl squirmed, frantically, the bindings digging into her flesh as she tried with every fiber of her being to escape. The creature did not respond. The towering giant emitted strange, indecipherable sounds. Out of the blue, without hesitation, as almost if it was completed it one fell swoop, the beast raised it's metallic arm high into the air, its mechanical fingers uniting into a menacing blade, preparing to crash down.

The sound of glass shattering echoed through the air, accompanied by the terrified shrills of the small girl. But nothing happening. Her eyes peeked open a moment later. The creature lie twitching, the remnants of its head painted onto the adjacent wall.

FFFFFWWWWWOOOSSSSSSHHHHHCHCHCHCHHCHCH

The soundwave of the high-caliber round boomed through the air, catching up with its projectile seconds too late. The girl knew she was safe. They had come for her after all.

---------------------------------
"Good work Sierra, keep an eye on the girl until the extraction team arrives. Once they get back to base, clean the girl up and let her rest before debriefing. She's got a lot of valuable intel if our scouts are to be trusted."

"Of course Miss Lyn, right away."

Why do they call me miss, I hate proper titles...

Lyn spun in her pivot chair several times before hoping out in a dizzy-stupor, stumbling over to the guard rail overlooking her compound. Covering the overlook to her small room was a one-way, bulletproof glass. To everyone below it just looked like another sheet of plate metal on the ceiling of the base. Little did they know the figure they all idolized was right above their noses, literally. Of course this was not her permanent base, almost nothing POLTAVA did was permanent, in the interest of security. This forward base was deemed useful for looking over their supply lines in and out of the east wing of 'Midtown', the name given to the cities middle-class ring. From this post Lyn could provide feedback to the surrounding bases on what supplies they could expect to receive, leaving the occupants confused and grateful, wondering how The Thinker obtained such knowledge 'without ever stepping foot outside her tree.'

Near the rail was a bowl of one of her favorite 'indulgences'. When Lyn invited someone to visit her, it was always for hot chocolate, never for a meal. Why? Because hot chocolate was much more appetizing than sardines and mandarin oranges sprinkled with poppy-seeds. But ohhhh is it good, she thought, letting one of the preserved fish slide down her throat.

Turning her attention back to the base, Lyn thought about venturing out to greet her comrades. Lyn was a very 'hands on' type of person, always stopping to give the younger girls a hug or peck on the cheek. Lyn was considered the mother figure of The Three Kings, and was treated as such, being the most highly respected. In return Lyn was always kind to the girls she met, whether just for her love of the girls to be happy or free, or for her own personal motives (Lyn proverbially 'walked both sides of the street')**.

But for now she would just watch... And eat a few more sardines.

(**Left this in here because even though I completely overhauled almost every sentence of my old, atrocious writing, this is just hilariously me from over 5 years ago. And who knows, it could always open a romance route!)

New York Slums: Vinnie's Gym

I had a bad dream, mother. He said, in a rather dejected tone. The sun shone in the sofa in a dreamy fashion, as Miro cuddled up in the lap of the one who had given him life. That scent, he would always remember that lavender scent from the washing soap. Gentle hands caressed his hair, as he breathed slowly.

Miro. My little Miro. How hard it must have been. The voice rang in Miro's mind, a soft hum, as she kept stroking the loose hair strands. To kill all those people.

UH?? Miro's eyes darted upwards, as the same motherly hands that were soothing her were seizing his throat. Choking the breath out of him. Her face... her face was melting, eyes coming out of her eyesocket, while a bloody skull leered.

YOU HAVE BEEN A NAUGHTY BOY. YOU SHOULD BE WITH ME. IN THE GRAVE. The monster screeched into Miro's mind, as he flailed.

---

And consciousness set in. His breath was accelerated. But he was back in reality. He checked his throat. Nothing. Breathing deeply, she clutched his nose with his hands. A nightmare. Those happened once in a while. Although, a nagging feeling in his mind quickly distracted him. Breathing of other people. He could hear the murmurs around him. Squinting his eyes, he saw vague humanoid, lithe figures. One in a couch. Another in a chair...

...and the third one in the bed, clutching half of his bedsheets.

Just like stray cats, eh... Miro thought to himself as he tried his best to slink out of his bed without waking anyone else up. Yup, three girls. Miro pondered about the implications of having three teenaged girls in his bedroom, but... this was no sitcom show. He knew why they were there.

They had no place to go, as fugitives.

Now, Miro knew more or less the gist of it, after his tearful encounter with Olga, and posterior evacuation. There were a bunch out of there, and the rumour that Miro had fought against an entire SWAT team ran wild. No soon he was nursing his wounds, knocks on his door became more frequent. For a safe place to sleep. Miro never denied them. He had known how hard was to live without a family nor roof. Eventually he settled for leaving a key to his gymn in a secret location near the backdoor, and let them ocassionally crash out at his gym.

But stealing the blankets and the sheets WITH him sleeping on HIS OWN bed... that was getting far too bizarre for his taste. He strolled out to the bathroom, checking the number of towels and setting three of them apart in addition to his own. It was time to play the nice host, he guessed. A ruffled hair zombie greeted him when he stared at the mirror and washed his face.

"Another day, Miro." He said to himself, as he emptied his bladder. After washing his hands, he decided to head for the kitchen. Maybe some pancakes? All girls loved pancakes, right? He said mentally to himself as he struggled to get the ingredients for the batter. It had been a while since he had done something like this. He smiled thinly, as he started his cooking endeavour.

"Pan~cakes...lalalala."

