Capital Base, Liberty

Beretta took the glass that was offered, trying her best to look... however she thought an Agent ought to look. Canvas said she should try and have fun, and it would be a lie to claim that the near-glistening, pale-pink liqueur in her glass did not look fun. She wafted it under her nose and swirled it in it flute, as she had done with her glass of juice in etiquette training. It smelled sweetish- flowery and soft with an underlying smell she could not place. A bit like bread? Perhaps, but not quite.

It made her nose crinkle, but she sniffed it again.

Mayday did not look happy about having to drink, which said that she should not be happy either. But Riza and Canvas were not concerned, and that encouraged her. She took Mayday's free hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. She did not know if it put him at ease, but it certainly made her feel better to have something to hold onto as she raised her glass. "Cheers, yes." she replied to Riza, settling on a smile for the occasion.

She drew the flute to her lips and swallowed a sip. It was dry, but cool, and crisp- A strange but not unpleasant flavor. She took another, noting the warmth of it as it settled in her gut. It was not as horrible as she had been expecting; odd, but not awful.

Mayday's glass was empty. Riza's was not.

"Is there a reason for to drinking these first...?" A softness was settling into her joints, making them feel looser, like after a good drill and cool down. "Because there are the... The shots? For drinking all at once. And then the wine and the... the beers..?" she trailed off, glancing down at her shoes before looking back to Canvas. "Which what are you liking the most?"

Mike Morel

Capital Base, Liberty.

Just another casual day at the base.

He was a fairly recent trainee. While he had the basic training done there was still much more for him to learn, and nothing learned would teach more than experience in the field. This would have to do though.

Mike walked with a skip to his step, something which made him stand out from all the grey folks who simply stood or walked where they went, not a hint of flair and little passion. Perhaps that might be an exaggeration but excess in happiness was not a common trait, not visibly at the least. He was having a good day and it was looking to get better.
After all, today was the day he was going to start Remote Piloted Combat Vehicle training.

_
Once inside he strolled until he reached the staff only region of the building, a part which was pretty much most of the building since it was the Capital Base. Coming up to the secure entrance he scanned his card, stepped through the electronics scanner to ensure that there were no unregistered electronics present on him, presented his eye to the retina scanner, spoke his unit code aloud for the voice recognition software before the inner door opened, allowing him passage.

Walking through the clinical halls he bid friendly greetings to all his fellows, only some of which were reciprocated. Taking out his base approved breath freshener he sprayed into his mouth, a fresh minty sting refreshing the coat inside his mouth which helped conceal the foul odor of his breath.

He always arrived early when he could. It gave him an extra fifteen minutes to hang out and check the hussle and bustle. Today he figured he'd come check out the detention block, see what was up and such. After passing by and saying hey to a number of guards he passed on by a number of cells. He was just strolling, hands in his pockets as he milled by. He occasionally eyed his watch to make sure he wasn't running overtime.

As he saw even Commander Botrelle surprised at his statement, Aran could not help but smile on the inside, he had chance to get out of this yet if he played his cards right. He had to be very careful however, one wrong word could get his project killed... or worse it could get him killed, so he took a deep breath and rose from his chair as the two knights moved in to seize and escort him towards her office to probably interrogate him on what he said.

As he was being escorted, Aran thought of what he could say that would allow him to get him the best results, something that would not get him fired, or worse, killed and something that would also allow him to continue his project unhindered. As for the knights, he could hear one of them talk, the Elcove one, but he did not really pay attention to either of the two, he had studied them and so far, he did not really see anything in them, though the Norrevinter girl did have quite the will, maybe she would be useful in his experiments later down the line, though he doubted the government would just hand them their star to possibly die.

He simply took a breath to calm himself down and looked ahead as they walked, whatever he would do, it would better be good or he could lose his job and his head.

---

Darrien was not shocked at all to hear what the Alchemist had said, he always figured that Erubesco did things like these behind the scenes, after all, if all they did was to act honorably and the like, they would lag behind in technology and they would die, after all, he had read that human experimentation was the best way to find out a human's weaknesses and help develop something that would help cover for said weakness and while everyone there acted in their own way, all of them were outraged, he looked to see that even his own sister was glaring at the Alchemist like she was ready to kill him on the spot.

He mentally sighed, he supposed he had to act accordingly to his reputation, or people would start to question things about hi, and that was never good. He rose from his seat and glared towards the Alchemist, he supposed that would be enough, however, he imagined that he had say something as well, condemning the man's statement, or something of the sort.

"If what you say is true, Alchemist, then I will personally have your head for ending the lives of our own people!" he nearly shouted, looking quite outraged, he imagined people would not suspect him for this, however before he or anyone else could add anything else, Commander Botrelle ordered him and Kora to escort said Alchemist, named Aran Sairan to her office. He kept his angered glare on the Alchemist for a few more seconds before nodding towards the commander at the issuing of the order.

And so, he moved next to Aran, who rose from his seat willingly, though it must have looked rather odd, as the alchemist was quite a bit taller he or Kora. He moved by himself and there was no need to drag him along, the man even walked a few steps ahead of them, caught in his own little world, probably worried about his punishment, or trying to find a way to get himself out of his situation with his head still attached, any conversation with the man would probably be useless, so instead, he turned his head towards Kora to speak with her instead.

"Hello, Kora, glad to finally meet you again, partner, though I wish it were under better circumstances." he wore a sad smile on his expression, of all the people he had to share company with, Kora was one of the most enjoyable ones he ever had and he genuinely enjoyed the two's time as partners before his own sister was assigned as his partner. "How has the limelight been treating you lately, hmm?"

Sweet, acidic, with a strength that scrubbed the Ashland aroma out of ones lungs, the smell of citrus came first. For some, the smell of citrus increased levels of the chemical serotonin in the brain, artificially improving ones mood. These initial feelings would soon be replaced with the reality of who emanated this smell. Following the citrus was a wave of sickly energy that resonated at a very unpleasant frequency, humming with an initial power that caused vibrations to erupt across the surface of ones skin, not unlike being forced to hold a jackhammer without proper safety equipment. Those who's life depended on their power would feel the threat of destruction tear at their atoms, their waning vitality screaming retreat to their survival instincts, insisting that they had to outrun this abhorrent energy.

