Ranch House, Location Unknown

Mina wanted to tell him to sit down.

She wanted to wipe that moral-superior, judgmental attitude off of his face with the back of her hand, and scream, "Do you think I like this?" He had some nerve for someone who had been dragged across the Ash and looked after for weeks, to wake up and start making demands; as if some boy too young to even legally buy spray-paint back in Erubesco would have the right to "assess" anything.

And Larke was his "good friend."

That hurt; a distinct, bitter surprise that stuck in her throat. She did not know how he knew Larke, but Drake did not know the man like she did. Arguably, nobody living knew the man like she did. And here he stood, presuming to be the only one with a stake in the matter. "You cannot fathom what I let that man drag me through," she wanted to say, and pull out the laundry list of every damn time she had pulled him out of the fire in his life.

But she took a deep breath. Because "Do no harm" included not screaming at recently ressurected minors.

"I dunno how you know Larke," she said, moving in between Drake and the office door. "But I do know that he's... He's different than he used to be, okay? I know him too. Known him for a long long time... But he, ah... He showed up, armed to the teeth, meaning to do us all harm. Tried to take Hel away. He's not who he- Well, who he's been."

It probably was not her call to make, at this point, but Drake was a stubborn ass. He'd get up there sooner or later, and the last thing Dutch needed was another hole in the roof to patch.

"I'll take you up, but there's one condition, alright? You won't like what's up there, but you will not do anything about it until you've come back down and talked to the lot of us about it. It's easy to call 'wrong is wrong' when you weren't the one he tried to to knife. So you're gonna hear us out, and we're gonna make choices as a group. We clear?"

The Councillor had been about a hair’s breadth from dozing off, head bobbing and swaying like a blade of grass in the breeze, when the sound of her name brought her back to reality. She snapped to attention, squinted in the brightness of the fluorescent lights, then turned towards Riza with owlishly wide eyes. “Oh. Hey. You must be…” Heather trailed off. Gave a long, lazy yawn. Glanced at her tablet. “Agent Khan. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, you know.

“I plan on seeing for myself if they’re true.”

For a moment, the sluggishness Heather carried with her seemed to fade. Her gaze locked onto Riza’s face with a sort of alarming focus, scrutinizing it carefully. Then she gave yet another yawn, and whatever spell had come across the Councillor was broken. She flicked her stylus idly across her tablet’s screen, absently searching.

It didn’t take too long for the next Agent to arrive- stumbling her way in like a newborn foal. Heather did a well enough job of keeping the amusement off her face as she waved Beretta off, “It’s fine. Nice shoes, by the way. Very classy.” She couldn’t quite repress the undignified chuckle at the next arrival, however. Unlike Agent Beretta, the man strutted his way in with a practiced swagger, fully decked out in proper Erubescian garb.

Like Beretta, however, he seemed utterly flustered by her being there.

To say Heather was quite pleased with her decision to stop by would have been the understatement of the year.

“At ease, Agent.” She stood, walking slow, steady circles around the man, taking every last inch of silk and sparkle. After a few silent rotations, she eventually spoke up again. “You look absolutely ridiculous. Which means that in Erubesco, you’d be charming. Good job.” Heather nodded, satisfied, then returned to her seat.

As Canvas strolled in, Heather’s eyes landed not on the man himself, but instead immediately honed in on the bottle in his grasp. The contents sloshed loosely about.

She didn’t comment. She might have given the Supervisor a half-pointed, half-amused look, and might have slid her stylus in such a way to make the man think she had made a note, but she didn’t comment.

“Just decided to drop in. See how progress was going. I’m sure you know how much is weighing on this mission, Supervisor.” Heather paused. “It’s a lot. A lot is weighing on this mission. If nobody knew.”

She stretched her legs out, letting the joints pop.

“Just do whatever you’d do if I wasn’t here. Dance. Drink. Eat cake. I’m not going to report you for doing your jobs.”

---

“Thank you very much, Commander Botrelle.” Madison returned Lulu’s smile with a brilliant one of his own, rising to give her hand a firm pump. There was a brimming light of enthusiasm in his face now that the panic of finding the meeting hall was over- like a schoolboy bouncing off the walls before the start of class. Straightening up, Madison sprung towards the very front of the room, taking care not to block the screen as he did so.

“Hello, everyone.” He gave a slight wave, scanning the room for a response. “It’s nice to meet you all. As Commander Botrelle said, my name is Madison Lovette, a research-oriented Knight Commander from the Caer Guinevere base. Some of you might be aware that the research department there is a bit, ah...lacking, unfortunately. So, it’s my job to fix that.” Madison beamed.

“I’ve been sent here to study various procedures that you all follow here at the Citadel. I’ll likely be visiting several of you in your respective departments- asking questions, taking notes on how everything is organized. I’ll do my best to stay out of your hair while I’m here.” He flipped open his folder, checking to see if there was anything that he might have missed, when one of the gathered facility spoke up.

“That’s quite alright,” Madison chirped. He listened intently, interest quickly captured- by the sound of it, this man worked in the same department as he.

His smile soon faltered.

A look of shock fell upon his face.

“I...I’m sorry, but, ah…” He swallowed. “Did you just say- you’re experimenting on people- on serfs- and their, ah…” Madison shifted. “Their…their heads…they burst?” He glanced around, drumming his fingers on the front of his folder. The man who had spoken was smiling placidly. “He- I’m sorry. That was a joke, isn’t it? He isn’t-” The Commander gave a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry. It must have been a joke.”

There was no possible way that such a thing was allowed, let alone legal. It was ridiculous to have gotten worked up about it. While Libertians were the enemy, and while serfs were often convicts more often than not, they were still people. It was absurd to think that they would be faced with such treatment.