Night in the city that never sleeps was a lot quieter these years. With the world gone to shit around them, it was a trial just to survive to the next day. Some had even more to worry about, though. Joy was an escapee from that god awful facility where they did who knows what to girls like her. She was lucky, but only for the first two weeks. After that, she was barely making by with what she had. Nights spent creeping outside to look for food and supplies were painstakingly long to avoid nighttime patrols. At least they were sparse and she was less likely to be found out than in the day time. Still, she had grown into a nocturnal sleeping habit and often missed a lot during the day. She had to be vigilant and on the move, knowing full well that no place was entirely safe, just not searched yet.

The last night had been a wreck. She had to off one of the patrols to get ammunition. That would bring more trouble than it was worth, but she couldn't walk around without bullets in her guns. Nor without food in her stomach, and she just barely managed to get a hold on some protein bars. They were a godsend. She'd had to resort to hunting and cooking rats, hoping that she didn't get any sort of diseases from them, but it was either that or die of starvation. Or worse. She hadn't bathed since she left the facility, and a year's worth of grime and dirt clung to her skin along with the smell. She hated how she smelled, but she could barely do anything beyond using precious water to dab at her face and pick at her teeth. For now, she tried to not let it bother her too much seeing as how there was nothing she could do about it substantially.

As Joy trudged on through the junkyard she called home, she was careful to look and see if she was being followed. No doubt government units would be out for blood for the next week or so. Damn, but she didn't have much of a choice. She took a last glance before opening the back of one of the vans, broken down and missing more than just a few tires, and shut the door. She pulled her pack off and grabbed one of the power bars. Yes, she'd be able to sleep without an empty stomach tonight. A win for her, but getting by day to day was a battle in it's own right. She chowed down, washing it down with some water from her canteen, before packing up and drawing the makeshift curtains she put in behind the front seats to keep the sun out. After that, she took her boots and jacket off, put her pack down as a pillow, and crawled into her sleeping bag.

She ran a hand through her unkempt hair. She had wanted it cut short to try and pass off as a male, but the dog tag she wore around her neck that had her name, serial number, blood type, and birth date on it was pure proof she was a GMG. At least that needed to be read first and the hair was a quick glance. She yawned and pulled the jacket over her eyes to simulate darkness before silently praying that she would be able to sleep safely this day.

Just keep your head down and keep walking, don't bring any attention to yourself and you should be perfectly find, Joslyn found herself thinking as she walked by a handful of uniformed police officers, Don't give them a reason and they won't bother you, mind your own business... just keep on moving... As she made her way past the group, she glanced over to see what it was that had their seemingly undivided attention, her mis-matched eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. As her eyes landed on the rather gruesome sight that was rather poorly hidden by government bodies, she couldn't help but frown at what undoubtedly remained of one of her own. Joslyn had come to terms with what eventually happened to many GMGs months ago, but that did not make seeing the mutilated corpses of those who had been found and killed any easier. Looks like someone didn't make it back to their home last night...

Just as she was passing the final officer, one of them spoke up and called her attention to them, "Hey, what do you think you're doing walking so close to a scene?" a male voice demanded, causing her to tense up as she prepared to make a run for it, "Stop your lingering and get outta here before we bag you for impeding an investigation!"

Joslyn simply made a face as she hurried on her way, not wanting to give them anymore of a reason to grab her now that their attention had been drawn to her simply by her walking by. Yeah... right... there is not going to be an investigation, you are all just the clean up crew, she thought rather dejectedly. She had no idea who the remains belonged to, if they had someone waiting for them or even what faction they belonged to, but she couldn't help the sense of sadness that washed over her at the loss of life. She hated the non-stop fighting and the constant running that had long since became a necessary part of their existence, an existence that they had no say in whether or not they became a part of.

As she rounded the corner, a small sigh passed her lips,her hands coming up to rub her temples as she finished what was left of her trek home. The building she utilized wasn't anything special, had technically become condemned after a fire had broken out a couple months ago, but the apartment that she stayed in had remained virtually untouched by what had happened. What was even better was pretty much everything had been left behind, leaving her with a nearly fully furnished home that she may have become a little too comfortable in, considering she had taken the time to get much darker drapes for the windosws. Flopping down on the couch, she found herself staring blankly at the ceiling, not entirely sure what it was she was meant to do with the free time she had. When she wasn't out collecting intel, she was doing her best to try to find other GMGs so she could try to help them relocate to safer area's of the city. Sometimes she was successful, sometimes the girls were entirely too terrified and would refuse to go with her, rarer still, sometimes they would shoot at her.

"Nothing like getting shot at by someone you are trying to help," she grumbled to herself as she reached out to pick up one of the many books that were strewn across her coffee table, "I am already getting rather bored of this entire thing. I need to either meet someone that will spice things up a bit... or I need to go on another mission or something. I am already going stir crazy." Letting out a sigh, she rubbed her face before cracking open the book she had chosen after removing her sunglasses.

New York Slums: Vinnie's Gym

Miro sniffed the vanilla scent one more time, before leaving the third plate on the table, with pancakes neatly stacked in a rather sizable tower of sugary death. After some pondering, he added the syrupy final touch, just as he heard yells and screams from the shower. Miro tensed for a second, until he heard the carefree giggling of two of the girls, followed by a towel slap and a squeal.

Oookay... Miro's mind quickly raced to imagine what kind of ...peculiar situation that one was, but clearing his throat, he composed himself. Just as he eyed the third of the strays already eating his pancakes, with a bad case of bedhead, and eyes half open as she devoured her breakfast like she had not eaten in days. She probably hadn't eaten in days.

"So noisy..." the girl mumbled as she drank a glass of milk that had been deposited next to her.