Perhaps if they were close to the perimeter, or on a high enough vantage point said gifted would be able to make a dash for their life, but the window of opportunity was closing fast. Nothing short of immediate action would save their lives.

A moment later, the power blossomed, crashing over the Wanderers, their temporary home, the sky above and the ground beneath a half mile in each direction. They would feel their powers come to a sudden halt, like the man had reached into theirs souls and flicked whatever light that differentiated them off. Human in face, they'd also become human in body.

A few moments later, the rumble of nearby machinery became unmistakable. Powerful wheels, large and ribbed, suited for off-road travel collided with old trees at their perimeter. The wood cracked and the sound of it being crushed beneath the vehicle like matchsticks was the perfect metaphor for the man standing stop it, golden rim shades reflecting the sun that shone upon him. Trees continued to be felled under the armoured truck, until he broke into the clearing. A nearby bench was the trucks final victim, ending it's ninety year vigil with an unceremonious crunch.

The figure spread his arms wide and took a deep breath. His chest was visible, as was the diamond encrusted pendant that hung between his pectoral muscles. He wore a fur coat, left open with no undershirt beneath, his pants were tailored to perfection, of the same print as his fur coat. He was barefoot, with heavy bracelets hanging low on his ankles.

He brought his left hand to his mouth, in it, was a loud speaker.

"HELLO WANDERERS, AND ASSORTED ASH-FILTH." He paused to run a hand through his hair, it was light brown, with a slight widows peak. He had forced every syllable out of filth, just so they knew how far beneath him they were.

"WELCOME, TO MY FARM."

He clicked his teeth together, and smacked his lips.

"IT WAS AN IMPULSE BUY, AS IN I HAD THE IMPULSE, AND IT'S NOW MINE." He laughed, a mirthless, hollow laugh.

"Let me introduce myself. I'm John Bellataire, creator, owner, and full stakeholder of Bellataire Enterprises, a subsidiary of Bellataire INC, of which I am also, full stakeholder, sole owner and creator."

"To the public, I'm Sweet Johnny. To whoever I'm fucking, Master, and let me tell you Wanderers."

John grinned a shit eating grin.

"I've come here with an offer so good, so absolute and so generous, that if any of you say refuse, well. You'd be fucking yourselves right before I got to fucking each and everyone one of you."

"Metaphorically of course, and you lot look like a group that appreciates a good metaphor."

"So now that we've gotten who's gonna be fucking who in this situation out of the way, let me start again. I'm Sweet Johnny and I have one hell of an offer for each and every one of you.

Ashlands, small decrepit double garage.

*Ryan sat 300 yards away on a hill facing the north side of the building, which had the two garage doors. Small slashes in the metal revealed nothing, to Bright... He decided he needed to get closer. Ryan started on his approach, rifle at the ready. As he got closer details revealed themselves clearly. Structural weakness, dents in the garage doors, a dusty looking black truck with dried blood smeared down the sides. The front end has a grill with an attached plow, good for moving cars and obstructions. The dull spots on it's edge lend Credence to it's claim of use. Off road tires with hub caps spikes threaten anyone who would drive close to the side. Metal plates fill the windows, each with a slit for sight. Ryan was on the truck now, it was parked just outside one of the doors.*

"Curious" Ryan thought to himself as he glanced around the area.
"Why wouldn't they park it inside" he contemplated as he made his way around the building.

*Ryan circled the building half way before finding a door on the back side of the building. Ryan knocked on the door and stood back to the right side, waiting for an answer.*

"C'mon you son of a bitch's, I know your in there." Ryan muttered down the barrel of his M870.

*Creek* *blam, pump, blam, pump, blam, pump.*
*Ryan let 3 shots off threw the door as it opened.*

"Anyone else in there?" Ryan yelled as he stood against the wall.

*A small man burst through the door and immediately suppressed Ryan's vision. He rolled around and backed away.*

"You fucked up you son of a bitch, now your gonna die blind and deaf!" The man said before suppressing Ryan's hearing.

*Ryan, now blind and deaf, Started to worry intensely. He shifted his shotgun into his Vulcan and stared letting loose a hail of bullets. He backed up the wall for safety and sprayed outward.*

"Where are youuuu!" Ryan screamed out into the darkness that was now his senses.

*Ryan stopped firing and tried to settle his heart rate. He felt like he was about to die. Then BLAM! The small man shot Ryan in his faceplate. Ryan slid down the wall, bent bullet lodged into the faceplate of his helmet. The man approached and pointed his gun at Ryan's head once more. BLAM, Ryan quick drawed in front of him and caught the man just below the belly button. All at once his vision and hearing were restored, and he let 3 more cartridges into the little man.*

"Oh... my... god... I swear... I gotta find a better hobby".

*Ryan searched the building and car, finding the fuel taken from Ryona as well as the radio. In addition, he also found 3 full 10 gallon jerry cans full of diesel gasoline. Replacement parts for various things on a Dodge Ram 3500 turbo diesel, which is the make of the truck outside. Rations for 2 weeks and a set of tools. A 12 gauge shotgun and a half empty box of 12 shells. The little man's 9mm and a box of 36 cartridges, 24 left.*

*Ryan exited the building after stashing what he could under different Garbages. He got in the truck and popped the hood, setting to work on an inspection. He inspected all he could and decided it was in good driving condition. He parked the truck in the garage and removed the key.*

"Where are you Ryona..".

Ranch House, Ashlands

"Use that brain of yours," Drake said.

And God, was Larke trying.

It made sense for the younger man to be with the Wanderers; he had been in prison for terrorist affiliation. But where had he been? And.. The mentalist. But Larke had no reason to believe she was alone. Drake had no reason to tell the truth about that; perhaps no motive to lie, either. She had refused to invade Larke's mind without his consent, but Helena was sick and Oren was dying....

And Drake had been treated horribly in captivity. But children were not treated the same as prisoners. Helena's father was in a position of power, and her mother had been... And they had killed Oren. Oren was dead in some hole.

He blinked hard, mouth hanging slack as he watched Drake look back at something beyond his own field of vision: A camera? A sniper? A clock? There was nobody in his head- It was too disorganized, too swimming to have been construct... Or was that the construct? . In a few more days, maybe, this would make sense: When his head was less full and his healing factor less exhausted and his eyes less swollen. 'This,' he thought with fleeting clarity, 'must be what it feels like to be broken.'

