Kora was already out of her seat by the time Lulu had spoken.

It's possible she'd already anticipated the order from the research commander.

It was more likely that she had some intention to punch the man square in the face if he didn't face any consequences for his little speech.

Green, for his part, looked quite surprised by these apparent revelations regarding the man's work. As surprised as Green ever looked at any rate. He'd certainly lifted an eyebrow and put his tablet down.

"I assure you Commander Botrelle had I been aware of this it would have never been allowed to go this far. " he responded to the questioning, before turning his attention to the, slightly pale-looking Commander Lovette.
"Commander I can only offer my sincerest apologies that such a grave matter would arise during your first meeting with us. This is clearly a very serious matter and I would hate for you to be left with the impression that this kind of violation of the ethical code is commonplace. Voluntary participation in research trials is the cornerstone of our work here. With that in mind, does anyone have any other matters they wish to bring up whilst Commander Botrelle is dealing with this matter?"


Kora walked out behind the Alchemist, jaw set and watching him like a hawk.
It was a few moments of tense silence before she was able to reign in her temper sufficiently to respond to Darrien.
"I have stupid fashionable hair and have posing with a sword from the wrong period and country. So more or less what I expected." she shrugged her shoulders.
"It's still pretty weird honestly. But means the Viceroy leaves me alone so I'm not complaining. How's things with you?"
In truth other people she knew in her life had been about the last thing in the Knight's mind over the last couple of months. The things that had happened. She was still rather waiting for her mind to catch up with everything and come to a final conclusion on how she felt about everything.
No sign of that happening yet.

---

Rei's body was limp as it was lifted from the ground and brought inside the house. One arm had been shattered on impact and a few shards of bone, streaked with greenish ichor, protruded from her forearm. Similar green shades littered the side of her face and soaked into her hair.

Not that any of that mattered.
She was dead.

Outside, a second figure made their way out of the armoured vehicle, hopped down onto the dusty ground and stood for a moment reaching around in a paper folder. The individual was a young woman, probably somewhere in her twenties, with dark hair ending in loose curls at her jawline. She wore fingerless gloves a battered-looking camo jacket that sat a bit large on her, and a noticeable degree of dark eye make-up.

She stepped over to the assembled Wanderers, seemingly without a great deal of concern for the number of guns being pointed around.
"So er, I've got the contracts here. Standard long-term employment contract, subject to a quarterly performance review by Mr Bellataire. If any of you want to take a look at any of the specifics it's all written down."

There was an awkward smile on her face, and a very slightly strained edge to her voice that seemed to indicate a keenness to resolve this situation amicably.

Unfortunately, Hel was not feeling the same way. Upon the mere mention of 'Erubesco', her eyes widened in alarm, sufficiently that having the coat dropped upon her. She dropped into a crouch in place up until the point Johnny made a pause in his speech, then she shot forwards at him.

The young woman, noticing the child's trajectory stepped across it, extending a hand to try and block her path.

Impact.
"Jesus christ!"
A splinter of bench about a foot long had been sunk straight through the assistant's forearm with a force that was very impressive for a six year old girl. Blood was dripping into the dust. Hel was standing before her glaring like a cornered animal.

She'd made a choice.

He first looked towards Johnny, who looked briefly towards him and though his expression hadn't changed, he knew that he probably didn't have an high opinion of him, any wrong move and he would be peppered with bullets, he doubted he'd activate the nuke if only he resisted. But then, he made the offer that nobody could refuse... quite literally since he could decide to blow everyone up, or simply kill shoot them all where they stood.

To be honest, while he liked the Wanderers well enough, the offer that Sweet Johnny made was a very good one, especially since he could kill all of them with relative ease now that they had simply disabled their powers, what would he have to gain with this offer, an offer which would only worsen his relations with Liberty and Erubesco, something about this situation was wrong, he felt it in his gut.

Then, he heard his name being called by Montana, who had been able to retreat inside the house. Montana needed him, he didn't know for what, but he guessed it wouldn't be something very good for his own health, the little research that Specter had been able to gather on the man specified that the man was quite malevolent when he wished... and when he needed to, and needless to say, this situation did not look very good for them.

Specter took a moment to weigh his options, if he joined Johnny, then what the man said might happen, they would be kings under him and they would be the hunters instead of being the hunted... or, this was simply a somewhat elaborate trap, those that didn't join now would be subdued or killed and those that did could be lead into the man's base where he would either kill them there, or imprison them there. On the other hand, if he chose to join Montana, then there might be the inkling of a chance that the long-lived man might have a plan to get them out of this situation... or, the man could simply lead him down there to ambush and kill him, or do god knows what to him, after all, the man was not exactly known for his kindness.

By now, one of Bellataire's assistants had exited the transport and started to hand out the contracts to everyone, including one to himself, he didn't pay attention to it, he just took it absentmindedly and still thought about the situation before the sound of steps woke him from his reverie, he had only enough time to see the impact and hear the scream, well... no more time to think, the time to make a decision was now and he cursed himself for the one he had made right now.

While everyone was looking at Hel and the assistant his hand quickly went into the pouch where was keeping his grenades, he was able to grab two of them, both different from one another, he quickly pulled the pins on both of the grenades and tossed them as close to the vehicle as he could. He only had a few seconds before both of them detonated. "Close your eyes and run back inside!" he shouted to the Wanderers before the grenades exploded.