The Citadel, Erubesco

This was why they needed "wash your hands" signs, Lulu thought. If members of management could not wait their god damn turn in an official meeting, then how was anyone supposed to do anything? Lulu exhaled silently, making an extra effort to keep herself from visibly tensing as Aran carried the group away on a side tangent. She opted to smile instead, only turning her head to the side slightly as she tried to figure why what he was saying needed to be said right this second.

It did not.

In fact, she had written an entire agenda of when things needed to be said, and "other speakers" was right at the end.

But this was a meeting. With a visitor. And that called for decorum.

"I understand your frustration, Alchemist Sairan," Lulu replied, making note of the complaint on her tablet, "And we will definitely take that into consideration. In fact, we'll be taking several things from unshceduled speakers into consideration during the open forum section of this meeting."

She looked toward Lovette and placed a gentle hand on his wrist, leaning back in her chair a bit to reach. "It's a pleasure to have you, Commander Lovette. And yes, it was..." Still with the same friendly smile, she glared at Aran with the look of someone in the best possible position to place a choke on his budget "It was an unfortunate phrasing. I assure you that all practices in our research department are ethically considered prior to their start, as well as periodically reviewed."

With a reassuring nod, she pulled out the chair to her left, labeled with Madison's name card. "But thank you for your concern, and such a lovely introduction. We look forward to working with you in the coming months. Now..." The screen changed to a slide labeled "Medical Research." "Commander Green has requested to share some information regarding the Medical branch."

Riza let out a smile as Beretta entered the room, to try to help her become at ease, if that was possible. It was naturally for one to be nervous for one’s first assignment, but Beretta was far too nervous. She was unfortunately far too nervous. Then he saw Agent Lesauvage enter. It was quite the sight to behold, he dressed fully in Erubesco attire. If he had seen a civilian dressed in such a manner he would have brought them in for question.

“Agent Baretta, Agent Khan,” Agent Lesauvage said.

“Agent Lesauvage,” Khan replied. “You’re sure on top of things.”

Truth be told, Riza had said it as a joke. He simply could not help himself. Riza thought of himself as someone who was punctual and did the things he was ordered to, but he would never have thought to dress himself as an Erubescian before they had even left the country. Yet if Agent Lesauvage wanted to dress early, that was fine too, he supposed. Such thoughts were not important. The Field Supervisor, Canvas Fajaar, was addressing him now, though she seemed oddly enthusiastic about Agent Lesauvage’s outfit. Yet perhaps all the officers of this sector were silly.

“Agent Khan, I presume? I've heard good things. I think you'll be a great asset to this mission," Canvas said.

“Thank you, sir,” Riza said, in complete accordance with military discipline.

As Mina stepped in front of the door, Drake took a step or so back, not wanting to cause any trouble. His hard gaze had begun to soften as she spoke.

“You know Larke?”

Much like Mina, this came to him as a surprise, and understandably so. It wasn’t like the two had any similar history between them, so for both to have crossed paths with him certainly sang ‘it’s a small world’ loud and proud. And with this new bit of knowledge, the tension shifted and crumbled, his stubbornness withering away with it. He was left with a hollow feeling, her words ringing in his ears, conflicting with everything he knew prior about Larke.

It took the winged boy a moment to gather his thoughts long enough to explain himself.

”Larke and I shared a prison cell way back when I was captured by Erubesco. It wasn’t your typical prison, granted. More of a prison/experimentation room hybrid. The scientists were trying to learn more about my self-resurrection ability, but their methods involved killing me over and over again while taking notes… It was hardly science, if you ask me. Larke was placed intentionally into my cell. They manipulated his guilt and soft heart and used him to speed up the resurrection process. He continuously healed me, only for Erubesco to kill me again. It broke his heart every time, too,” Drake relayed carefully, recalling the memory with a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

“My time in that place felt like an eternity... If it wasn’t for Larke’s company, I might very well have gone insane.”

His eyebrows furrowed, lids closing as the headache from earlier pounded harder against his temples. It was growing worse with the new information now spinning in his brain. He shook his head as if to clear it, opening his eyes, but he still seemed equally unsure of what to believe.

“There’s no way… You know how Larke is, he couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a person. And he tried to stab you? That just... That can’t be right... Larke, he-” the boy trailed off, his eyes squeezing shut as he reached to grip the table behind him for support. One hand moved to hold his head which was reeling.

“I’m sorry, Mina. I just assumed he was a stranger to everyone, that there had been some kind of miscommunication... I didn’t know he was dangerous.”

Perhaps Erubesco had done something to his friend. Maybe he was different now.

“I’ve really missed a lot, haven’t I?”

Vera

The moon is shining in all its glory, bathing the night with mysterious but beautiful light. Despite its eerie yet magical glow, the moon is a sign of the hunt where predators of the night come out of their den to find food. Those who wander the Ashlands during this time would be considered brave or simply foolish. Whatever they may be, one thing's for certain: one of them is going to die. Tonight, however, the predators have found their prey and they're going in for the kill.

Standing alone in the middle of field is a beautiful girl, eyes closed while bathing herself in moonlight. The soft breeze of the cool night chills her yet she longs for it. It may be weird for a young woman to adore the moon and long for the night but she does not care about the norms of the society. After all, what kind of society do the Ashlands even have? Sometimes she thinks about the people living in such a place and survive an entire day without being attacked by the hostile outside forces. She waved her head. What is she even thinking? It is a waste of time to think about people who do not even think about you. In these lands, it is either to kill or to be killed; the soft-hearted will be the first ones to perish.

"Well well, who do we have here?"

She exhales softly. Her quiet and peaceful night seems to have passed its time limit. She does not have to open her eyes to know that the man who spoke is at her five o'clock.