"Hmpf." Miro grumped as he shrugged his arms in response, leaving the dirty dishes in the sink. He was decent cooking, but he was a bit of a slacker when it came to cleaning.

"Thanks for the bed and breakfast, Miro." The girl droned as the youth scowled, looking away from her face. Who wouldn't give them a bed and breakfast, knowing the situation the girls were in? Miro was about to make a retort, when the other two girls appeared, homing on the scent of recently made pancakes.

Wearing nothing but towels and underwear.

Miro decided he had enough, so he grabbed a couple of bars, while trying to reign all the conflicting signals he was receiving, his eyes glued on his feet. Time to get the hell out of there. Parkour training. Yes, parkour seemed a good idea.

"Maybe he's gay?" One of the girls muttered as she started to eat his pancakes.

---

@MassasaugaNew York Slums: Junkyard

This kind of environment was a good thing for a traceur, Miro thought as he stretched, eyeing the assorted scraps and mounds everywhere. Irregular structures, breakable surfaces, and basically, no one to disturb him. He breathed deep and started his run. First a climb, then a jump, then a side roll. Then a wallkick. He kept going and going.

And then he jumped on one of the vans. I'm invincible! He thought to himself as he kept one upping his tricks. He had to. No one ordinary could keep up with the world that he had been introduced, full of teenagers with strange abilities and government conspiracies... And then, upon the prompt, the very image of the breakfast he had been avoiding surged back in his mind. The image of the towel girls made the young man skip a crucial step, sending him barreling towards one of the vans.

"OW!" He said, after painfully bouncing against it, making a lot of noise, and ending up sprawled on the floor.

It was...a peaceful afternoon. Birds weren't unnecessarily chirping about, no patrols came through here unless they had a reason to, and the local groundskeeper barely knew what was happening. Peaceful, until she heard a series of loud bangs, and yelling. Jesus, why. Who was doing that at this place.

"Hey! Shut up and fuck off!" She yelled.

Joy's voice was a bit deep for a girl her age, but she made her best effort despite being dead tired to make herself more likely to be mistaken for a man. It was one of the many things she practiced daily to come off more male-like, which was needed in this world. She had to be up on the new kind of deception warfare she was engaging in to hide her identity, or else she'd have a worse time trying to survive.

Adrian was out "appraising" some battle-scarred properties he could flip for a profit when he stubled upon a burnt-out apartment-complex that could use a bit of shoring-up structurally and some re-wiring to bring it up to code. The place was naturally in a pretty nasty corner of the neighborhood, but there was always something about that seemed to attract tenants to this place.

Flashlight in hand, he waded through the charred remnants until about the second floor where the fire seemed to have mysteriously stopped, leaving only smoke-damaged furniture and soot... aside from being pretty sure there were chunks of floor that would need to be completely replaced, the second floor looked fine enough to start renting-out immediately.

>"Nothing like getting shot at by someone you are trying to help,"

Or so he thought, a bit prematurely as he heard a woman's voice from one of the rooms. Shutting off his torch, he crept upon this unwary spectre, and upon seeing a... dark... lump on a bed, he immediately flicked his torch back on upon it, as though the light would banish it away like a giant cockroach.

It was around then it dawned upon him that perhaps this person was armed, or on drugs, or homicidally-insane...

The moment the light hit the bed, a small groan could be heard, followed by a shout as the figure scrambled out of the bed with an arm over her eyes. "What the fuck?! Turn that damn thing off!" shouted a female, the light of his torch showing a woman in a pair of black slacks and a black long sleeve shirt, "What the hell are you doing in my home?"

With her arm still over her eyes, the young girl reached out for the .22 she usually kept close by and haphazardly pointed it at the intruder. As the light of the torch had ran over her face, she found that she was currently unable to see, the burning within her eyes causing them to tear up as she cocked the hammer back on her handgun. At some point during the night she had set aside her book and retreated to the bedroom to try to get some rest, which only seemed to have lasted a short while.

The moment he saw the gun, his first thoughts were 'hypocritical, much?' as he tried to dodge the figure's blind aiming skills, only to realize she was following the light, which he flicked-off to leave everyone equally in complete baffling darkness.

"Wait, your home?" He queried in the quietness that followed, mostly to re-assure that they were both still there and not imagining the entire encounter. After pausing, he realized that he failed to answer her question, and she asked first; "I was just having a look around. Figured I could salvage the place for a profit. Of course, then you'd have to pay for utilities, but that also means you'd have warm running water and heat this winter." It was possible to see that his brain was already thinking of how to turn a long-term profit out of this. He felt no shame in taking advantage of this obviously hung-over junkie. Still, it was a junkie with a gun and a strong sense of privacy.

"People already know I'm appraising this place, if I don't return with a recommendation to fix this place up, it'll be demolished soon. Mind if I turn my light back on and have a look around?"

Joslyn tilted her head to the side as she reached out blindly to a pair of sunglasses that were resting on the nightstand, a frown on her face as she pulled them onto her face. "Burning out my retinas is not very kind," she bit out, her voice strained, "I would prefer it if you did not turn the damn thing on, but if you must then go ahead now that my eyes are sufficently covered. As for utilities... I have no real need for them..." As it was clear the man did not seem to mean any harm, she lowered her weapon and slowly stood up, surprisingly steady on her feet though her right hand twitched a couple times.

The thought that she had more than likely just lost the place she had started to call home was rather bothersome, she really didn't want to put herself on the raidar and this place had helped her prevent that. Letting out a small sigh, she rubbed her face, careful to avoid ther sunglasses, "Look, could we work something out so I can stay here? I don't have a job so paying utilities isn't even in my abilities."