The first explosion was loud and shone bright as hell, probably blinding anyone who had not heeded his warning. The second one detonated only a moment later and released a great amount of smoke, effectively making a wall of smoke between the vehicle and the Wanderers. Then, he took a deep breath, mentally cursing himself for his decision and dashed towards Hel. Luckily enough, she was quite close to his own position, though she was probably dazed, so he grabbed her and ran like hell towards the house... or anywhere where there might be cover.

There was a high chance that this would get him killed and yet, he did not regret it, he even found it amusing, the great Specter of the Ashlands, killed whilst trying to save a little girl, yet he did feel a tinge of regret, he had yet to find that someone he had spent a great deal searching for... oh well, guess he would meet her in hell whenever she would die as well.

He made his choice... and he would accept the consequences for it.

---

Something was going on with Kora and Darrien could read it, though he was not mind reader so he didn't know what exactly she was thinking about. He thought that she might get angry if he asked about her personal life and that it might be a bit risky asking her about it, but he pushed the thoughts away, he was curious and a tad worried as to what had happened to her.

He chuckled for a moment and smiled as dashingly as he could, a joke between the two of them, she knew well enough that his perfect knight mantra was mere acting, one of the only three people that knew of his true cold and calculating self. "Well, I'm still acting as the perfect knight that everyone in Erubesco likes to dream about, my sister is still trying to beat me in close combat, the occasional mission here and there, but nothing big enough to make me a star like you." he smiled, though not as before, it was a normal friendly smile and for once it wasn't acting. "But I can see that things are bothering you and I can only guess what those things would be... mind talking about it?" he asked, still smiling towards her, hoping that the smile would calm her at least enough for her to not get too angry, if it came to him getting whacked, then... well, he would take it without dodging it.

So, he smiled and awaited the answer, briefly glancing at the scientist in front of them, who was still busy in his own thoughts about the situation he was currently in.

Johnny’s words did little to answer Drake’s question, but it was also pretty clear that Johnny saw things a bit differently. Saw them as ants.

Drake felt like an ant.

As Dawn appeared to help support his weight, he flinched involuntarily - he couldn’t help it. The boy no longer knew who was around him and was therefore much easier to startle. His heart had started to race in a panic up until she spoke, of which his eyes opened part way in realization. “Dawn…” Out of all the people here, Drake trusted her the most. Time tended to do that out in the wastes, and with the two of them being some of the longest standing members, not even trust issues got in the way at this point. One hand released the beam and wrapped around her shoulders to make things a little easier. “...Thank you.”

Silver eyes, now partially open, trailed around the yard and took in what he’d missed. Hel was up close and personal with the enemy which spiked deep concern. Toby was pointing a gun at the enemy, which made the boy uneasy. Eld Fen was… someone else, and was already calling the man ‘master’ which provoked… Well, not quite anger. This wasn’t Eld Fen, after all. Shock was more accurate, shock and confusion. Reith’s body was being carried off, completely unmoving and Drake’s stomach dropped as he faintly recalled what Johnny had said.

”Reith… Is she…?” His voice was kept low, almost a whisper.

Johnny had spoke again, and this time to Dawn and… him, maybe. Things were a bit hazy, but Johnny had clearly said,”‘both of you.” It was possible he was talking to someone else though; Drake couldn’t be sure as his attention was wavering hard. However, one thing he knew for certain.

He didn’t want to go anywhere near that beast.

The boy jumped at the explosion nearby, his breath catching. What was that? A nuke? Did that freak just summon a fucking nuke???

At this rate, Drake was shaking. Whether it was from weakness, stress, or fear, it was hard to say. Likely it was a combination of all three. His heart was certainly pounding in his neck as the looming threat of death stared them in the face. And with the null going on, who was to say he’d come back if he was struck down this time?

Johnny had given them his offer.

“Either way, you’re offering us slavery. Of different varieties, granted, but the intentions remain the same,” Drake commented, speaking loud enough for Johnny to hear. His eyes closed again, feeling too heavy to keep open. His breathing labored and he couldn’t really think straight, let alone make a choice… But he trusted Dawn. Whatever she decided on, he would follow suit.

And then someone had yelled for them to run.

Knowing neither him nor Dawn would have any chance of a hasty retreat, he did the only thing he could think to do. Mustering the strength to lift them, Drake curled his large wings around the two of them almost instinctually and hoped for the best.

So that was what Eld Fen looked like without his Gift. Seeing a face on the man wasn't entirely surprising considering the nullifier. Hearing him introduce himself by an unfamiliar name and casually agree to the maniac's terms before he even heard them... that was surprising.

"Fen--what are you d--what are you doing?" he asked, his voice cracking in disbelief.

Toby lowered his gun a few inches, but did not put it away as he listened with growing contempt. Perhaps he should have given some real thought to their position and their options, here. But Rei was dead. And he really, really didn't like Sweet Johnny. "Go to hell. How about this counter-offer: --" he started through a clenched jaw.

And then, well. Toby obviously should have kept a tighter grip on Hel.

But it was Specter who seemed to have demolished any possibility of resolving this peacefully.