"What a gorgeous flower you are! Care to join us love?"
"Yeah, we'll make sure to give you a night you won't forget."

Hm, it seems they are two now. Without one's gift, one can definitely tell that both men are drunk based on the slurs whenever they speak and the shuffling of their feet on the ground. Perhaps they are too drunk to even stand upright. Like most drunk men the young woman knew, they will immediately find an unlucky lady to mess with and rob her of her womanhood. She used to hear tales of women being raped by drunk mercenaries as a way of relieving oneself due to the stress of their missions and, when the men are satisfied that they have fulfilled their duties, they would throw the poor women away like a child to its broken toy.

Toy...? Aah, yes. It has been a while.

"Would you like for me to sing you a song first?", the young woman said without facing the two men. Smiling deviously, one of them said, "Sure beautiful. After your little concert, we're gonna make you scream". They both laugh their lungs out like there's no tomorrow.

The young woman smiles. She takes a deep breath and sings.

The first minute she sings of the marvelous beauty of women, captivating the hearts of many men. The way their hair flows when blown by the wind, their soft hands lingering on your skin with every touch, their delicate bodies yearning for your warmth. The men begin to space out with their mouths open, easily falling into the young woman's spider web thanks to their drunken stupor that makes easier to trick. They occasionally giggle at themselves; whatever they see in their mind when she is singing must be quite the spectacle. Not satisfied with her work, she continues to sing of the beauty of carnal pleasure, further igniting the men's infernal desire for a woman's touch.

She continues to do so for three minutes. When she stopped, she commanded final order without looking at the men:

"Make love until your last breath".

The two men, now breathing heavily due to the amount of lust in their bodies, begin to kiss each other ravenously. The young woman laughs merrily. It seems they are right: this is a night they will never forget.

Just like that, predators have become prey. The survivor, a woman with pink hair and bright blue eyes, looks at the moon one last time before making her way back home. After all, she does hate to make him wait.

Ranch House, Unknown Location

Mina lowered her hand from the door frame and fished in another pocket for a small, white box that rattled when she withdrew it. She moved to stand near Drake and offered a thin green tablet. It was a common pill- The Erubescan equivalent of an aspirin, intended as a sublingual for quicker results. It was also worth almost as much as petrol, out here. "It'll help with the pain. Pop it under your tongue," Mina explained, and placed it on the table beside him. "It won't make you groggy," she added as an afterthought, aware of how the boy had previously reacted to being offered strong painkillers.

After tucking the box safely back in her pocket, she placed a hand on Drake's shoulder. "He showed up a few weeks ago, looking for Helena. Wearing a uniform- Toby and Dawn sensed him pretty far out, and we um..." She shook her head, and gave Drake's shoulder a soft squeeze. Drake's recollection of meeting Larke made her chest ache- That was the Larke she had known; all stupid and heroic and taking on more than he could handle like an idiot. That wasn't whoever was in the attic.

"We didn't know who he was, that far out. But we knew he was coming to hurt us, and that he wouldn't die, so... We had to shoot him down. And after he woke up, he put up a helluva... He came to before we had a chance to finish searching him, and he had a knife on him we'd missed. I was resetting a broken bone on him, and he just turned on me like that- So I shocked him, and now..."

Her gut tightened up, and she stepped back toward the door. "We can't let him go, because he knows too much. And we can't kill him- I can't. But Montana shattered one of his wings so he couldn't make a break for it. And Spire... Spire got out of line a few days ago..." She cringed at the mention of the incident, but it needed to be clear that the condition Larke was in was not the result of a group decision. There was probably some answer to all of this, but all of them seemed to end with somebody dying.

"It's a bad spot, Sugar." She nodded down the hall, inviting him to follow with a wave. "Because I don't wanna see him a prisoner. And it would kill me to see him dead. But... We can't release him. It's him, or Helena and everyone else here. And I- I'll just let you look at him for yourself. I have to change his bandages."

It wasn't easy, waking up after being out of commission for a few weeks. Drake felt like one of those comatose patients, spending weeks or even months unconscious only to one day suddenly wake up. To find the world had simply moved on without them. So far, a lot had went down while he was out. What else had he missed? Could some of this have been avoided if he’d stayed alive? The entire thing was certainly stressing the winged boy out far more than he let on.

Sensing Mina move closer, Drake opened his eyes partway at first, then opened them entirely when he saw the pill she was presenting him. His gaze lingered on it for a moment, then silver eyes raised to level with hers. His were wary, conveying his uncertainty; a silent protest against the pill.

He couldn’t help but feel uneasy whenever he saw Erubescan medicine, especially seeing how Erubesco had a way of being sneaky with some of the drugs they offered up. Administering disguised medication to a subject with the promise of relieving their symptoms, only for the medicine to further prolong and sometimes even worsen the illness. That was one example. Or how about the “pain meds” given to some of the test subjects, meds which were actually infused with ingredients that brought forth horrific and even traumatizing side effects. Or the sleeping pills that worked a little too well, throwing their tired patient into a neverending coma. And those were only a few.

Erubesco didn’t care, so long as it meant they had control over the public masses.

But Mina was specialized in this sort of thing, and if Drake trusted anyone to be able to distinguish the good from the bad, it was her. Therefore, despite all reservations, he accepted her offering and popped the tablet under his tongue, just as she had instructed. His nervousness still lingered momentarily, mild as it was, merely a product of caution derived from the average ashlander paranoia.

Mina’s hand on his shoulder did well to redirect his attention, and he listened quietly to everything she had to say, eyebrows knitted.
His own wings twitched at the mention of Larke’s shattered one, drawing tight against his back.

The part about Spire made his stomach churn.

”You’re right, that doesn’t sound anything like Larke. Attacking carelessly like that, I can't imagine why he'd do something so... well, violent.” Drake frowned.
Silver eyes gradually trailed down to the floorboards as he took a moment to soak all this in, trying to make sense of it.