Adrian rubbed his stubbled chin, thinking at the girl's predicament before replying,"Well, sorry about your eyes. What if I could get you a job?" He fumbled around the dark room -not wishing to provoke further ire from the hostess- until he found a suitable chair to sit upon as he watched the figure pace around the room, she seemed restless.

"I run a bar, and the hours are long, I could use someone to help serve drinks and keep the conversations entertaining for the paying customers..." His offer started, quickly outlining the jist of what sort of work he'd have her perform. Nothing difficult unless she had some sort of severe social anxiety issues, and even then... "The bar is quite dimly lit, I'm sure you'll fit right in." He smiled warmly at the slight jab at her little quirk.

"In return you may use this room as you please during and after repairs are made, you'll be paid for food, or if you desire to be more discrete, can have it brought-in." He wasn't sure why he offered the last part about bringing food up for her, probably just as an excuse to make sure she didn't become some sort of shut-in crazy cat-lady or tried slitting her wrists.

"You can bring in guests and pets, but I better not be finding any animal-sacrifices in the crawlspaces. And you"ll be responisble for cleaning up their messes." He warned, only half-jokingly, one time he had this tennant that... just... cats aren't supposed to be bent that way...

"I am not very keen on cats, or animal sacrifice... that does not seem very..." Joslyn's voice trailed off and she let out a small sigh, "I believe I would enjoy working for you if I may, and I would not mind eating there, unless you would prefer my meals be taken in here?"

Since he had not turned on his torch, she removed her sunglasses and trained mismatched eyes on him, her look curious. Everything that he had said to her was rather interesting and seemed to hold a promise to it, though she would have to hope he would not delve in too deep if she told him she would need some time off to take care of other matters should she be called upon. Though her twitching did not make her the best, she was good at many things that she was called upon for on the rare occasion her faction became entrenched with government issues.

"So where is this bar located that you would have me working at? Is it close by?" she finally asked, "And when would you have me begin work there? I would assume that if you are willing to offer a complete stranger that you found living in a place you are trying to fix up, you must not have many people working for you or willing to do so?"

"Well, I was speaking of for when we're closed on sundays. Even then. I can't have you trying to get-by on only one or two meals a day." He explained, noticing her eyes gleaming at him with keen interest.

"The bar is just up the road on your left, can't miss it." He answered, indicating it was just north along Wythe Avenue. "You can start tonight if you'd like, but I suggest you think it over after visiting as a guest first." His tone was that of someone who felt like giving the other person a chance to back-out, but then explained; "It looks like you could use a good meal and some rest before going to work, I'll be paying. Ask for Adrian when you show-up." He finished his offer, figuring she'd better see for herself what she was in for.

"Yeah... sure... I'll stop by tonight to see what the place is about and if I think it would be a good fit," she replied before letting out a slow breath. She doubted that she would be able to get any more rest now that she was wide awake between talking to the man and the burning her retina's had taken from his torch. "My name is Joslyn... look forward to possibly be working with you."

Miro counted his ribs, panting heavily. Reeling still from the blow, he focused trying to control the pain he was feeling. It was just a big bruise, after all. There would be no lasting consequences other than a purple hue and soreness for a few days. Clutching his side, his head turned in the direction a voice chastised the racket he had just made angrily.

"Hey! Shut up and fuck off! "

"Sorry, I was just...uh, training. Sort of. Not many unsupervised places to do so." It was his educate answer to the presence inside one of the vans. He thought about it for a second. It seemed quite natural that some homeless would've used a van to make a shelter from the rain. He often had to do such things in the past. Grumbling with a pang of guilt for disturbing someone's else sleep he began to walk away. Still, something seemed off.

And then it dawned upon him. The voice. It seemed a bit forced and raspy. Like a teenager who just had a growth spurt. Clenching his fists, he bit his lip. The whole situation was a little too close to his personal experience for his own comfort. Already, he was imagining the person in the van, a bitter, resentful boy, cursing the world and his luck, with no helping hands at bay. Just like him, before he had met Vincent.

I must be going crazy. I must be going crazy. Picking up more strays. Miroslav bitterly chastised himself as he turned on his steps and trudged towards the van, slowly opening the door where the other person was. "Actually...this might sound a little crazy, but three or so years ago, I had to sleep on vans too. And I know it sucks. Teenagers shouldn't sleep in vans" He added, carefully measuring his movements so that he didn't sound too obtrusive. He knew all too well how mistrust ran wild these days. "And there's the pigs. Good lord, the pigs. With luck, they'll just pop your cap and kill you quickly. At worst? They'll play whack-a-hobo."

He stood in the doorframe. "I'm Miro. I don't have much food and money right now on myself. But I could offer a shower and a better place to stay, if you want. It was rude of me to start doing parkour on your home."

Did he just open the door? What. Okay, that was a line crossed. Joy had made the van into her home, and she didn't appreciate uninvited guests. Not to mention how he was so adamant to have her come with him. Aside from her being a GMG, this was all kinds of naive. Red flags and warning alarms were going off in her head like mad. No way this guy could know what she was, nor should he ever find out. Still, the promise of a shower and a better roof over her head was tempting. Tempting, but she knew better. One mistake could cost her deeply, and she had already killed a few soldiers last night at that. Slowly, Joy reached her hand under her rucksack and pulled out her M1911. The audible sound of the safety clicking off was followed by the rack of a slide.

She sat up a bit while being careful to keep the sleeping bag over her to hide her breasts as she aimed the handgun squarely at the offending young man. Few things in the world carry a message that breaches every language barrier. The rattling of a snake tail, a big red sign with white lettering; the business end of a gun was one of those as well. Joy didn't need to speak for him to understand that his presence and his disturbing of her sleep was one of the last things she wanted today. Her dull red eyes stared him down as she waited to see what his next move was going to be.