Which had to mean that they were ready to use him. To recruit? To brainwash? They grew their numbers somehow- And he was never leaving this attic alive, if things went on as they had been. He had to get down, and there were only so many ways.

Larke swallowed, and his throat stuck together with dusty attic air. He hacked once more, and looked up to lock eyes with Drake.

"Okay, kid," he rasped. The scrutiny faded, and his gaze did not falter. "I'm listening to-"

There was a smell of citrus, and then a fresh spike to the pain in his head. Someone was yelling. His hearing came in and out and he caught a few sparse words in between a screaming buzzing. The floor fell out from beneath him. His skin prickled with goosebumps as a chill enveloped his body. He lurched to the right as his balance took a dive in the opposite direction, his wrists catching against the ropes binding him to the roof beam.

His fever spiked. Anyone but a healer would have died days ago.

Capital Base, Liberty

In cell number 332 in Block A, in the Reeducation Facility housed deep in the bellow-ground belly of the Homeland Protection building, Elliot Barnett was vomiting. His gangly adolescent form was kneeling on the floor facing the back wall, bent over the hole that served as the drain for both excrement and shower water. He was sweaty, and shaky, and all-around having what had to rank as one of the top three absolute shittiest days of his short life.

Yesterday, when he had woken up alone and in a cell, was probably also up there. Getting black-bagged by some mercs was the real winner, though, likely because his last memory of the whole ordeal was someone holding a gun against his mother's temple. Wherever the hell she was, now.

He rested his forehead against the back wall, wishing that the room would stop spinning. Someone had told him that it was to be expected when first starting the gift-null serum, and that it would get better with time. Or that he would become more used to it.

Elliot did not want to become used to any of this. He retched again, loud hacking yelps echoing down the hall as he tried his damnedest to hold down the water he had sipped just a few minutes before, and failed every lurch of the way. Just yesterday, he had managed to stop impulsively calling "Mom!" when he felt like he was about to choke.

Now he just yelled, "FUCK!"

Because being sixteen and in prison and unable to stop puking into a literal shithole on the floor, that about summed it up.

Drake’s eyes wavered faintly as he felt a change in Larke’s aura. He went to stand, seeing how kneeling the way he did was starting to become uncomfortable. Was it possible he was making progress? It was hard to say, but Larke’s coughing was less than reassuring and the boy found himself instinctively reaching out as if to assist him. His hand suspended momentarily in the air, but did not make contact, however, instead pulling back after a brief hesitation.

As Larke spoke, the boy’s eyes softened and lit up with a glimmer of hope. Unfortunately, their potentially uplifting scene was about to be cut short.

Whatever Drake was going to say or do in that moment was thrown aside as the predatory sensation fell over the Wanderer ranch. For most of his peers, it was a dreadful tingling, like something foreign or wrong was amiss. But Drake was an energy sensor, and as such, the oncoming energy hit him like a speeding train. Whatever energy was behind their abysmal forewarning, it crashed into him like a relentless tidal wave, the weight of it crushing. Silver eyes shot open wide and his spine snapped back as if someone had yanked him by the hair. Their demise was fast approaching. Fear took hold of him in an instant, its cold bony fingers wrapping around his chest and lungs. He found it hard to breathe, and a series of shuddered gasps were all that escaped the boy’s lips right before it hit.

For the first time since banding together with the Wanderers, Drake felt the urge to run. To leave his family behind and never look back, lest he find himself returning to this god forsaken nightmare that was about to befall them. He was completely and utterly terrified, trembling with indecision on whether or not to book it now while he still had the chance. Survival instincts screamed in his ear, but they would do nothing to save him. The threat was approaching far too rapidly, and as the winged boy stepped back, he realized he could never escape in time. It was already much too late.

This… This was inevitable.


/No./


And just like that, the energy plummeted over the ashlanders, striking each and every one of them in the blink of an eye. His power was gone, having ceased with the snap of a finger. And be as it may, the results were detrimental.

Drake stumbled hard and reached for the nearest support beam in his dizzying haze. His eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched, head spinning like that of a drunkard.

Normally his powers kept his energy contained and recycled it, allowing him to walk and fly without tiring. That was how he managed to conjure up enough energy to attack without passing out. It was also why he had to recharge after a big battle, to gain that energy back - but now his body was forced to remember how to store it on its own in order to compensate for this unprecedented lack of power. Pain coursed through him as certain organs and vitals started up with some difficulty, only to immediately be thrown into high gear in order to contain the energy that was seeping out of him at an alarming rate.

Drake leaned heavily against the wooden frame, curling over a bit. His body didn’t really store fat from food - it had never needed to, which was why he was so thin. Less weight made for faster flight, which worked well before, but now it wasn't in his favor. His body lacked the basic means to provide itself with a constant energy supply, something a normal human system did naturally in order to function. And as a result, the boy felt dazed, fatigued, and sick.

Drake was malnutritioned, at best.
Dangerously ill at worst.

/Dawn? ...Please tell me you can hear me.../

But there was no response.
At least, not from Dawn.

A voice did sound outside though, heard clear as day through the thin walls of the attic. The source of the catastrophic dilemma, or so he'd gathered as his eyes trailed toward the noise, seemed to belong to someone proud enough to make himself known. Entitled for sure, even going as far as to claim ownership of their ranch haven.

/Fucking hell.../

He needed to see this monster with his own eyes.

Larke desperately needed help too, but Drake lacked the skills necessary for it and was in no position to help right now anyway. Instead, the dark-haired boy moved toward the opening of the attic with an unsteady and faltering stride, carefully descending its wooden steps. He stumbled hard near the bottom and had to drop a foot or so to compensate for his fumble. His hastily extended wings offered the only counterbalance to stop his momentum from causing him to faceplant. But while the boy did remain on his feet, he still wound up crashing hard against the wall of the hallway with a deep grimace of pain. Drake’s body continued to burn energy in order to keep him standing upright, which in turn made his muscles ache with exhaustion. Not to mention his wings... They were so damn heavy that he could no longer keep them up and, as a result, they sagged behind him in a sad and disheveled heap.

“...Mina? ...Toby!? S… Someone-” he sputtered, his chest laboring with every breath. No one was nearby to hear him, however, let alone help him to remain standing, but it would still take him a moment to realize this without his sensing ability present.