”We're not gonna kill him,” he said finally, calculating eyes still trained on the wood panels below, almost as if he could find the answers if he just stared hard enough.

”Not if there’s a chance we can help him. If what you're saying is true, then it’s possible Erubesco did something to Larke. It wouldn't be unheard of - the factions are notorious for brainwashing and deceiving people. And Larke was just a lowly prisoner to them, so it's not unreasonable to think they might take advantage of him."
Drake hoped he was onto something with this.

"I want to at least try talking to him... Surely the Larke I know-”

He paused briefly before clearing his throat and looking up at Mina. “The Larke we know… Is still in there. Somewhere. And if I have to work with him day and night, for weeks on end to pull him back out, I will. If we can get the old Larke back, maybe - just maybe - we can convince him to join us. Or at the very least, make him promise not to hurt anyone if we let him go. Dawn can even verify for us if his intentions are true. And I could really use your help getting through to him, if you're on board.”
It wasn't going to be easy, and Drake really didn't want to tackle this hard ball by himself.
Not if he didn't have to.
”Besides, even if it doesn’t work - even if our attempts to help him fail and there’s no undoing whatever damage is done... At the end of the day, at least I can say I tried. I have to try...”

”I owe him that much.”


Fortunately, their shared mutual connection with Larke provided some consolation. There was comfort, after all, in not being alone. Drake wasn't forced to fight this battle on his own, wasn't stuck trying to defend a friend who the Wanderers really didn't know or have any obligation to. Rather, Mina was right there to back him up; by his side.
On his side, he hoped.

Well, Mina was on the dot about one thing. This certainly was a bad spot. Fiercely disheartening in every way.

The pain medication was starting to set in now, which wound up being good timing as Mina was ushering him to follow her if he would so choose. And as much as his stomach twisted at the thought of what he might see up there, Drake still felt it vital to confront the problem sooner than later. He lightly pushed off from the table and strode after her as they made their way down the hall.

”And as for Spire,” he piped in, needing to get something off his chest.

“We need to figure out a way to put a goddamn leash on the bastard. He’s always up to no good, and his sick, reckless activities could one day end up putting all of us in serious danger. It’s unacceptable if you ask me, and frankly, he shouldn’t have to have a damn babysitter all the time. Something needs to be done to get him to behave himself.”

This last bit was more of a bout of frustration than it was really a demand. Caused by a festering resentment, it flowed from the lips of a boy whose distaste for the bloodthirsty Schippers brother grew stronger every day. Of course, that being said, Drake did firmly believe a discussion was in order regarding their cruel and sadistic long-standing member whom they had all put up with up until now. Surely the group could come to a consensus.

Spire had stepped out of line one too many times. It was about time he got an intervention, in Drake's opinion.

Toby felt his tongue get even more stuck to the roof of his mouth. Most people, even tactless Ashlanders, didn't generally call out his speech impediment directly. It was just overly low hanging fruit as far as insults went. He might have struggled to start a single syllable of reply if it hadn't been for Rei.

The protective, fiery emotion she brought close warmed up his frozen jaw so he could speak. "Intimidation isn't my strong point. But I think I make up for it by being a g-- a good shot, so d--don't try anything."

Toby angled his gun briefly toward a stretch of low shrubs, yellow weeds, and ashen dirt at the corner of the house. "There's a well over there. Help yourself. And stay away from....um...everyone."

Evidently the man didn't recognize him. His throwaway comment made Toby suspect that he and Spire weren't the only opportunistic would-be killers that had taken a stab...or a shot...at this young man.

Ranch House, Location Unknown

Mina sighed, pausing by her room to grab her backpack out from under the bed. "I don't think he's gonna join us," she said, shouldering it and leading Drake toward the trap door in the ceiling.

"The old Larke" was a considerably tougher pill for her to swallow than the lozenge she had passed to Drake.

There was Larke as a child, who had made her help him bring back a sparrow who had snapped its neck against the glass window of his parents house; the Larke who had called them a team, who was sure that there was no problem they could not solve together. And a slightly older Larke, who had taken her to their final school dance. Then Larke the Medic came, and he learned that some things could not be fixed, even with the both of them.

Her last memory of Larke was his lifeless face staring up at the ceiling. A nearly week-long binge had outpaced even his healing factor, and she found him on the couch with blue lips. She had shocked his heart back to life again and again, sitting over him for half an hour, waiting for his body to fix itself.

She left, after that: Into the military, into the Ash. The further she could go, the smaller her chances of ever seeing him die again.

Fate was a real bitch.

"You can talk to him," she said, puling down the trap door so that a ladder descended from the ceiling. The smell of blood and bile was strong upstairs. "I uh- I generally try not to."

She ascended the steps to find Larke just where they had left him, slumped against a wall, his hands and feet tightly bound. She did not look him in the face as she moved in to patch his wounds, and he offered little response save for a muffled grunt as she cut away the dirtied bandages around his torso. His eyes were half-shut, his head lulled back against the wall- his skin was warm enough to indicate that his fever had not broken. The wounds had closed almost completely, though, and she started to wipe down the gore with a wipe.

"You got a visitor," she said, nodding for Drake to come in.

With a nod, Midas gave a smile. "Great. I'll be sure to pay you back for it. Not that words mean much anymore" he shook his head, and gave a sigh, before turning and moving to get cleaned up. He paused, however, and looked to the crouching girl who decided to lecture about manners. "...if i didnt have three broken ribs right now, i might take you seriously. But until i can breath properly again, being polite is the last thing on my mind. Talk to me again in two hours, i might have an apology for you. Until then, mind your own" he gave a harsh glare as he spoke, before turning, and heading away.