"Fine." Miro grimacing, eyeing the cannon. It certainly wasn't the first time, nor the last he had been in a similar situation. It was never a palatable situation. However, Miro made no effort to fight back. He looked at the boy. It was a natural, defensive reaction. Meant to disuade. And regardless, shots drew attention... and for someone living on a van, bullets would be scarce.

And this was an exact repeat of the same situation he had with his master and surrogate father, Vinnie, some years ago. He scowled significantly as he slowly reached for his pockets, retrieving a wad of cash. "Token of good faith, and my apologies, boy." He added, before tossing it carefully at the boy. He then began to slowly walk backwards.

"I'll make myself scarce now. Last advice: get a damn shower. You reek." He concluded as he left the other straggler be, walking away in measured steps, slowly turning his back on the still aimed gun. The kid didn't look the type to shoot someone who had no valuables in the back.

Well, at least her efforts at disguise didn't go to waste. Still, joy merely looked the wad of cash over. What would she do with this? Nowhere could she really use this well. At least, that she knew of. She shut the door and flipped through the bills, checking intently to see if there was any sort of tracking device slipped in. She couldn't be too careful, after all. When she didn't find anything, she just stuff it into her pack and went back to sleep. She reeked, yes, but that was a price she paid for being on the run. Luxuries such as bathing weren't at the forefront of her mind nor at the top on the list of things she needed to survive. Right now, that was sleep, and she slowly tried to fall back asleep.

Miro grumbled as he nursed his sore side. The numbness had set in, and an uncomfortable, throbbing sensation announced the start of a phenomenal bruise on his side. The just reward for his deeds. Bruised, rebuked, having aimed at, and without cash on himself. He hoped the lad he had just met would survive a little more. This city was resembling more and more the warzone he had been born into. At least, people's hearts had hardened to such point.

Flipping his hood down, he grumbled in a low tone, reminding himself that the gym was still his best option... and whatever caused his prompt departure -that is, the antics of three girls- would likely be camping on his living room, kitchen or bedroom and eating his already dimished supplies.

He had hoped they had decency to put some clothes on, and not just underwear and towels.

---

New York Slums: Vinnie's Gym

Of course, they would still be there. Sitting leisurely at the basement and the gym, the choice of clothes and antics of the three girls had only improved so slighty. The good thing was that the two older, more developed girls, a blonde and a brunette, had put some clothes on. The bad thing is that they were his own t-shirts, being worn as some sort of saggy substitute of a one piece dress.

The third was nowhere to be seen, the one with the monstrous bedhead mop of brown hair. She probably had gone to sleep again, after having breakfast. For unsurprising reasons to Miro, as she was probably only 12 or 13 at most, compared to the sixteen year olds he had in front of him.

"Hey, you're back! How was your training?" said the blonde, in an attempt to look nice, despite the earlier comment about Miro's sexuality.

Miro just snorted a salute, before zooming past the both of them, towards a small, separate room from the gym and the upper floor, with the proper living quarters. The seldom used desk of Vinnie still stood there, untouched, as some sort of shrine of a fallen champion. With the utmost care, he made sure to close the door before retrieving another bunch of paper bills from a hidden safe, and stuffing it into his pocket again.

Little by little, the money of the safe was being depleted. But it wasn't an immediate problem of bankrupcy.

When he rejoined the room, the girl numbers had increased by one. Bedhead Mop, now sporting a couple of rather childish pigtails, was nibbling on a chocolate bar, looking at the other two. And also with one of his t-shirts.

And then all three looked at Miro.

"Hey, Miro. I'm um... Vickie." said the blonde. "And this one's Helen." she added as she pointed at the brunette. "I know it's late for an introduction, but you were in a hurry, and pancakes were so damn appetizing, and um..."

"...I led them here." said the youngest of the trio. "I didn't know they would be like, um... this, Miro. I'm sorry." The brown haired kid said.

"Don't be. Bea." Miroslav tried his best to crack a small smile. She was too young to bear the brunt of all his cynicism.

"Holy crap, he can smile." said the brunette, Helen. "Munchkin, what did you do to him?"

"I'm not a Munchkin!" Bea protested.

"She's been here for the seventh time." Miro interjected. "Acquaintance."

"Are we acquaintances now, Miro?" said the chirpy Vickie.

"No." The slav dryly replied, as Bea snorted and burst into an infantile giggle.

"Oh, come onnn~" the blonde counterattacked, even so far to try a higher level attack, by putting puppy eyes, staring deep into the young man's soul...

"No." was his answer.

"You saw my underwear, didn't you. We're acquaintances, or you're gay!" The blonde insisted.

"NO." Miro snapped back, tired of the charade, his fists clenching into balls. His nostris flared slightly, before breaking contact with his interlocutor. The chirpy blonde's jabs and his own throbbing pain on the side were driving him crazy. Not to mention he had been aimed at, and he had been chased out of his designated place to do parkour. Too much pent up aggression, so the logical choice was to grab one of the sandbags, a couple of gloves, and start pummeling his target.

"I think you ought to stop aggravating our host, Vickie." Helen interjected, showing a degree of maturity Miro wouldn't have guessed the first time she saw her, traipsing around in a towel. "If the rumours are true..."

BOOOM

Helen's sentence was never finished, as the sandbag, after receiving a particulary powerful kick, seemed to get loose and was catapulted a couple of meters, landing loudly on the floor.