Drake decided to push forward despite his wavering physical state, his limbs protesting with every forward motion.

Following the direction of the voice outside, he eventually found himself at the front door. If anyone was standing there in that moment, Drake had paid them no mind, simply squeezing by in order to clamber out onto the front porch. The world outside spun like a whirlpool, making it impossible to stay upright and forcing him to stumble over to the closest wooden pillar for support. Pale fingers gripped hard against the wooden beam, the only thing keeping him from falling at this point as he gathered himself. From there, his gaze raised to meet that of the man's, the one who’d wrought this hell upon them.

“What is this?” he demanded, voice shaking with every syllable.

Surprisingly, Drake’s tone did not sound confrontational in the slightest, but rather mirrored the emotional turmoil of someone who had just lost a loved one.

A somber cry of desperation.
He had been robbed of a vital part of his being, after all, and amidst the god awful physical side effects he was experiencing, the boy found himself suffering from high levels of emotional devastation. Deep down inside, he was certain he wasn't the only one. Now having seen the man responsible for this horrible plague of events, he lowered his head and closed his tired eyes.

His energy waned.


“What have you done?”

Ashlands, decrepit double garage.

Ryona lifted herself about 10Ft into the air and looked around. Blinking against the bright sun she spotted a fairly small double garage that sat about a quarter mile away. She approached the building afloat, and landed softly on the roof. It was hot from the day time sun and her boots seemed to want to stick to the tin. She peered over the edges and saw the body of a slender Man, which made her muscles tense and her jaw tighten.

Please don't let thier be anyone inside...

Ryona mumbled her wish slightly out loud, and covered her mouth with her hands. She took a deep breath through her nose, let go of her mouth and released the breath. Ryona now calm and collected let her telekinesis cradle her and being her back down to the ground softly.

*Ryona peered around the doorframe slowly and her heart lept out of her chest.*

Ryan! Oh my Ry-Ry!

Ryona couldn't help but gush and attack him with a big hug. She was back with her brother, she was safe and sound again finally. *Ryona started to cry*

I never thought I'd see you again Ry... Ry.. I.. I was lost and.. and hungry and thirsty.

*Ryona buried her head in Ryan's chest and tried to settle her tears*

Ryan just stood there and held Ryona, Sickened. He pet her head with a hand and just held her as she cried into his shirt. He didn't realise just how hopeless his attempts to find her would have been, she would've died and he would've been alone. Ryan settled his sister and quickly fed her and gave her water, which seemed to instantly perk Ryona up. When Ryan finally spoke he did so threw a Shakey filter.

I love you Ryona!

Ryan hugged her tightly and let some tears of his own loose. He pulled her away and smiled, giving a gesture to the truck.

look what I found!

Mayday downed it like it was a gag-worthy cherry cough syrup instead of an opulently expensive luxury, but Canvas would pick his battles.

Not a wince from Riza, though. The man, Canvas noted, had clearly used Enrichment Credits on buying out the small amount of mediocre state wine Liberty produced. That, or he had tried something stronger on the black market. Canvas wasn't judging.

Canvas quirked a smile at Beretta's remarks. "All options, Agent Beretta. But what you've all just had is a liqueur. There are other kinds - Schnapps, Curacao, amaretto, bitters, and puckers - but what you've just had is a liqueur trademarked as simply Félicité. If you feel a bit giddy right off the bat, it's supposed to do that. And you had it first because learning is much easier when you're so excited for the rest of the lesson." He half-sat against the desk at the front and added off-handedly, "And because it's very good, and you might be too drunk to enjoy it if we save it for after the shots."

He saw, on occasion, something dangerous: too strong a flame of curiosity in Beretta when it came to Erubescan finery, and Heather was in the room, so Canvas sobered up his expression (no pun intended) and responded to her final question with, "A proper Libertian probably ought not to categorize such frivolities into favorites, and instead understand that one shouldn't get too attached to a particular form of waste." After an appropriate pause, he smiled again. "But Erubescan Knight Canvas Shearwater is a sucker for a classic champagne at a fancy party, amaretto after dinner, and a Manhattan at the bar with his friends."

Canvas hopped up and beckoned the group over to the long desk on which he had been sitting. Several standard issue black Liberty handguns lay neatly disassembled in basic sections - one for each Agent. "How are you all feeling so far?" asked Canvas, picking up a tablet with a spreadsheet and multiple digital timers displayed. "I have your average assembly times listed here. Let's see how you compare now. Begin when you're ready."

Oren had offered little in the way or resistance or disagreement to Mina's necessary, if rather brutal attempts to treat her. ANy other time such a thing would have caused her enormous concern, but by the point, everything that was awful and traumatic was sort of running together. At least she couldn't feel much of it. That put it a fair way above most of the times someone had stuck something sharp into her back in the last few weeks. Besides, by then it was kind of hard to feel that strongly about anything. She remained with her head low and her eyes shut.

The sound of Spire's voice had over the last few weeks provoked an almost pavlovian response. Her head shot up as the smug, sneering tone of the man who'd been itching to slit her throat for weeks. She glared at him, as if she stood even the remotest chance of being threatening as she was.

All of Erubesco's scientific ability and she was powerless against that bastard.

If he went after her again. She would more than likely die.

The only thing she could really have over him now was that she wasn't scared to die anymore.
She wasn't going to give that psychopath the satisfaction of her fear or distress.

When it came down to it, that might have been the only thing in a very long time that she truly had a choice in.

The combination of fever, painkillers, dehydration and days of sleep deprivation had already had sufficient effect on Oren's ability to think clearly, that any power nullification in effect passed by her entirely unnoticed. Had it been noticed it would probably have been met with as much indifference as anything else that day.

Meanwhile, outside, the effects were far more clearly being felt.

'Feeling strange' was kind of a hard thing to work out for Rei. If anything, she was always feeling strange. Her whole existence was a sin against nature by definition, and no way of how she functioned was in any was congruent with how any other living thing seemed to work, an ever-shifting, transient state that was constantly re-routing itself as a means to adjust to small changes in a situation, even when her exterior gave little indication of it. In that way, it was very hard to define 'normal'. It was also very hard to define when that was threatened.