Getting a pale of water, he groaned, finding a spot to sit down as he began to clean his hands. Red ran off into the dirt quickly, and he sighed. Shaping up to be a good day...hope it stays that way

It was in silence that Dawn watched Montana take pause, knife still gleaming maliciously in what dim light managed to enter the basement. Her fingers, which had been tightened to the point of drawing blood from her palms, relaxed as the man sheathed the blade, kneeling to offer their resident prisoner a drink from his canteen over the death he had intended. She watched as he neatly bound the woman’s hands once all was said and done, and met the coal of Montana’s gaze with her own dusty ash.

“Thank you.” The words were sincere. While the prisoner’s life was still at risk, it would not be taken by his hands. Dawn gave Montana a nod as he passed, a sort of warmth livening up her face for a moment. It faded as the man ascended the stairs, and, taking a deep breath, she turned her attentions back onto the prisoner.

Her life being spared today would ultimately mean nothing if she died of infection.

The first thing Dawn did was step over and around the prisoner, switching the radio off and ending the wailing voice it emitted. She didn’t speak as she did this, nor did she as she ascended the stairs herself, steps light and purposeful.

It was as she was returning to her room, digging through her bag for supplies, that she caught it. Her head lifted, tilted to the side like a bloodhound catching a scent. Someone was here. Before she could raise the alarms, however, Dawn heard her own name flicker through the head of one of their own, and she quickly tuned into the specific “channel” before the thought could pass.

I caught him right now. she began. If you think that he’ll cause trouble, then do whatever you feel best to keep him away. And thank you. With that, Dawn cut out, returning to her searching. Toby was one of the more...reasonable of the group, thankfully. He could be trusted to handle the unexpected guest.

Dawn eventually returned to the basement after a few more minutes, face stoic. In her freshly gloved hands were a variety of medical supplies- a roll of gauze, a small bag of cotton, and water. As she descended, she sought out Mina with her Gift, and began to “speak” to the doctor.

Mina? Once you’re less… For a moment, she paused, struggling to find the right word to use. ...preoccupied, could you please come down to the basement? I could use your help. Dawn was by no means a medical professional. Life in the ash had taught her the basics of treating a wound, of stitching yourself up in a pinch, but the smell of diseased flesh and rat spoor had formed a near miasma in the basement. The woman’s face was haggard, likely doing little favor to her health, either. If Mina (quite understandably) turned her down, Dawn would do her best to treat the prisoner, but professional assistance in such a situation would likely be of great assistance.

"A new visitor, one of them is out an..." he clicked his tongue as he peered through scope of his sniper rifle. "Well, the mutant thing is out now as well, so I guess two of them are out of the house. Thank god it isn't anyone more... unpleasant." he mumbled as he thought of the more sadistic people part of the Wanderers and while he accepted the fact that killing was part for the course in the ashlands, but making the victim suffer before you kill them was unnecessary, very few people - he found out - deserved that sort of suffering, he imagined that their sadism was why they had a price on their heads, but that did not explain the rest of the members, those that only wished to live peacefully, why did they have bounties on their heads...

He looked through the scope, he imagined it would be easy to take out the man that was outside right now, but that would be loud, it would attract attention and there would be no way of collecting proof that the man had died, even if he did truly die... well, that if he really was out to kill any of the Wanderers. These people were like a sort of extended family, he figured that if he killed anyone part of their group, they would be out and about for the one who killed their family.

He started at the scene for a few more seconds, before rising up from the dirt and placing the sniper on his back. He inspected his pouches to see if his grenades were there, he inspected both his pistols and his sniper to see if they were stocked on ammo, he inspected if his hunting knives were as sharp as they could be, and finally, he concentrated for a moment to see if his gift was up. Even though he was sure that everything had been ready since he had woken up, he figured it would not hurt to check again, after all, lack of preparation had killed in the past.

"Alright, Specter, don't fuck this up or you'll most likely end up dead." he said, more to himself than to anyone else, holding a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other, even if things would not get heated, he needed to be ready for all possibilities, no matter how low the chances of them happening were. "Here goes nothing!" he said to himself once again before walking in stride towards the house the Wanderers had called home.

Specter kept his mind as empty and devoid of thought as he could, the group had a telepath and even if he did not mean any harm, some of his thoughts about preparing about every scenario might be miscontrued as him actually wishing to carry out said scenario. The only thought he kept in mind was "I come in peace, do not be hostile!" he felt like that in itself might make a telepath worry even more, but he didn't want to take any risk.

As soon as he got close enough to Toby, he stared at the man, he had a gun and from the way he was holding it, he probably knew how to use it, he figured that if it came to a shootout, he would react faster and shoot first, he wasn't as sure about the thing, about Rei, she was a unknown variable in this, he did not know how quick she was, how quick she would react and it made him slightly tense up. It would be worse if the recognized who he was, the fame he had gained as the head-hunter/bounty hunter Specter, could be considered more of a disadvantage that it would an advantage, then, he mentally calmed himself and spoke, his arms tensing up, ready to rise, should it come fighting.

"Hello, Wanderers!" he spoke out slightly louder than he had intended. "I come here in peace, with a warning and an offer if you will and if you know who I am, then know that I am not after any of you, I simply wish to speak... that's all!" He raised his hands to show that he was not a threat, hoping his tone would be enough to convince them that he was not a threat, since his mask was still on at the moment.

Because if they did not, then things would get ugly.

Capital Base, Liberty

Beretta knew the others who filed in behind her- Agent Mayday, her "date" for the mission, was a welcome sight. His presence had become familiar to her with prolonged exposure, and she was pretty sure that she could almost let him take her hand without either of them cringing away. She liked Canvas, too, though some of his jokes escaped her. But he was kind to her, and warm, and quicker to smile than he was to chide. He seemed a bit warmer than usual this morning, all truths be told, but it was not her place to pass one judgement or another on her superior.