"That was so COOL Miro!" Bea sprang to her feet, admiring the seemingly superhuman feat of strength happening before his eyes.

"What the fu..." Vickie added, blinking twice. "How is that even..."

"...It wasn't me." Miro cut short, before the girls' extremely imaginative minds made the situation worse than it should be. "The chain was too worn out. Probably from decades of punching. Vincent must've used this sandbag a lot, see?" Miroslav pointed at the rather obvious worn edges of the broken links.

Helen nodded. "You got us for a second, there. I mean, with the ridiculous rumours that you've decimated a SWAT squad AND a Seeker while being heavily wounded. I mean, not many GMGs can boast of such feats, much less a guy like you."

Miro seemed to tense at the mention of the Seeker moniker, in obvious fear and discomfort, before exhaling. "Need to see Vance. I need a new chain." He solemny announced, as he waved goodbye to the young Bea, while heading upstairs for a shower.

Sardines can only keep a girl company for so long...

Picking up the bottle of Metro-Mint® water from her nightstand, Lyn took a deep swig. A moment later she reacted with a spastic cough, trying to clear her airways of water that did not belong. Recapping the bottle, Lyn headed over to one of the few terminals in her abode; A personal computer containing nothing but her small journals, dating back to her arrival at this safehouse. Gliding her tongue across velvet lips, Lyn casually plopped into the egg-shaped chair, cracking her knuckles.

Day 8: The environment inside this observation post is starting to drag on my spirits, thinking of paying a visit to the girls. Of course I am going to get swarmed as soon as I come out, so best take my Stinger for security. It's like they just know who you are, they don't even need to see your full face, they just know. I'll give them a hug or half hug before moving on, and those who truly need me will follow me, which is interesting due to human nature based... Eh, another subject for another time. Heading down now.

Bounding from her chair, Lyn padded over to the side of her bed to retrieve her shoes. Slipping them onto her feet, she squeaked back and forth a few times on the shinning metal floor before heading towards the exit, a ladder descending into a hole that was barely lit via uranium lights. She paused for a moment to slide on today's disguise, a baggy hoodie and a face enclosing mask that responded to her voice, accompanied with a built-in digitizer for vocal masking.Descending into the metal tube, Lyn began her journey down through the concrete walls of the base. There was a small, elaborate maze inside the concrete walls of the facility, but Lyn had memorized the simplest and quickest path to arrive at the most concealed exit, buying her a bit of room to compose herself before being swarmed by the crowds of girls wanting to see her. Though few had seen her face, Lyn tried to wear the same outfits that she featured on the GMG's propaganda. While this opened her up to possible assassination attempts, it still concealed her identity while allowing her to provide a moral boost to the girls, letting them know: They are not alone.

They are not alone.

Finishing her trek through the dingy walls, Lyn found herself under some floorboards in a section of the base. One board had been unscrewed for access to the underbelly, and was pushed up with no effort for Lyn. She found herself in a maintenance closet, shelves along the walls that where lined with cleaning supplies and other necessities to maintain the base. Brushing off the dust and debris from her journey, Lyn took in a deep breath before exiting the floor. Noticing a can of cherry air freshener on one of the walls, Lyn gave herself a quick spray; A wonderful cherry scent falling over her, which was strong, yet not too strong. Firmly grasping the handle to the next room, she cracked open the door, a dull light invading the closet.

Lyn had actually only memorized the the passageway from a map, not where it led, and was now looking out into the medical clinic where a young doctor was taking inventory.

"Hmmmm... we're running low on Oxymorphoe."

"Supplement with Meperidine. Plenty on hand, Almost as good. Causes cramping in the younger ones, supplement with Dantrolene."

The nurse whipped around, gawking.

"As for the implant rejection you were talking about last week, why not try Axylonine? Cenozine is the catalyst. Binds to genetic markers. Hard to find, expensive to mass produce. Why not Heplacore?- Too unstable, inconsistent results. Demozane is a better option. No, no, Demozane is toxic to those with specific modifications, not an option, not an option. Dyhodrix is fine, causes a bit of a dry mouth, but that can be easily fixed with water."

The nurse stood speechless as The Thinker strolled towards the exit of the clinic. The mysterious girl exited into the complex, beginning her journey through the corridors of the base, wondering what new surprises the girls had for her today.

Miro stood still for a second, the hot water hitting the sensitive spots of both the recent bruise and the slightly older scars. He leant against the wall, flexing his fingers. So far, all the wounds would in time, heal. But for how long would he be able to keep up this pace? He wasn't entirely keen on having more scars than actual adult people thrice his age, and if Vincent was anything to go by, he would be a crippled, brain addled mess by his forties.

Clenching his teeth, the images of Olga being gunned down came back to his mind. Yes, he would become a cripple, but Olga had even been denied the right to become an adult. What had become of the world, when girls were fated to suffer even before they were adults?

Silently, he dried himself with a towel and dressed up, before heading back to the gymnasium area. Searching with his gaze right and forth, he concluded that two of the girls had left already, leaving just Bea sulking about, seated with a pouty expression.

"Miro." The girl said. "Those stupid two NARVA bullies told me i was all talk and no action."

"I'm not taking sides." The young man gruffly said. Frankly, he was only mild aware that there were two factions among the survivors , one that emphasided action, and the other intelligence. Miro saw both as important facets of the same struggle.

"They ditched me. I think they were jealous I found you first." Bea drew circles with her finger on the ground.

"They will be back, Bea." Miro said.

"I KNOW! But I need to go somewhere before that, and I would rather need more people with me-pfh" Bea's rant was cut short with the swift motion of Miro's arm, which shoved a white helmet on top of the girl, before turning to put his own. With an additional movement, he uncovered the motorbike from underneath the blanket.