So indeed the first thing that gave Rei a reason to be at all concerned was when she abruptly doubled over and vomitted green blood and pieces of rat all over the roof tiles.

That hadn't happened before. Rei frowned.


"...weird...I feel kind of-"

The mutant dropped off the roof like a stone and hit the ground in a manner that made on attempt to stop the impact. There was a distinct crunch on landing, but no reaction whatsoever from Rei herself. Her abilities were the only thing keeping the disparate collection of human and animal cells running as a functioning organism. Without Rei's powers, there wasn't a Rei.

Moments after the Erubescan experiment had smashed into the ground by the kitchen window, the small form of Hel came hurrying out of the back door, pausing for a moment to stop by her usual silver-haired punching bag and viewing the scene with distaste.

Nobody ruined her toy.

Except maybe her.

Not keen to wait for anyone older or more cautious to prevent it, Hel rushed forwards, over towards the source of the voice, her berry-coloured eyes narrowed in as much contempt as a six-year-old child could reasonably express. She didn't stop until she'd reached the foot of the armoured truck and was looking up at the man who had so unceremoniously crashed into her garden and started ruining her things with whatever it was that he was doing.

And she made her demands.
"Stop it."

Riza put his glass down, and stepped forward. There was no reason for him to hesitate. Alcohol had a way of playing with the mind, of dulling it, but Riza did not feel dulled. Disassembling and assembling his pistol was no problem at all. It was something that he had done many times for years, and was something that was natural to him. It was something that did not require much thought from Riza. He disassembled his pistol, then quickly assembled it again as fast as his hands could move.

After Sweet Johnny finished talking, he just stood there for at least five minutes, arms open, head thrown back and sunglasses skyward. Letting the ashlanders bask in the godliness that was above them, take in each and every inch of his glistening majesty. He gave a deep, contented sigh, and rested the loudspeaker over his shoulder like one would a rifle. Word were his weapon today. Well, words and a team of his special forces hiding right at the edge inside Johnny space, but words first. He'd hit them with the art of the pitch first. Lord Of the Deal was John Bellataire.

His head lolled to his immediate left, just in time to watch Rei plummet to the earth, and land like a bag of lead. This proved too much for John, who slapped his hands on his legs, jutted his head forward, and began to laugh.

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA" His eyebrows danced with each breath expelled at Rei's expense. "King in a noose, that was golden. Why did the Rei fall off of the roof? Because she DIED." He laughed harder, now noticing Drake struggling out of the door.

"This? This is now all mine, encompassed by the Johnny Space™. Always have to negotiate from a position of power Drake, that's how the best deals are cut. Now shoosh, take a seat and listen."

His smile turned to the little girl beneath his feet, the one who demanded that he 'stop it.'

Or something, he wasn't paying attention to what Hel had said. He did register that she was there though, somewhat. Like he knew she was important to someone in Erubseco research, but she was also under four feet and that made it hard for him to really invest himself in what she had said.

Johnny jumped down from his armoured truck, and unceremoniously dumped his jacket on-top of Hel. Beneath as it turned out, was an unbuttoned waistcoat, which he pulled close and buttoned. From inside of his coat, still on Hel, he pulled out a pair of gold hued gloves.

"Now find somewhere safe for my coat before I cart you back to Erubesco little stain. Maybe you'll get some candy or something."

Toby did not associate that the scent might be precursor to a Gift. He always knew if something was Gift related. But not this time.

It happened all at once.

It felt like...nothing. It felt quiet in his head. He couldn't remember a time it felt this quiet. Even before his empathy manifested, he had always sensed something: the flickers of old Gifts lingering like pollution on the ash, Spire nearby, or some distant ashlander. But it felt silent now. He could look at all of the others and see them without any sixth senses getting in the way. It was simple. This was how everyone else experienced his friends.

It was a relief. Yet...
It didn't seem like enough.

The mutilator by the well would have to wait. "Don't do anything stupid," said Toby, running to meet the rumbling in the ground that signified the arrival of the tank.

He rounded the corner just in time to see Rei crumpling, a lifeless sack of meat.

"Rei!"

He paled. If his Gift was gone, and so was everyone else's... He saw Drake stumbling outside. At least he had woken up before the nullification, or he might be dead for good. But what did this mean for Montana, Reith - even Larke...? Soren and Clockwork's connection?

They might all be dead. And he couldn't tell. It felt too quiet.

He started toward, Rei, but then he heard a small voice. "Stop it."

Toby wasn't especially fond of Hel, since he felt certain only Spire stood between her tormenting Toby as her demented puppet, but seeing Hel stand up in front of Sweet Johnny and his war machine endeared her to him a bit, and also petrified him - somehow she was sorta almost family. He made toward her, but not before this Johnny buried her in fabric.

As he freed Hel from the coat, tossing it very deliberately into the dirt, he placed hand on her shoulder to try to keep her from attacking Sweet Johnny tooth and nail (as he could very well picture her doing), his other hand raised his handgun to point at the slaver's temple.

A liberated, giddy sort of feeling suddenly erupted inside Toby. He could shoot this man and not feel it. Physically, anyway. And suspension of his empathy Gift was enough to suspend his natural empathy, too. He had not felt so coldly willing to kill for a long time.

"An offer we c--can't refuse, huh? Let's hear it. If you say something cliche like, 'hand it over quietly and you g--get to live,' I'm shooting you right now," said Toby.

Shit went down really fast after Specter's warning to Montana, he realized that his powers had stopped working due to the fact that he could not really turn ethereal anymore and while it wasn't a great hindrance to him, he counted on his powers to save him from any bullet that was meant for him, this would make things much more difficult for everyone, especially since Johnny had just ridden in a tank in here and from the look of things they did not have anything to take it out with.

For a few moments, he just watched to see what would happen and amazingly Johnny either did not see him or chose to ignore him for now, but either way, it allowed him to study the situation for a bit and needless to say, things were not going to well. One of the Wanderers, Drake, had come up to the door looking like he had a foot in the grave, however, despite that, he still had the energy to make demands from Johnny. On the other hand, Rei's lifeless body collapsed like a sack of bricks off the roof, he guessed that whatever made her tick had to do with her gift.