Agent Riza Kahn was a comfort, too: One of the few faces that traced back to the start of her memories, and the closest thing the young agent had ever been able to compare to a father, or perhaps favorite uncle.

They were good people to work with.

"Thank you, Councilor," she replied to Laxton, shuffling her feet to better show off the shiny leather of her high-heels. A near-giggle escaped as Mayday came in, and she stared at his absolute absurdity for a solid five seconds. It was good- Sparkly.

The Councilor wanted her to act as if she was not there- Or rather, to do "whatever" they did when she was away. Which meant... What? Acting casual? Beretta's violet gaze drifted over to the table as Canvas set the bottle down among the others, watching them shine under the room's soft light. They reminded her of the multi-colored tubes of chemicals she had seen when her training class toured the genetics testing facility- All labeled "DO NOT TOUCH" in angry yellow lettering. Danger this, danger that. Keep your hands to yourself, please-and-thank-you.

But these said no such thing.

Unable to hold her own curiosity, she cast a furtive glance toward Canvas and trotted (as well as the shoes allowed) to the display. She leaned in to read the curling scripts on their labels, the unfamiliar words failing to fall into place. “Peanut... Peanut no-ear,” she read aloud, brow furrowing at the strange words before continuing down the line, “Shimmering Mos- Moscato?” She stared intently at this bottle, noting that there was some form of settled metallic debris at its bottom.

She looked back to Canvas, doing her best impression of someone who was not at all excited about the prospect of drinking glitter. "These are... for to drink?"

As Mina stopped in her room, Drake paused by the doorway to wait for her. And even as she expressed her doubts, he said nothing. Mostly because he agreed. The hope that Larke might join them was pretty wishful thinking, but sometimes a little optimism could go a long way, however unlikely it may have been.

As she pulled at the string for the attic and released the putrid smell from above, Drake reached to move his jacket across his mouth and nose to block the retched smell that burned at his nostrils and throat. “Oh god, the smell…” he trailed off, tucking his wings in to ascend the ladder.

He waited until he was standing evenly at the base of the attic before raising his eyes to take in the horror that was Larke’s broken state. “Holy shit, Larke-”

Drake broke eye contact for a minute, looking away to close his eyes and cover his mouth. He felt violently ill from what he saw, and the smell of vomit in the air wasn’t helping. The boy swallowed hard before looking back toward his friend, then broke off swiftly across the room to join his side, being sure to stay out of the way of Mina’s handiwork.

He lifted his hand, gently placing it on Larke’s shoulder with some hesitation. “I’m here Larke. It’s me, Drake." His eyes wavered as he took in Larke's visage. "I know, it’s been a while... But we’re gonna fix this, okay? I... I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner, I was-” Drake’s voice caught in his throat as his eyes looked over Larke’s condition up close now. Memories of their time in that Erubescan cell filtered back into his mind, causing his stomach to tighten and churn with empathy and severe remorse.

“Mina,” he choked, completely shook, “What are they doing to him?”

Ranch House, Location Unknown

Looking at Larke had become not unlike stepping over dead bodies: The more you did it, the less you gagged. After a few weeks of handling the husk of a man, Mina just felt dull and cold. There was guilt, too, though more guilt over her lack of emotion than her allowance of the act.

Never looking at his face helped.

Drake's reaction to the scene cracked her fragile apathy, and her hands trembled as she replaced the cap on a tube of anti-bacterial ointment. It was only easy to turn away when nobody was pointing. "They've been-" Her voice cracked, and she shoved the remaining supplies back into her pack. Dawn's summon came as a welcome relief, offering an escape from the squirming scrutiny of a third-party.

"I've gotta go- Dawn needs a hand patching some things downstairs." She grabbed her bag and hurried out past Drake, not so much as glancing back as she climbed down the ladder and shut the door to the roof. Her mind switched tracks as soon as the opportunity arose, and her thoughts turned to Kovalenko as she headed out the back door and down to the basement cellar. The young Doctor had expected Montana to have ended the intruder's life, by now: It did not take a surgeon to figure out why she had not been asked to treat a captive for over a week.

Either she was no longer hurt, or there was no use wasting supplies.

Which was why, once her eyes adjusted to the dim light below, she was shocked to find the prisoner still breathing, let alone conscious. Her forehead creased as her brows furrowed, and she glanced from Montana to Dawn, and settled on the plate of food in front of the prisoner.

The room reeked, and the sight of food turned her stomach more than the gore.

Mina hurried forward after her brief pause, passing the others in the room without a word. What went on down here was beyond her jurisdiction, and nothing in her oath demanded that she speak against injustice or intervene against the actions of others; only that she aid the ailing and do no harm.

She could at least uphold the former.

The food was placed on the ground, replaced by a pile of supplies that Mina pulled from her bag. It took but a second to note the lines across Oren's skin; telltale signs of advanced blood poisoning. It had to be sheer willpower keeping her from succumbing to the sepsis already. "Stay with me, now," she instructed, as if the weakened woman had a choice.

The doctor withdrew what looked like a flashlight from her bag first, and clicked it on to run a blue sterilizing light over the table. A cloth was laid over that and sterilized, and the same procedure was repeated with a number of smaller tools. She shone it briefly over the surface of both of her hands before pulling on a pair of gloves. "Someone get me a fresh pail of water. Are there any foreign objects still embedded?" A pair of surgical scissors ran up what was left of the patient's diseased clothing, and Mina tossed it aside.