Whatever the mercenary's intentions, Specter might have just gotten Toby, for one, killed. He already felt blind without his Gift. Now the smoke meant he was actually blind, standing only feet away from Johnny's dangerous ride. Both the young woman Hel had taken a stab at, the man who used to be Eld Fen, and Bellataire himself stood in Toby's path if he headed directly toward the ranch house. Plus the man claimed to have a nuclear weapon and his flippant laughter about the death of Rei seemed to suggest he that despite his "job offer," he didn't value their lives so highly that he wouldn't use it.

Then again...Toby didn't see many Wanderers taking this man up on his deal. So maybe getting straight to a fight was for the best.

...Minus the smoke.
That just wasn't helping Toby right now at all.

His sightless stumble to try to find a less tactically damning position collided him with the sycophant who used to be Eld Fen.

---

The citrus shell of Johnny's nullification field made Spire feel momentarily pleased for no good reason he could determine, since Mina and Dawn weren't exactly making his day the best with their puppy-guarding the prisoner and declaring her a no-kill zone.

Then he felt strange, the way a headcold makes one's focus muddy.

Dawn's paranoia wasn't unfounded. Among Spire's first thoughts upon hearing that Dawn could not read his mind anymore was a flood of half-concocted violent intentions he generally kept from his surface thoughts unless he knew the little mind-reading freak was sleeping.

How liberating. If this phenomenon was the prelude to a fight of some kind, maybe he should kill her. She didn't make the pedestal for his least favorite Wanderers, but her Gift made her a nuisance, and Spire certainly wouldn't dislike slicing open her throat and holding her face dowm while she squirmed and bled out...

...Damn. He really needed someone appropriate to kill.
No. She was useful at the end of the day.

But there were probably more important issues to worry about.

He experimented. He looked at Oren and tried to force a backlash of her Gift. Previously this had scrambled her brains complete with paychic nosebleed. Now, nothing. If they had all lost their abilities, they were pitifully vulnerable.

Spire's lingering meant he heard Johnny on the loudspeaker on his way up the stairs, and didn't make it outside until the air was thick with smoke.

---

Hel was not someone who took to unwarranted physical contact very well, even when she was in an entirely even emotional state. She didn't like being grabbed without her approval, and certainly didn't like being scooped up and carried off, even when she was otherwise completely calm.

At that moment, Hel was not calm. She had already passed alarm and into panic, and being snatched up by a stranger was enough to throw her entirely over the edge. The girl screamed and struggled, doing her very best to bite, scratch and hit any surface she was presented with.

"I'm- not going BACK!" she cried, possibly the loudest vocalizing she'd ever done in the presence of the Wanderers.

And that was bound to attract attention.

---

Spire didn't have enough context to know that the person who grabbed Hel meant to help her. He had no reason not to take her cries of "I'm not going back" at face value. Naturally, given what scraps he had heard through the loudspeaker, he assumed the person who had scooped up his pseudo-daughter wanted to sell her back to Erubesco.

So, naturally, he followed the sound until he could see Specter's silhouette like a--well, like a specter. Circling around behind the man, Spire whipped the tooth of a short guthook blade into the mercenary's back. Unless Specter did something unexpected, the horizontal slash would pare the muscle between ribs, but not deeper, coming to rest with the hook perilously close to the spinal cord. His other hand gripped a tight handful of Specter's collar for leverage.

"Unless you have a strong desire to be a paraplegic, I recommend putting her down, gently, said Spire with a calm smile.

(Collab with @vitofthevoid)

It took a moment for Dawn to adjust to the new burden of Drake’s weight, given their...rather prominent size difference, but she managed, gripping the hand around her shoulders with one of her arm, and wrapping the other around the other’s body, doing her best to serve as a support for him to lean on. “I got you,” she murmured, shifting a little where she stood. Dawn hesitated at Drake’s hushed question, averting her gaze for a moment before nodding ever so slightly. “I...think so, yes.” She squeezed Drake’s hand. The full impact was still settling in, weighting her gut like stone. “If we can get out of the field soon enough, then Clockwork might be able to…” She trailed off, then came to wince at the sudden screech that passed through her mind.

When it had quieted, she was faced with the sight of a man- a stranger- donning Eld Fen’s outfit. Given how severely the nullification had affected Reith and Drake, it didn’t come as a surprise that such a change had happened, but him suddenly reintroducing himself as “Nicodemus” and practically leaping to join Bellataire did. Her eyes widened, Toby asking the same question that had been on her tongue. What, exactly, had happened?

Before she could mull it over for too long, a wave of unease flit down Dawn’s spine as the man, Bellataire, called out her name. It wasn’t surprising that he knew who she was- he had already called out the names of several others as if they were all just the closest of friends- but it didn’t lessen the impact any less. Especially since she had been hoping she would go unnoticed. Especially since she had little knowledge of what was running through the slaver’s mind. For all she knew, the man was planning to gun both her and Drake down with that tank of his as soon as they stepped off the porch. Or would gun down those who had approached if they didn’t choose to comply.

And then there was the nuke, churning the earth viciously enough that the sound was sent echoing across the Ashlands. Dawn’s mouth went dry. She gave Drake another gentle squeeze upon feeling his tremors, quietly hoping that her own shudder went unnoticed by her companion. The pitch that came after was backed by a metaphorical dagger at all of their throats, and a hand of honey. There was little doubt that the approach had worked in the past (if the offer was sincere, of course), but it left a certain bitterness on Dawn’s tongue. Reith was dead, the result of Bellataire’s Gift. And, in the event that she did agree to the slaver’s terms, Dawn doubted that her job under him would be to mop up the floors or dust the shelves. Her Gift’s uses were ones that she wasn’t particularly keen on exploring any time soon, but if directed by a slaver...