And then, a little girl sauntered up to the front door and demanded that Johnny stop this. He could not help but admire the fact that a little girl was standing up to a man in a tank and presumably, a hidden group of spec ops, he would have actually laughed a bit if the situation was not so dire. After having surveyed the situation enough, Specter placed his mask back on and rose to his feet, looking at Sweet Johnny.

"Well, do you have a separate offer for me, Johnny, or was that a bulk offer?" Specter asked, despite knowing the situation he was currently in, Johnny probably thought he was part of the Wanderers and the Wanderers probably thought that he was with Johnny when at the moment, he was with neither. "Because if it was the latter, then..." and then, he casually pointed his gun towards the man and backed away towards the Ranch, though he imagined that at least a dozen guns were aiming at him the moment he raised his gun in the first place.

Mina worked with the deft hands that came with years of practice, setting up an IV and slipping it neatly into the prisoner’s vein. Most of the damaged, deadened skin had been cut away, leaving gaping wounds in their place. It was a grisly sight, and the woman still had a long ways to go to recover, but it was an improvement at least. Dawn gave a grim nod. “Call me if you need anything else,” was all she said before turning to leave the doctor to her work.

Or, rather, she would have left, if not for the fact that she had caught the presence of their resident serial killer descending the stairs.

Dawn wasn’t one to swear. It was somewhat strange that she held onto the custom in a life where it wasn’t wholly uncommon to spend weeks wondering where your next meal would be coming from, but for whatever reason, and torture ran rampant beneath your feet, but it was a habit she clung onto regardless. Still, she found herself wanting to make an exception as she watched Spire strut into the basement like he had just won a small fortune. In several decisive steps, Dawn stepped between the man and the prisoner, regarding him with arms crossed.

“We aren’t making a ‘clean slate’ for anyone, actually,” Dawn said. “She’s being put off-limits.” Before she could say more, however, a sudden pang of…something hit her. Something distinctly unpleasant, like insects being set loose to run beneath her skin, within her skull.

And then it went silent.

And then Dawn’s eyes shot wide, hand flying up to rest against her head.

Like a candle that had been snuffed out- or, more accurately, as if a limb had been neatly plucked from her body- the effect was instantaneous, then quickly horrendous. The gentle, reassuring hum of thoughts around her was suddenly silenced, leaving a void behind. It was as if she had gone deaf. She looked up at the others, the same helpless look as a deer stuck in the headlights on her face.

“I- I can’t-” She began, then swallowed, shutting her eyes for a moment. Calm. She needed to stay calm. Especially if there was trouble. When she opened her eyes again, she had managed to recompose herself, although she was visibly pale. “Something’s wrong. I can’t- my powers are gone. I can’t sense anything.” Dawn glanced between her company, then pursed her lips. The world rumbled over their heads. “I’m going to go check on the others. Find out what’s happening.” With that, she darted upstairs, trying to ignore how loud her steps seemed.

It was as she stepped into the light of day that she realized that leaving things as they were in the basement, Spire hanging about the prisoner like a vulture, she was playing a hefty risk with the woman’s life. Mina was still with her, yes, but Spire could be patient when needed. And now, with his thoughts closed off...Dawn hesitated, half-tempted to go back down, but was pulled out of it at the roaring from outside the ranch house.

At Drake’s weak, pained cry.

At the sudden thump, and distinctly organic crunch that followed.

Gripping the pistol within her coat pocket, Dawn rushed outside, and was met with the sight of the man responsible- if his cheerful rambling was any indication The truck sitting behind him was alarming, as was Toby and Hel’s proximity to both, but that wasn’t what made her stomach drop. It was the sight of Rei lying motionless in front of the house in a broken heap. She wasn’t waking up. If Drake’s shaky grip on the porch’s beam signified anything, it was that everyone’s powers were indeed gone, and some were taking it far more worse than others.

“Oh, god.” The words were soft, given no time to settle before Dawn rushed forward, moving to support Drake. She couldn’t do much for Rei, at least not now- she didn’t seem to be breathing, and Dawn wouldn’t be able to bring her inside, herself- but, with her free hand, she took a hold of her gun, briefly checking to ascertain that it was loaded and ready to go. With her Gift gone, it was her primary means of defense.

“Let’s get you inside,” she said abruptly, quickly. In the state Drake was in, it was likely far better for him to sit, to try and not expend too much of his energy. Dawn chose not to speak to the slaver himself, instead keeping her ears open for the man’s next words. He had come for a definite purpose- something that didn’t bode well, given the fact that he seemed to have done his research on them all.

It was far too quiet.

---

A sweet, ripe smell began to permeate the air surrounding the eldritch abomination, and he turned his head from the interloper before them to look for something that could possible spread such a strong smell of... citrus?

He wasn't given long to consider the scent when the power following it hit Eld Fen like a wave of concentrated agony. He fell to the ground shaking, spasming, and writhing in a way that made the poor being seem even less human than he was. He began to scream, a soundless roar that slowly began to take shape in the world as a hole ripped itself through the being's face. He continued to scream, a horrible, ragged sound that would terrify the inexperienced even more than his former visage. Every inch of his being was pulsing with agony, it felt as if he was being ripped apart and crushed together simultaneously, and he felt himself begin to slip from consciousness. However, just as quickly as the pain had come, it had left.

He lifted his form from the sand, shakily, and from beneath the yellow hood appeared a face few would expect, but some may recognize. The face, of his former self.

Hider [+]

---

He rose, slowly, the sands of the desert he occupied swiping in waves against his feet. He raised a hand shakily before his face, and starred at it for nearly an eternity. What had once been the wrinkled and yellowed paw of an eldritch beast was now, and once again, the pale hand of a writer, void entirely of the distortion it had once contained. He began to breath heavily, and with a shock he moved both of his hands to his face, frantically feeling the features it had long ago lost. Lips, a nose, eyes, ears, hair! He almost giddily whispered in the silence of his mind.

Silence.

For the first time in years, his mind had fallen completely silent for a period longer than he could have imagined possible. Not a whisper could be heard, nor a plane be seen; his sanity had returned to him fully.

Taking a trembling step forward, he began to walk towards the man that had announced his presence so grandly. Stumbling forward, he eventually made it to the man, falling at his feet in a pose of gleeful submission. Looking upwards towards his captor, or savior perhaps, tears could be seen falling from his stunning eyes as he soft, melodic voice spoke.