She took Oren's arm in her hands and turned it over so that she could swab the crook of her arm with iodine, and then drew up two syringes of liquid, one clear and the other a foggy blue: A powerful antibiotic, and an opiod to combat the upcoming debridement. She pricked Oren's skin with one and then the other, managing to find the veins despite their near-collapse from dehydration.
"And bring a tall rack- coat rack or something. She needs a drip."

She paused for a few moments to change her gloves and re-cleanse her hands, waiting for the pain reliever to kick in before grasping a pair of forceps and a scalpel.

"Stop me if it's too much," Her forceps took hold of a bit of rotten flesh around one of Oren's torso wounds, and Mina began cutting.

---

Larke was quite sure his head was going to burst. The pulsating pain drummed against the walls of his skull, the rhythmic drive under the continuous ringing in his ears. He could tell from the sheet of sweat pouring off of his body that he had a fever, but the chills that swept over him spoke otherwise.

He was suffering from an infection, that much he knew. And his body was tired.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that his gift would not let him die from this; but in his fevered haze, it seemed preferable. The sound of people walking across the floor made his head swim. Mina was there, maybe. But he could not be sure that he had not dreamed that. He was delirious and cornered, and from what he knew from his psych rotation, those two conditions could fabricate a lot. These people who held him could have been planting thoughts, manipulating him into seeing things, even.

It made the most sense. It made it easier to bare.

Another familiar voice sounded, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. A friendly touch, it seemed.

Larke's eyes opened, bloodshot and glossy. The light in the attic hurt, and he squinted at the face in front of him. Shaggy dark hair, grey eyes... "...Kid?" His voice was horse.

Drake was here- he recognized the boy from his time in prison. He had helped him escape, when his friends came, and then... He said he was there to help. Larke's gaze wandered to the space past Drake's body, looking for someone else. Or perhaps a logical explanation written on the wall behind him. It only added up one way.

His grimace bordered on a disbelieving smile. "You're all... You're fucked up." He coughed, and his eyes clamped shut from the pain in his abdomen. "Who else've you got? My ex, my cellmate- You gonna pull my father next? How about my brother? I'm sure you could find a picture of him to copy, if you-" He hacked again, and spat to the side. "Get out of my head."

Montana's ascension of the stairs was not weighted down by what he left behind. Nor did he feel vindicated by Oren ultimately being spared by Dawn. Rather, he had reached a point of understanding questioning her further was useless. In reality, he cared not if she lived or died in that basement, and the burden he felt in regard to her well being was non existent, as was any anger that their position would be relayed back to Erubesco upon the prisoners likely release. Tactical did not always intersect with ethical, and the Wanderers would always relent to a more ethical approach when they could.

Without that small bit of compassion, they wouldn't be who they were, and Montana knew he'd likely have no desire to follow them.

Stepping out into the air, crisp against his ageless skin, he heard the voice of Eld question an arrival. Headhunter, a mercenary. Much like prostitutes, mercenaries maintained a certain neutrality that allowed them to walk in certain circles with he foreknowledge that if resource wasn't involved, there would be no action. The understanding that they could be bought created an air of safety among those who could afford.

However, the Wanderers were a strictly voluntary group. Which left an air of ambiguity to this far from chance meeting.

Montana was interested in his angle, and there was simply no better way to gauge that than letting him talk.

Like the mercs namesake, he appeared beside Eld.

Unlike Eld, he chose to stay silent, offering Specter little more than a nod that said, continue, by all means.

The continual drone of the radio snapped off, as the younger woman who had appeared departed once again. The echoes still seemed to be bouncing around in Oren's head for some time afterward. It had been the only thing really keeping her awake all this time, when her resolve to do so had long failed her.

The Alchemist's body had swiftly rejected the water, causing Oren to throw up onto the dirty concrete. She coughed, stomach acid burning her throat, and slumped sideways against the peeling wall. The pain, from her legs, arms, torso, was no less severe than it had been. Her head felt like it was full of hot tar. These things were still there, but by this point felt distant somehow.

Was this dying?

She'd long ago ceased to care about it.
Eventually things caught up with you.
Eventually you had to pay your dues.
The Nightwatch Project was cursed.
It got you sooner or later.
No kind of deal with the devil held it off forever.
Green was a bastard.
Why had she gotten into this?
Sterling, please don't have done anything stupid..

"Stay with me, now,"

Oren opened her eyes again, blinking a couple of times to focus. She was greeted by the presence of someone else in that room, and the presence of instuments on the table.

Someone else wanting to have a go?

No.

The mannerisms were different.

Doctor.

Oren's jaw clenched reflexively at the word the held in her mind. Doctor was not a good word.
But she had neither the energy or the time to get sufficiently worked up before the doctor stuck her with the needles.

--

Visually, a short while after being given the painkiller, the captured alchemist seemed to relax, her head lolling to one side, hair half plastered to her face with dirt and unhealthy sweat.

ALchemist Kovalenko had barely been out of the sterile fortress of Citadel Research in fifteen years. She had very little resistance to the pathogens of the Ash, and those bacteria had been making the most of an easy target, invading the half-healed injuries Spire had left behind and killing the tissue. Oren's own natural stubbornness only got her so far, and her body had been fighting a losing battle as the wounds turned septic.

As the scalpel started cutting into the skin the alchemist tensed, bound hands closing into fists, but she made no attempt to stop what was taking place. Out of necessity or sheer lack of will to do so was unclear.

---

"SO you got plenty of time to make boast and make threats and give a speech on why you don't have time to say sorry, but not enough time to not boats or make threats. Or use the word please. Or to say sorry. If you're gonna be a dick at least be honest about it." Rei responded, sitting against the tiles with the knees level with her chest and a look of general contempt on her face.

Quite honestly she spent enough of her time dealing with assholes that she could do nothing about to let those she could do something about go unchallenged. Maybe it was projecting to some degree. She didn't care too much either way. If she could manage to treat people civilly after all the shit Spire and Hel had put her through in the past then she didn't see what gave this guy a free pass.