Would Bellataire’s offer allow them all to live in the lap of luxury? Perhaps. He seemed earnest enough, at least. But would she be able to live with herself if she were to accept?

Dawn swallowed thickly, then raised her voice for Bellataire to hear. “Well. Mr. Bellataire. Your offer is certainly generous, and I’m sure that-”

And then Toby had given his own, curt answer, followed by Hel lunging forward to jam a foot length of bench into the assistant’s arm. And then, seconds after, the masked stranger from earlier called out for them to shield their eyes. To flee inside. Dawn obliged with the first request out of instinct, only to open her eyes to a wall of smoke that cut them off from Bellataire, and from several of their members. She didn’t follow up with the second order, however, instead tightening her jaw to the point of pain. Escape wasn’t an option- not a quick one, at least. Drake was still incredibly weak, meaning that if there was a need to run, then he and Dawn would likely just lag behind. His wings managing to launch up, curling protectively about them instead of an attempt to flee on their owner's part seemed to show that Drake was aware of that fact, too. And with the grenades the mercenary had thrown, and the wounds inflicted upon the assistant, the odds of retaliation were worryingly high. The screams of Hel from the mist prompted Dawn to make a few steps forward before Spire shot forth, disappearing into the cloud.

The taste of copper filled her mouth. She had bit into her tongue hard enough to draw blood. Unsure of what else to do, Dawn went to lead Drake back into the house, being as careful as possible to accommodate both of their weights into the movement. While it served meager shelter if Bellataire chose to rain down bullets, or even saunter inside, a fight would be just as difficult to manage as flight in the moment. They needed a plan, and the opportunity to form one was fading fast.

It was just a helluva day to be a Wanderer.

The citrus scent passed over Mina like an aura, and she froze in her actions out of fear that she was about to suffer some kind of neurological episode. She set her equipment down on the paper as she felt the rumble of something large coming over the ground toward them, and began wiping it down and storing it with quick hands as first Dawn and the Spire reported their problems and headed up the stairs.

When it rained, and all that. "Something's wrong," she said to her patient, in case that fact had been missed. "And sorry, about this-" Mina slipped her arms behind Oren's as gingerly as possible and checked the coat rack in the crook of her armpit before lifting the injured woman's torso and pulling her further back in the cellar. She laid her behind a rack of storage shelves and beside a broken chair, back where the lightbulb on the ceiling failed to reach. There was an old pile of dust sheets in the corner, pulled off of all the furniture when they first discovered the place; dirty, but they would do. She picked on up and shook it, and laid it like a tent over the chair and Oren's body. "If it's Erubesco, you holler like hell, alright?"

She came back around to her bag and was just wiping the last evidence of the Erubescan's presence from her hands when Montana's fit form slipped down the stairs. "What the hell's going on up there?"

Mike Morel

Capital Base, Liberty.

Life sure was great. Even strolling down the isles of those in line for reconditioning he held a chipper spring in his step. His whistling was cut short as a poor young youth cried out, purging his stomach down the drain. A shame that. Perhaps he'd enjoy his life better after the nice men fixed him up and got him back on the straight and narrow but for now he seemed to be ill.

"Hello there young fellow!" He greeted the youth with a kind smile, no shred of disingenuousness to it. "Must be a bit of a rough time for you. Want me to put in a request for a couple peptic tablets and, er, another cup of water?"

His offer was not out of pity but rather sympathy for the young man. He understood how it would be uncomfortable, being forced to digest something which leaves him so disheveled and ill. It wasn't uncommon for him to find himself straddling that line given his special dietary needs.

Also maybe he was just a naturally empathetic fellow. He didn't consider it out of order to help out a person here or there even when they weren't in his department. Occasionally he was considered a bit nosey but for him being nice was just what came naturally. So there he stood, over by the cell door leaned just the slightest bit forward, his pitch black hair brushing the frame of the door.

The moment Specter grabbed Hel, she started screaming and though that was expected since she didn't know who he was, the biting and scratching were annoying and slightly painful, it wasn't enough to make him drop her and he kept running towards the house. He wasn't sure enough why he had attempted to save the girl, maybe because she reminded him of a certain someone when he was enslaved in the past, maybe because he had started to feel some empathy towards the girl, whatever it was, it didn't matter at all right now, all that mattered was getting to the relative safety of the house.

"Fucking hell!" Specter cursed as he felt a sharp pain in-between his ribs. Someone had stabbed him in the back with a knife of some sort and was letting the knife rest dangerously close to his spinal cord, any wrong move and he would become a paraplegic as the man behind him made sure to tell him. He moved his head only for a bit to see who was the one stabbing him. It was one of the Wanderers, the one named Spire and he demanded to let the young girl down.

"I was trying to get her inside before she was turned into swiss cheese, you idiot, which is why I was running towards the damn house!" despite what he said, Specter dropped Hel in front of him as per Spire's instructions. "Now remove that knife from my ribs and let's run before we all die!"

Needless to say, Specter was pissed, not only because Spire had stabbed him in the back, but because he had stopped him, and in the current situation, for every second they stood still, the chance that either of them getting shot increased drastically.