No more words were exchanged.

---

@Cherry_ShieldNew York Midtown: POLTAVA Forward Base

The trip had been fast, and thankfully uneventful. Thanks to the encyclopedic knowledge of New York streets that Bea somehow had gained, Miroslav managed to reach this particular base without much issues.

"Beatrix Wisechild. What is the meaning of this?" said a guard of the many who was warily aiming a gun at Miro. He had been surrounded by no less than half a dozen. "Why did you bring a male stranger into this base? You will compromise everything!" said the guard.

"He's the guy!The one I talked about! The Thinker has to see him!" the juniour furiosly protested, as Miro was lazily lifting his arms for the second time this day.

Adrian continued checking the place out, but leaving the bedroom alone as he went to check the unpowered fridge, finding little more than a half-eaten jar of pickled herring, crackers, and spam. He frowned as he shut the door and continued going over what this person did and did not have, wondering if he'd even have to provide her with new clothes if she showed-up to work smelling a tad rank.

As he opened the closet, the first thing he saw was a rather large sniper-rifle, which didn't totally bother him since even he kept a shotgun on his property, knives too... but as his eyes adjusted well enough to see her clothes, his jaw slightly opened in surprise to find her old test-subject uniform.

Within moments of him opening the door, it was forced closed with a surprising amount of force and Joslyn was standing there staring at him. In her mind she only had two options, kill him or make sure he never talked about what he had seen. "You shouldn't have opened that door," she said, the barrel of her PMR-30 pressing into his torso as she kept her body relatively close to his, "I really wish you hadn't because now I'm left with either one of two choices, I'm either going to have to kill you, or I am going to have to find it in myself to believe you won't say a word of what you saw to anyone." With her sunglasses off, Adrian was able to see exactly how serious she was, as long as he didn't get too side tracked by the fact that her eyes were mismatched.

Even with the dull piece of metal pressed into his chest, Joslyn's proximity as she herself was pressed up against him as she gave the ultimatum; he didn't exactly feel as though he was in any immediate danger of being shot. She had the gun the whole time, and probably could've shot him from across the room... no, she was still looking for an excuse to let him live.

So he gave her one.

"Orrrr, you could just follow me around until you do trust me, Josh. If you were found-out we'd be the first to know, better than waking-up to an entry-team in the middle of a night." He replied, suddenly realizing that she was so close to him not to try making a threatening face, but to better conceal the noise of a gunshot. At this realization, he began to wonder if he could try disarming her, she was no killer, after-all...

Joslyn studied his expression for a moment, as if she were weighing what he had said to her against what she may have to do. On a sigh, she backed away from him and dropped the mag from her pistol before clearing the chamber, sliding the round back into place and slapping the mag back into the well. "Alright... I can accept that," she said as she backed away from him and went to look in her Fridge, her eyes scanning the three options she had before she sighed and closed the door again. She was tired of not having enough to eat, and the idea of following Adrian around wasn't entirely bad, and with him knowing what she was it would make it easier to ask for time off last minute if she had to go on mission unexpectadly.

"I don't kill you, but I follow you around instead... the only issue is this... how do I know you won't say anything to anyone once you go home? she questioned, "Unless you plan on staying here?"

Adrian smiled pleasantly at the offer, not wishing to offend a person just as they were deciding that they could risk sparing his life.

"I could probably stay awhile until you're ready to go, and since I live at the bar you could stay the night over there if you don.t feel safe taking me back here." He agreed, as he made his way to the kitchenett to make himself a snack from Joslyn's meager supplies, "I'll even re-stock the fridge... Do they even still make this brand of herring?" He asked, as he took half a tube of crackers and the wine-pickled herring back to the bedroom, and sar down with a leg tucked underneath him to make a moderately-flat surface to work with as he started eating her food.

Quickly though, he paused. "Since we're celebrating your new job, sort-of... would you like some?"

Joslyn stared at him for awhile, not happy that he had taken to eating her food without at least asking if he could have any. After a moment, she simply shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest after switching the safety on her firearm. "Do you always make it a habit of eating other people's food?" she questioned, "And in reply to your earlier statement, if you are going to end up having to renovate the place, I may as well stay the night there to watch you."

'Two unknowns approaching the checkpoint'
'Standing by for confirmation'
'Alpha identified, Wisechild, Beatrix. Bravo iden...
'What is it?'
'Oh my god'
'Lean, respond'
'Bravo is male, I repeat Bravo is male. Unidentified male, early 20's, short black hair. Respond.
'WHAT? Are you sure? Beatrix would neve-'
'Heatscans confirm, Bravo is male, I repeat Bravo is male. Requesting permission to open fire'
'Open fire?! Are you crazy, it's Beatrix, surely she has a good reason! Let the gate guards handle it!'
'Negative, negative! Target is male and presumed hostile, you know our orders. Requesting clearance to engage, requesting clearance to engage.'
'Do not engage, repeat do not engage there are friendlies down there!'
'He's reaching for his waist line! I'm not loosing another friend, not like last time, I'm engaging!

'Wait!'

As Lyn's voice shrieked over the watchtower guard's headsets, the over-zealous guard flinched, sending a round careening over Miro's head. Noise erupted from the ground team as they split up; Some members dropping to form a perimeter, some grabbing Beatrix and gently lowering her to the ground for cover, and some not-so gently slamming Miro to the pavement, his face ground against the gravel surface. In the confusion, The Thinker came barreling from the checkpoint entrance out to the guards, still trying to locate where the round had been fire from.

'Stand down stand down! Lift him up.'