As if that was not enough, there also seemed to be yet another unwanted guest. She had her concerns, though this one at least sounded something close to sincere. And others seemed to be handling it.

Rei leant back on the roof. Barely past sunrise and it was already chaotic.

Well, whilst she was up there she might a well check the attic.

Rei was in no way comfortable with what was taking place. She was also not comfortable at the prospect of a regenerator breaking out and murdering everyone in the house in their sleep. You couldn't trust regenerators. She should know. SHe was one after all.

The shapeshifter crept up the incline of the roof to peer through the dusty window of the attic. She'd expected to see the broken winged man up there. She'd not expected another pair of wings to be occupying the space.

Drake was back.

It was all happening today.

Rei remained still, listening in as little more than a blurry smudge of grey and green at a tiny window.

A long, high-pitched howl cut through the chill morning air somewhere to the north.

Cyrus Fox lay on his bed, brown eyes set squarely on the rust on his ceiling whilst the gears in his mind turned.

Coyotes weren't that uncommon in this part of the Ash. You could often hear their songs echoing across the rocks.

That was not a coyote.

The young man pulled himself up onto his feet and grabbed the pair of jeans from the floor of his 'house', the skeleton of an old bus that had decades ago come to make a final resting place of the small depression, sat between two high outcrops. He peered out from the windows into the orange sky and caught sight of a large shadow darting down the pathway, disappearing behind some bristly shrubs along the side of it.

Cyrus frowned. Looked like he had company.

A few moments later, Cyrus opened the bus door. The hinges were stiff from year of dereliction, and he had to lean a fair bit of weight into it to move the thing.

The rusted metal swung aside to reveal none other than his younger sister.

The sister he had last seen three years ago when she'd taken off on course for Liberty.
The sister he'd been pretty sure was either dead or assimilated.
The sister he'd long ago given up on.

She wasn't alone either. SHe stood sheepishly before the entrance, and in her arms she was carrying a child. Probably about four or five years of age.

Cyrus stood there for a long moment, unsure exactly how to react to this. In the end, it was Dinah, the not-dead sister, who broke the silence. She tossed her head to throw a few strands of hair from her face, and gave an awkward, lop-sided smile like a three year absence was about the same as spilling cranberry juice on his couch.

"Hey uh, this is kind of a long story and I swear it all checks out in the end but...I kinda need your help to break into Liberty. Also this is Jimmy. He's not my kid or anything. Honestly it all makes sense. It's just...kinda complicated."

Another long silence, before Cyrus finally sighed, rubbing his eyes.
"It's way too early for this shit. You better come in."
"Hey, language, there's a kid present."

"My bus, my rules."

---

Cadriel didn't really like people placing their hands on her without her say so.

Particularly since the day a certain Knight Commander had tried to stab her.

But that was a long story.

As such, as soon as the serf felt a hand on her shoulder she instinctively pulled away, her mild sense of alarm pushing back his psychic enquiry.

As such only a few things would flash up in Sairan's mind.

Cadriel, or someone very much like her, but devoid of scars and stitches, stood before a full length mirror, adjusting a Knight's uniform and badge for a scout regiment. Large, speckled wings were tucked in behind her shoulders.

--

An empty conscript room. Cadriel crouched down beside the bed, on which lay a clearly badly injured Commander Botrelle, covered in cuts and gashes. The serf was taping some gauze over when looked like letters carved into the woman's skin with a knife, whilst speaking.
"I don't know...guess I'm just a better person than you huh?"

Caddie meanwhile had moved away to stand with her back against the wall, waiting until she was needed. Very little that came up surprised her, even if they did shock the ginger knight and the new Commander. The only thing odd was most Commanders were a little bit more subtle about the horrible things they got up to...ones like..

Commander Green.
She didn't recall seeing him come in.
Perhaps she'd been there already.
It was a tiny bit unsettling.

The Commander sat at the table, dressed in a neat white labcoat and a set of opaque grey gloves. White hair, youthful face, and the eyes of some kind of carnivorous reptile. Caddie gave him a wide berth.

"Thank you Commander Botrelle, much appreciated. And Commander Lovette, welcome to The Citadel. I hope you find the visit inspiring." Green smiled a little, a smile that never seemed to quite reach his eyes.

"Now, in regards to Medical Research. Most of you will be aware that one of my best qualified alchemists has been signed off as 'Missing in Action' as of last week, having received the last communication from her two weeks previous. Most unfortunate. With this in mind I will be beginning interviews for a replacement in the coming weeks. It's relatively non-urgent currently as the present staff are more than capable of keeping up with the routine tasks, however with Citadel plans to recommence the Red Queen project in the near future I feel it would be prudent to be well-prepared. If there are any recommendations for the position they would be much appreciated.

On that note the potential resumption of Red Queen will mean that I'd be requesting that a few of the routine testing tasks be passed on to a couple of alchemists in other departments for a few weeks, given the current staffing shortage here. Drug trial and the like, nothing considerable. If there are any objections in that regard please do let me know before I submit any requests to the Viceroy. "

KOra, for her own part in the meeting, had been sitting drinking coffee and doodling pictures of bears with swords on her notebook.
Right up until the point one of the Alchemists started casually talking about killing test subjects. The pen scratched on the paper as the Knight's head shot up. When Green had finished, she lifted one hand.

"Uh, question...what the fuck? There's an Alchemist that's casually offing serfs and nobody is bothered? What kind if sick fucks are you hiring here?" her gaze moved to Botrelle in particular. She was her friend after all, and she'd like to imagine that Lulu was not completely at ease with killing prisoners and serfs by the score in the name of scientific research.