"I care not for your conditions Master, long as I remain in this state I will accept your offer with prudence and resolve. My name, is Nicodemus Hathaway."

It was clear that the years of abandonment had taken its toll on the house’s kitchen. The sink hadn’t worked in Soren’s first few tries, and when it finally sputtered to life, the water that gushed forth was tinted a bright orange. The insides of the oven were so jammed and so heavily coated in grease that even looking at it wrong seemed dangerous, and the insides of the cabinets had been concealing a nest of roaches before they were forcefully evicted from their home. The first few days they had been living there Soren hadn’t even risked making a proper meal in the place, instead rolling up his sleeves and working to fix up the place to the best of his ability. Both Percival and Clockwork had joined in where they could, digging out old cleaning supplies and scrubbing and scaring the occasional pest away, and, while he doubted that the kitchen would ever be restored to its former glory, it felt more...homey.

Especially now in particular. He found himself quietly murmuring the lyrics to some old pre-war songs as he worked- not of a few years ago, but of an era that most of the Wanderers had only heard tales of- fingers deftly shaping dough into something more appealing. His Gift served as his tool, bringing the sweet scent of freshly baked biscuits to life. His children were with him. If it wasn’t for the ghastly truths lying in both the attic and basement, Soren could have been almost...content.

He sighed quietly at the sound of a struggle behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder, a bowl of batter in his arms. “Percival, please put your sister down.”

Percival, still clad in face paint, grinned back at him. In one arm he was holding Caroline upside-down by the waist, who looked distinctly unimpressed by her current position. “What was that?” He hummed. “Couldn’t hear you.”

“He said to put me down.”

“You sure?”

Soren placed the bowl down, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, that’s exactly what I said. Leave Caroline be.”

The ginger let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.” With easy movements, Percival flipped Caroline right-side up, setting her carefully back down to her feet...only to whisk her back into his arms not moments after, tickling her ferociously. “Didn’t say I had to leave her down,” he sang, ignoring the rather pointed “dad-look” Soren shot him in response. “She just has to surrender and I’ll leave her alone. You surrendering yet, Clocks?”

Clockwork, squirming helplessly, managed to shake her head. “Never.”

“Then you will die braver than most!” Percival picked up his attack, throwing his head back to bellow out maniacal laughter. He only ceased when the less bookish of the Schippers entered the room, Hel in tow. “Hi, Spire,” he said, following it up with a cheerful “Bye, Spire,” as the man just as quickly wandered off again.

Clockwork, swallowing as many lungfuls of air as she could before Percival could resume his torment, nodded at Hel. “Good morning, Helena,” she said, distinctly short of breath.

“Good morning,” Soren repeated, smiling. He knelt to meet the girl’s eyes, idly brushing off some of the flour that had built up on the front of his shirt. “Breakfast will be ready soon. If you’re hungry, though, you’re free to help yourself to one of the biscuits in the meantime.”

And then it happened. A strong citrus smell, strong enough to overpower the scent of dough.

Then, the batch that had been rising atop the oven suddenly stilled, as did Clockwork. The girl’s eyes were wide, as much alarm as she could feasibly express. “Percival,” she said, tonelessly. “Please put me back down.”

Percival, who seemed more confused than anything, gently lowered his sister, watching as she immediately scampered to her father and clung to his side. “What happened?”

“I can’t sense him,” Clockwork murmured. Soren’s brow had creased as he picked Clockwork up, glancing over to the tray of biscuits. “My Gift isn’t working, as well,” he added. He opened his mouth- to ask, perhaps, or give directions- when two things happened in quick succession.

There was a loud thud just outside the window as Rei hit the ground, unmoving.

Hel sprinted outside, looking almost offended.

“Helena, wait!” Soren shouted, reaching forth to try and grab her before she slipped away, but to no avail. Clockwork’s own eyes were planted firmly on the window- or, more accurately, what lay behind it. “Reith.” She didn’t raise her voice- if someone was unfamiliar with the child, they might have mistaken it for calmness- but she reached for the window, then quickly shifted about and started tugging on Soren’s shirt. “We need to help her.”

Soren turned for the first time, paling upon catching sight of Reith. His eyes were not panicked, however, instead holding something far more steely within them. “Percival,” he began. “Could you-”

“On it.” Percival tore his own gaze away from the window to sprint out of the kitchen, murmuring a quick “fuck, fuck, fuck” under his breath as he weaved out of the house. It didn’t take long for him to take in the general chaos going on outside, as well as the incredibly gaudy man seemingly responsible. Normally Pierrot would admire that kind of theatrics, but given the fact that people were screaming and dying around him, his sister was freaking out, and there was a long haired pretty-boy in Eld Fen’s clothes calling the tank guy “master”, any appreciation for such a dramatic entrance was quickly snuffed out.

Thankfully, Hel seemed alright, having been caught by Toby. Pierrot skipped around Nicodemus to join the little welcoming committee, grinning lazily. “Howdy,” he said, giving a two-fingered salute. His other hand had retreated to his coat, drawing out his trademark deck of cards, and he idly thumbed it as he eyed the man. “Come to sell us your used cars at amazingly affordable prices?”

His smile betrayed none of the tension that had worked itself into his shoulders.

Soren found himself just as preoccupied as his son, setting Caroline back onto the kitchen floor and gently placing a hand on her head. “Stay inside,” he said, firmly. “I’ll be right back.” He waited until she had given a soft “yes, father” before jogging outside. His jaw tightened upon seeing the state of affairs outside, but he moved with purpose until he reached where Reith’s body lay. He lifted her body carefully into his arms, taking in a sharp breath between his teeth upon seeing the full extent of the damage. There was no response from Rei, and no pulse from what he could feel. Giving a terse nod to the others, Soren returned to the living room, setting Rei gently upon the couch in the living room. Clockwork joined him not long after, resting a hand on the body’s arm. She looked even more like a doll now, face drained entirely of whatever color it managed to hold, eyes as large as pie dishes.

“We can still help her,” Clockwork said. “We need to find a way out.” She didn’t move as Soren placed a hand on her shoulder, lips pulled into a tight line.

The sudden, horrific shrieking pulled them both out of their thoughts.

Immediately, Clockwork hurried over to one of the windows, hopping to her toes to better peer out. Something was wrong. Many things were wrong. Unable to see well from the warped glass of the living room, she went to the opened front door, not stepping out, but watching.