The guards raised Miro to his feet in a not so gentle fashion. His hands sporting the latest in POW fashion; A pair of ziptie restrains. Beatrix was helped up in the proper way, the guards apologizing and dusting off her attire.

'You two. Briefing room. Now.'

After a trip through a series of make-shift hallways and small security checkpoints withing the base, the trio found themselves inside an old forward-command tent from wars long ago. The large rip-stop flap thumped closed behind them as Miro was 'coerced' into a chair across the desk from The Thinker.

'Remove his restrains.'
'Madam, I'm not so sure that is the best idea.'
'Remove them. Please.'
'Of course.'

The guard retrieved a pair of wire cutters from her utility belt, removing the bindings from Miro, making sure to jerk a bit while doing so, grinding the plastic into his wrists to show she wasn't playing around.

'Well, I did you a favor and stopped my guards from turning your brain into a pâté. If you can't tell, many of my girls aren't fond of males. Now care to return my favor and tell me what you are doing at my base?'

Miro scoffed so slightly, rubbing his wrists and his face respectively, before reclining in the chair. His eyes glared at Beatrix who seemed to fidget and flinch everytime and then. Her feet were rather restless, and she wasn't making eye contact with Miro after the fiasco.

"Too naive, Bea. You're too naive." Miro sighed as he eyed the rest. He breathed deep as he then pat the younger girl's head, much like an older brother would have done. "I told you this would happen. Not everyone can shake their fear so easily like you."

"..msorry." The younger girl pouted."I just...just...the Demon of the construction site, I just wanted to show my buddies. So they could say I wasn't that useless."

Miro frowned, before retracting his hand. His eyes fixated himself on the thinker. "Well then. I'm not a very talkative person, and I might sound rather coarse at times. I've been aimed today twice with weapons and my side is killing me for a fumbled landing earlier. But I feel that I don't my soapy life story whole, it won't be understood." His eyes rested on the figure of the thinker.

"I'm told you're a crack of the intelligence and the smart stuff. Tell me, doesn't my face... despite being a little bruised, seem familiar to you? That's because I'm the elder brother of Olga, one of your comrades." He stared at the ceiling, lost in reminiscing.

"Mother told me to take care of her, before the Life-0 killed her. And then some marauders killed my father. I did my best to be a good brother. We were taken in this country as war orphans. And It appeared she was going to be adopted." Miro said reminiscing.

"She was, but into your project. For years I was kept in the dark. I was discarded as a byproduct, became a street urchin. Some martial artist took me under his wing. I was so full of rage back then. But he reformed me. He even made me a renowned fighter in the ring before passing from this world."

Miro breathed deep. "That's when I found out about Olga. I saw her, chased into a construction site, chased by a SWAT team. She was my sister, I had to help her. This world is so fucked up. It's dog eat dog." Miro's words choked a little.

"I killed every single last of them. Well, not really. Olga shot the last one." His eyes became a little teary. "And then she...was cut to ribbons. By one of the Seeker things. I..."

Beatrix eyed Miro and he seemed to sniffle and tremble a little. She bit her lip, her eyes fixated on her. Miro never talked about this, but the circumstances demanded it. She had done it now.

"I...attacked that thing. I drove a jackhammer in the face until it stopped flailing. But...Olga still died. I couldn't save her. I almost did it, but I couldn't." He clenched his fist, trying to refrain himself from showing how much of a mess he was. "Somebody has to take responsability for all what they did to my sister. To all of you. Beatrix thought it was a good idea to show you girls you're not alone in this."

He paused. "And I'm done brooding in my gym, feeding stray girls pancakes. So why not humour Bea and make a little entrance? Even though I knew this would suck."

"Yes," Lyn mused behind her digitizer, "While we don't have the best records on our history during the Break Out period, there were reports of a young man being in conflict with a soldier equipped with an advanced form of power armor." The thin-framed girl kicked back in her chair, teetering with two of the foot posts in the air as she kicked her feet onto the table. "Of course, we were very naive back then. I assume the soldier they were referring to in the reports was probably a Seeker. In-fact I don't have a hard time believing your story at all, considering there were several reports of the incident..."

"..And that through data mining of government controlled servers we are beginning to believe the Seekers were actually a program brought on in-line to our genetic modification program. Almost as if they were expecting this..."

A crashing was heard as the guard at the front of the tent stumbled. "Excuse me, miss, do you really think it is wise to reveal information like that to an outsider, a male no less?"

"He won't say anything Aria, trust me. And even if he does, we'll find him. Our information network is larger than you'd like to believe. Alot larger." Lyn cleared her throat awkwardly before glancing towards the guard, "Please, give us some alone time. Don't worry, he won't be any trouble. And if he is, I'm armed." The battle-clad guard unpursed her lips as if meaning to speak before catching herself. She knew it was no use, The Thinker would get her way, no matter what she had to say about it. Turning on her heel, Aria headed out the door, only to peek her head back in before exiting. "Alright, but if I head ANYTHING unusual, I'm coming back in and he's getting a bullet through the temple."

"Well for your sake let's hope she doesn't hear anything she deems as unusual." Lyn kicked her boots from the edge of the table, leaning forward as her chair returned to rest on the ground. Her butt wiggled up from the seat ever so slightly as she leaned over the table, peering into Miro's eyes. "I'm going to be straight with you ok? I don't trust you. Not fully. Your story is good, but it's too good. Too good to be all you claim it to be. You don't just want to help these girls, no one does it's a suicide mission." Lyn leaned in closer still, her hand grasping the digitizer, pulling it down around her neck, revealing her face.

"So what do you really want Miro?"