John B waved Mag's forward when she appeared. Good girl, hard worker and top notch stress relief when the finer points of his work began to encroach on his emotional well being. Perfect example of how hard work reaped rewards in his company. It would be a stretch to think that these folk of the ash catch on to the obedience. Johnny knew these lost sheep needed a Shepard. Ignorant to the joy and power of wealth, only used to this baser living off of whatever scraps the humans had left behind. There was a world beyond this poverty and filth. He'd lead them there, kicking and screaming if he had to.

Or in slave collars, wishing they had taken the offer. If they were stupid enough to ignore his offer the mighty Wanderers would serve as a reminder to the rest of the ash he placed under his boot-heel of what arbitrary things like 'values' and 'ego' earned you when one found themselves faced with an unstoppable force.

Johnny's eyes followed the screaming child as she rushed forward. Spunky little shit. His secretary had stopped her, but not before receiving a wooden stake to her arm. Johnny's teeth clacked together in amusement. She showed some potential. Wouldn't need too much training to be turned into a killer. Pain was apparent and pain was something he could capitalize on.

Kids were easy enough to control. Even the strange ones.

Drake spoke up, the one with the wings, it drew his attention, not because he was talking, but because of what came out of his mouth. Some ideological bullshit, musing about something the boy obviously didn't understand.

"Slavery, AH." "You speak like those academics begging for a handout from whichever ignorant Lord finds their prattling 'interesting. John grew breathless. running his hand through his slick backed hair. "No this is living a life where you earn for yourself instead of digging through human hand me downs. This is SELF RE FUCKING SPECT.

"Don't tell me you don't want some R E S P E C T, Drake. Don't tell me you don't want to work for the company that own the air you're breathing, the ground beneath your feet. Don't tell me you're stupid, you don't look stupid, not stupid like Toby here, who thinks he speaks for ALL of you"

He knew all their names. Their history. No expense had been spared on that.

He also wanted the brothers. A lot of money in them. Good pair to build a little branch of snatch and grab off of. Worst came to worst tho, he'd just slap a collar on them both and sell them to some Lady who wanted some pretty looking lap dogs.

"You got the memo, you know what a once in a shitty existence digging for scraps offer this is. Tell your friends, tell stutters over here that there's more to life than whatever he has going on."

Wait.

"Drake, you said something. Freedom. Let me tell you something. Freedom belongs to those who have power. Freedom is what people like me have. Winners. When you live life like a loser, freedom is always in someone else hands. Your freedom is in my hands, because I'm the guy with power. You ain't anything, until you have power."

That's when that ash rat he had ignored before yelled.

As if a rat would dare to interrupt a King.

It was that arrogance that removed any fear of death from Sweet Johnny as Specter threw the object into his vicinity.

All he did was jut his chin forward in defiance.

The flashbang did little. Shades paid for by top dollar went beyond a little bit of gold.

That didn't stop him from snapping his fingers, high above his head. Johnny's men reacted immediately, the armoured truck behind him hissed as hydraulic doors opened, loosing professionals from its innards, met by those who had been lurking in the trees.

They were fitted like private security officers. Ballistic and energy resilient vests, visors that put old world night vision goggles to shame with their ability to switch between the spheres of vision.

Their weapons were set to stun, because to John, their lives were expendable in the face of capturing the Wanderers alive.

Why would they accept? To them, nix powers, the job was easy and the pay was fantastic.

Now, that wasn't to say they wouldn't switch to the kill setting to save their own skin, only that option one was tag and bag.

They advanced through the smoke, some pursuing Specter, slow and steady. Some flanked the house, a detachment moved to sweep the premises, their aim to leave no crevice unchecked. There was a bonus for those who managed to capture the Wanders, and that bonus was generous.

There was a lot he wanted to say to Johnny. A lot of snide and sarcastic remarks, a directed threat if he so much as laid a finger on Toby, a retort about how much was idealistic when him and his family have been living in freedom for a good while now up until he showed up at their doorstep… But Drake was in no condition to say any of this. In fact, the moment he felt it safe enough, his wings dropped to the ground like dead weight and tiredness plagued his face and stature. Pain radiated through his muscles with every step.

It took him a moment to even notice the transition from outdoor to indoor as he fought against the urge to fall unconscious. He couldn’t let Dawn bear his weight throughout all of this and managed to speak up, only once they were a decent ways inside.

“Dawn,” his voice strained even as he spoke, but he needed to say this while he still could, “If the opportunity arises for everyone to make a break for it, I… I’m just gonna drag everyone down... You gotta leave me behind.”

Even as he pleaded with what little strength he had, he knew Dawn would likely fight him on this and therefore went on.

“If you or anyone else couldn’t get away because of me, I wouldn’t be able to... live with myself knowing that this… This dictator enslaved you all. With the state I’m in, I… I just can’t…” the boy trailed off, unable to follow up his statement with a conclusion due to his headache and severe dizziness getting in the way.

Another thought flickered in his mind though, something of vital importance. He switched gears rather suddenly, needing to get it out while he still could.

”Larke, the… The prisoner upstairs… He-”

Drake stopped in his tracks as a sharp pain shot through him. One or more of his organs had suddenly shut down only to start back up again, and the result was excruciating, causing the boy to double over. He had managed to stay conscious this long, but it was only a matter of time before his body would force him under in order to make up for any lost energy.