Her hands clutched around the doorframe like vices.

“Fen?” She called. Soren joined her again, face drawn. A thin trail of blood had made its way down his chin from his lips, although he made no move to wipe it free. His chest was tightened, body tensed and ready to grab his daughter if need be.

This was a threat that had completely blindsided them, and from what it seemed, that had been wholly intentional.

Johnny watched his coat leave Hel, and fall to the earth in an ungainly heap, resting in the dead grass beneath them. Johnny was a business man man first and foremost, one who preferred the free market of the Ashland because that's where he thrived. Beneath this was a psychopath who truly found no place to exercise his penchant for domination and cruelty within Erubesco's walls. He fixed his gaze on little Hel first, his voice was low, a threat carried in its tone. "I left you in charge of my coat little girl. Now, you better go get Uncle Johnny's coat or he's going to be very, very pissed off."

John's eyes moved back up toward Toby, and some newcomer who wasn't on his list of VIP's he absolutely needed to have in his employ/enslavement. With their guns. Pistols no less. Little men and their little guns, aimed at a giant. No, their world. That's what Johnny believed he'd become to them. Consuming everything in their lives until he was all that was left.

Maybe he'd make an example of that mercenary in the front. John knew who he was. He had been handed a dossier of mercs in the area before he arrived. He'd strike him off of the possible employment list. Actually, John might strike him off the life list. He had no use for a merc, and those sluts were a dime a dozen out here.

"Miss Dawn" The crown jewel of the Wanderers. Her cooperation was paramount. "Come, both of you. You guys just have to hear this fucking pitch."


Eld's scream ripped his attention away, and the sublime sound of torment pushed his eyes open wide, and forced a rather maniacal, growing open mouthed grin on Johnny's face. Eld was fucking powerful, he was the outlier in all of this, with no cost efficient ways of controlling him outside the space other than killing him.

Suffice to say, this man left behind once Eld's power had been dispersed was much different. Quite familiar. John had enjoyed a classical educated of course, like anyone who hailed from a Lord family, perhaps if he hadn't been so preoccupied with his own vices, he'd have immediately recognized who the man in front of him was.

He spoke. Mr Hathaway.

No fucking way.

Talk about an unexpected bonus.

Eld's worth had just been bumped up several rungs on the ladder. Maybe well worth the overhead costs.

"Yes, come here. You know a good deal when you see one. You know what Johnny can do for you." The respect and subservience really did it for him. Nicodemus was reward by Johnny helping him up from the ground. "Come stand at my right side."

Percival had joined them, face smeared with paint as he expected. He'd make a good Jester for his would be court. This was good, this was enough representation.

[color=yellow]"First item on the list, and I hate repeating myself, my words are precious, shape lives and are wasted saying the same thing twice. when I first came here I said I always negotiated from a position of power key word here.[/yellow]

John threw his hand into the air, and snapped his fingers. Metal slots slid open on the trucks sides, and gun barrels poked out like spines on a bristling hedgehog.

"Still on item one, 1QFJ 123-678" John called out the coordinates, which the operator in the truck relayed to a shelling team quite some ways away.

A faint whistle could be heard in the air, then nothing. About a quarter mile out, a shell appeared less than a meter from the ground, and upon impact, ripped the earth beneath it with a mighty roar, obliterating the the surrounding area in a flash of light.

"Tactical Nuke. Anything happens to me, and you all become shadows on the wall while I speed away in my little beauty here. So how's about we put the p-shooters down and talk like adults.

"Now, item two, the pitch."

"I come here with a generous offer, thee best offer this motley crew has ever gotten. An offer for and of gainful employment. Nicodemus here is employee one, and looking like employee of the month."

"You'll receive salary, a fixed and rather generous amount in the currency of your choosing, housing in well, it's cute what you've rigged here but under my employ you'll be staying in premier housing. Hot water, electricity, entertainment, virtual reality, you name it, we got it. Vacation time, and always the opportunity to go up, up up!"

"I can swing amnesty with a Lords pardon here and there, and you'll have the privilege of answering directly to me, and my lovely assistant Mags, with all the unspoken perks from being a few steps away from my inner circle. You're all on the wrong end rn, imagine being on the right end. My end."

"Imagine for a moment, close your eyes if you lack imagination, that after years, and years of getting fucked by everyone from the Wasters, to the Knights and the Agents, think of everyone who's ever fucked you, imagine doing the fucking for once. Can't get fucked if you're busy fucking everyone else Wanderers." He tapped his temple.

"I ain't a bad boss. Firm, but fucking fair. I'm not giving you a way out in some bullshit military program, but I am coercing the fuck out of you with riches, power and influence."

"Don't answer all at once, think about this, because this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I can make you lot Queens and Kings, who answer only to me. Now. If you turn down my generosity, cast my good will aside like a jacket made from the finest shifter fur.

"Well, then you'll wind up at the bottom of the totem pole. Slaves with collars around your neck and nothing but pride in your stomach, and let me tell you. Pride don't last forever. Once your pride poof, floats away? Once thirst and starvation sets in, you'll find yourself giving whatever shreds of decency you have left for scraps off of my plate. I'll chase you, hound you and break your spirits and sell you to the highest bidder from Capital City, to Capital City.

"So. Do you wish to be at my right side? Like Nicodemus here? Or my wrong side. I mean, to me the choice is pretty fucking clear.

Just like that, immortality slipped through his fingers, and mortality took its place. The endless pool of stamina that fueled his keen observance had formed a hole, and would drain away with time, as it did with most mortals. A stomach that had never needed victuals now groaned with the need for nutrients. His body, through his gift had been honed beyond that of an Olympic athlete, and thus, needed nutrition far beyond that of a normal person.

He didn't feel he had too much time.

The amoured truck was an unassailable monument to Bellataire's preparation from where he stood. The weapons he had kept stashed around the Wanderers residence held no hope in piercing its hull.

The inklings of a plan had begun to form in his mind. He needed to move. Specter's services would be needed as well.

Luckily for him, Eld's transformation had caught the slavers attention.

"Specter."

He beckoned the other merc, and used the surrounding flora to obscure his retreat to where he had begun his day. The basement. If Specter had gotten the hint, he would follow him down the descending staircase, where Dawn had left.