Only an adrenaline shot could keep him awake at this point, but even that would surely kill him as his system gradually shut itself down from expending the energy he simply didn’t have. His body needed a constant supply to keep itself going, whether that be from sleeping or eating. Sheer willpower had kept him conscious for this long, the desire to not miss any more than he already had, but he was reaching his limits.

The pain he felt from his organs starting back up again, that had been familiar. It was something his body often did when coming back to life. This was concerning on a number of levels, as it likely meant he was, well…

Dying.

Yes, Drake was on a timer. Perhaps not today, perhaps not the next few days, but soon…
Soon it would run out.

This null on his powers… It was slowly killing him.

Erubescan Citadel

If high-heeled steps against tie could speak, Commander Botrelle's would have said, "Fuck you, and the horse you rode in on, Mister Sairan."

Alas, they could not not. Rather, they just repeated click, clack, click, clack as Botrelle made her way down the hall, a few steps ahead of her prisoner and his escorts. There was not need to turn around- No need to give the Alchemist any comfort by thinking he could gauge her expression. She could feel them all behind her well enough, anyhow: Kora, angry but familiar, Elcove, uncomfortably even as ever, and Sairan, as nervous as he ought to be.

She stopped outside the door to her office, scanning first her employee badge and then her thumbprint against the security pad on her door.

"Here, Knights," she said, swinging open the heavy wood-paneled steel door. She propped it with her hip, looking at her tablet rather than her guests. "Man the door, if you will. Alchemist Sairan and I will be having a chat."

She waited for him to enter, and then took her seat at the polished oak desk facing the door. Her chair was plush-backed, with a swivel mechanism, lumbar support, and a switch on the armrest to control the lights and air in the office.

The one across from her was... Well, it was a chair.

She spent a long moment fixing her papers, checking to see that everything on her desk was straight. She set the tablet down. The pens needed to be adjusted twice. An email needed to be attended to, and Botrelle typed a reply to it, all before taking her choke off of Sairan's laryngeal nerves.

One more shift of the pens, and then she folded her hands on her desk.

"Are you stupid, Mister Sairan?" Commander Botrelle looked up, her bright green gaze staring straight through the spot between his eyes. "Or are you suicidal? Answer carefully, Mister Sairan. There seems to be a pandemic of laboratory deaths, as of late."

Simon was over this meeting. Botrelle was out of here, and so was he. He didn't care much for what the others had to say anyways. He propped himself up, getting himself out of his chair. He was going to need to do 'it' again. He walked a different way than he usually walked, meeting a strange man in an alleyway that Simon to all too well.

"The price has gone up pal. Your going to need to pay more to get the best, it's not cheap to do this, and there is plenty of risk involved, you should know that as a buyer. And if you won't pay, you won't be getting any of my supply, get it pal? It's going to 120 a gram, and I'm bringing 5 in an hour. Meet me by the square, I'll be waiting Mr. Henderson." Simon was very harsh in his tone. He couldn't be nice when he was risking so much.

"Yes...I understand," the man coughed, his shriveled, scraggly face shaking, "It will be hard to get any money Mr. Einstein, but I'll try to scrounge up something. I'll be meeting you in an hour."

Simon encroached on his living quarters, grabbed a large bag, and started to stuff beakers, tubes and other chemical storage into it. He also grabbed some tubing and wires with a bag of cough drops. He then went into an abandoned warehouse he had been using on and of. He needed some privacy, and at the edges of the city, this is where he would get the most possible. Simon dumped out everything, and laid it all out. Everything was ready for the work. He pulled the psuedoephedrine from the tablets, leaving only a powder in the bag, and putting what he was controlling into a flask. He then pulled the oxygen atom from the molecules. A blinding flash and sizzling sound ensued. He jumped a little, but he had done this before. His breath was unsteady, his life would be over in a second if this went wrong, but he knew nothing could. He went through the rest of the process and poured what he had on a sheet, letting it all dry. He then looked at it very closely, looking, and feeling for imperfections. This was his best batch yet. Simon scraped it all off, weighed them, and stored them all in bags.

His spine shivered. A song came to his head, it was all he could grasp to keep his sanity and turn himself in. He didn't like doing this, but a part of him, deep down, enjoyed it. The yelling. The cooking. The killing. He brushed that part aside, and checked in his bag again. Everything was there.

When he strode into the square, there were two guardsmen, and he shivered. It was still day out, even if he thought it had been all day. He was there. He hands shook, it was happening. He sat down next to the man, and murmured.

"You have the cash? I got the stuff."

"Y-Yes I do, all 600." he was as shaky as Simon was, but much more apparent.

"Good, this will be simple then. You give me the cash, I give you the supply."

The man, seeming very reluctant, pulled 6 100 numerals out of his pocket, and handed them to Simon. Simon tipped his head, counting the bills, and stuffing them in his pocket. He pulled a bag of white crystalline substance out of his pocket, and handed it to the man. Simon immediately walked away. It felt like stares were just scrubbing him, looking for any sign of hesitation. His mind was racing.

By the time he got home, it had only been a few hours since he went out of the meeting, but it felt like all day. He went over the bills in his pocket. Success. He would do this a few more times and be covered for a while hopefully. He went out a few more times, making a few more deals, and went to bed, without even thinking. It was so laboring for him to do that, but he did. He had to.

Just a part time job

The presence of the tank’s guns prompted Pierrot to draw a few steps back, hands raised, palms held open. “Easy there,” he said, breezily. “I’m sure we can work out-”
Whatever it was that Pierrot was hoping they could “work out” went unsaid as the sudden blast of an explosive shook the ground beneath all their feet. He stumbled, eyes widening in genuine alarm for a moment before he masked it, clicking his tongue and laughing. “Nevermind, then. That’s fine, too.”

It wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if Bellataire’s job offer had nabbed him his fair share of employees- especially if he wasn’t just lying through his teeth about the whole company (and given the fact he had a tank and a damn nuke at his disposal, it seemed likely that he really, really wasn’t). To your average ashlander, one suffering the ache of an empty belly and the constant slap of the elements in their face, his offer must’ve seemed like a godsend. Given the man’s ego, he probably encouraged the idea. However, the Wanderers weren’t necessarily your average ashlander. Percival and his family even more so. There was only one Founder-slash-ex Leader of Liberty roaming the ash, and now, only two children of said Founder. The price on their heads to Lib and Eru alike would likely be astronomical, and that wasn’t exactly a flattering thing.

Combine that with the fact that several of their members were dying as a result of Bellataire just showing his mug, and the offer lost a pretty huge chunk of its appeal. Toby and Drake seemed pretty against the idea too, even if Mister Not-Fen had already started kissing the feet of the slaver. The assistant popping out of Bellataire’s tank earned an idle glance from Pierrot, as did the folders gathered up in her arms, but not much else. He was pretty happy being unemployed, really.

He did a double take, however, at the organic tearing of flesh, and the scream that followed. Hel had sunk part of a bench right through the lady’s arm. Both disturbing, and mildly impressive, to be honest. But mostly disturbing. And then the mercenary guy was shouting for them to cover their eyes, and, doing so, he immediately came to hear the frantic screams of Hel- screams that gradually grew distant.

If this was another person come to take her back to Erubesco, Pierrot would be about ready to eat his shoe.

Eyes snapping back open, Pierrot sank into the mist, chasing down the voice with no other idea as to where to go. The bomb had left him disoriented, and finding the house now would likely just lead him to stumble around like a man blind. Which he was. Coughing, Pierrot eventually broke through to the scene of Spire sinking his blade into the back of the mercenary, the mercenary being incredibly pissed at this development, and Hel looking generally spooked out of his wits. Pierrot gave another cough- both to clear his lungs and to draw the attention of the little group- then let his hands fall to his sides.

“You do realize good ol’John there is gonna be more likely to let ‘er rip now that you pulled that little stunt, right? And that slavers aren’t vampires? Cause, you know, he could just,” with middle and pointer finger, Pierrot mimed a man strolling along his other palm, “stroll in through the door? Or break a window? Shoot through the walls?”

A fact that Pierrot was keenly aware of, what with his dad and sister still hiding within. His anger tinted the far end of his words in spite of himself, and the panic more so. Patting down the front of his coat, Pierrot looked to Spire, jerking his thumb in the direction of the house. Or where he remembered it being, at least.

“Guy’s still gotta point, though. Should probably make a move for it before we all get churned into a fine puree.” The noise was faint, but he could hear the sound of footsteps around them. A lot of them.

Pierrot’s hand dropped to the deck in his pocket, but it was only out of habit. Fancy gear went a lot farther than his cards would, sad to say.

As soon as Specter had relinquished his hold on her, Hel rushed behind Spire. Her hands clasped the back of his coat and, unusually, she seemed genuinely afraid. Robbed of her power, she was little more than a child, after all. It was only in moments like that that the girl truly seemed to resemble one. She didn't express joy or excitement like a child. She'd learned very little about those things in her short life. But she'd learned an awful lot about fear.

Mags recognized the object that had dropped to the ground, taking a moment of relief that it wasn't a real grenade, before reaching to pull the goggles from her forehead over her eyes and the shemagh round her neck across her nose and mouth. She took the time, whilst obscured in the smoke to turn her attention to the spike of wood sticking through one arm, and pulled it free with a curse. Warm blood drizzled down her sleeve. Hopefully wasn't going to kill her imminently. That would be an issue. Regardless, she had shit to do. Stuffing the papers into the messenger bag she was carrying, Johnny's assistant started forwards out of the cloud and made some advance toward the farmhouse.

"Wanderers! Listen! I get this had started out on the wrong foot and everything but...listen you really might wanna think this through! Your powers don't work and the people here are armed. If this turns into a fight it is not gonna be pretty! There's still time to talk this over."

One had to give her credit in some sense that an individual who was ostensibly unarmed, and already leaving a fair blood trail, was stepping up into clear view to give an ultimatum. It either came out of supreme confidence or a complete disregard for her own safety. Or both. Maybe that was what you got from working for Sweet Johnny for a few years. Enough arrogance to stare down an enemy...or sufficient weariness of life to expose yourself to potential attack.

---

So much smoke.

That was all that Nicodemus could focus on, at the very least for the time being. The last few minutes of his recently acquired control of his mind and body had been hectic, to say the least. He had broken free from the beast containing him, imprisoning him in a state of lucidity so weakened he could remember only these things; the time he had lost, and the name and face of his captor, Eld Fen. He had been released in a manner quite similar to the one he was contained in, a flash of pain so intense that the simple act of reminiscing upon it sent shivers up his spine. However this time, It wasn't the Eldritch monster that had taken control of their shared form, it was Nicodemus, and he would do whatever it took to prevent the old demon from surfacing again.

Having been lifted up by his "captor," or more aptly, savior; John Bellataire, he had stood proudly at the man's sides for several moments before multiple things began happening within moments of each other. The first in the chain of events was John giving an impromptu speech, detailing the nature of the offer the man had presented the filthy collaboration of Ashlanders. It was... a fair monologue, if one assumed it had been created on the spot, perhaps the extravagant gentlemen would allow Nicodemus to write his future speeches, after all, Nicodemus does have quite a way with words. His speech was of course accompanied by a most impressive show of force, one taking the form of a Nuclear Bomb being detonated a fair distance from the motley crew. This caused Nicodemus to feel a twinge of pride in his gut, he had clearly chosen the right person to align himself with.

Then, as he stood practically basking in the glory that was his freedom from the accursed Eld Fen, things took a turn he wasn't all too surprised about.

The Ashlanders retaliated.

First, a young girl stabbed a length of wood through the arm of one of Mr. Bellataire's employees. Then, one of the Ashlanders that had idiotically raised a gun to Johnny himself muttered a name Nicodemus hoped never to hear again, and a grave scowl crossed his face. He began to approach with a rage in his eyes that didn't match the countenance he often displayed, but then a masked man threw two grenades.

Nicodemus turned to get away from where it seemed they would land, but he was significantly slower than a thrown grenade. As such, when the flash-grenade went off, he stumbled to the ground disoriented. He looked around, his vision blurred and his balance nearly non-existent, after he began to see doubles, rather than dozens, he stood up slowly and attempted to gauge his surroundings. This however, was prevented by the smoke the second grenade had begun producing. So, terrified as he was, he stood still, not wanting to risk separating himself further from Mr. Bellataire.

Suddenly, he felt the ash-rat that had previously referred to him by the name of his demented warden collide with him, and with rage in his eyes, he used the ashlanders momentum to shove him to the ground. Within moments, Nicodemus had mounted the man, sitting on his waist and grabbing his wrists, effectively holding him down.

"Sir, I seem to have caught a rat." He shouted to Mr. Bellataire, a slight smirk on his face as he continued to hold the man down.

Aran's mind was going a hundred miles a second, thinking of what he could do to escape this situation unscathed, he needed to think of all possibilities, a impossible they would sound, he needed to think of everything if he wanted to escape with his life intact. However he snapped at attention as soon as he heard the commander's voice and while it wasn't directed towards him, he had every right to be at least a bit nervous about the situation.

The two knights, following Botrelle's orders, positioned themselves at both sides of the door and stood there like two glorified guards. He didn't have the time to think about it for too long as she waited for him to enter the room. As soon as he did, she closed the door and went towards her seat, directing Aran to his own. His seat looked so simple in comparison the commander's own, he assumed it was her way of showing superiority towards anyone that might visit her office.

As soon as they seated themselves, he expected her to release his laryngeal nerves as soon as they did, but she did not do it, instead, she started arranging her paper for a while, then went for her tablet to write something on it. He knew what this meant, again, by ignoring him she showed how little he meant towards her, or rather, that's what he thought.

After a few more moments, she finally released his muscles from her grip. His expression did not change at all, still sporting the same smile, despite the situation at hand. Then, she finally spoke to him and she asked what was expected, she asked him if he was either stupid or suicidal for having divulged such information and then she rather openly threatened him... none of these had their intended effect, or so he assumed.

"It is neither, my lady, it was simply forgetfulness." he replied. "I forgot how naïve many people still are, I forgot that quite a lot of people still believe that Erubesco is a proponent of chivalry and equality and all that, I forgot that unlike myself, many people do not know the true rotten core of people of this nation, people with no actual morals of any sort or any care for anything other than their own image and so, I thought that everyone there at the table knew about what was actually going on... especially the two star knight you've got at the door, I thought that by now, they would've seen everything... alas, it seems they did not." he sighed, he had spoken without thinking, instead of following his plans, he had followed his instincts and said what came to his mind first.

"Say, my lady, since I am probably doomed to prison for life... at best, I wish to ask you something, what is your opinion of the current situation of Erubesco?" he asked, and while he knew that the odds of her answering truthfully were low, that was not the intention of his question, his intentions were to read the woman in front of him, to read her expressions, anything that might betray any information to him, something that could maybe give him any bit of leverage towards her, anything that might allow him to continue living a long life. "Are you opposed to it, or are you as rotten as the rest of the people in charge?"

Ed & Id

Edgar lifted up yet another cubicle side garbage bin, emptying into the rolling container he was assigned. He sighed, glancing up at a nearby clock before setting the bin back by it's desk. It had been a fair while since he was last at the one meeting room he passed over. Having emptied close to all the other bins in the sector of this floor he decided to haul his tired behind back over to see if the lot had cleared the room already.

Drearily he trudged down the hall, his hair hanging down just a bit in front of his face, not enough to bother him into fixing it but enough to partially cover his upper face. His long between boot steps echoed in the hall he traveled down, mingling with the ambiance of foot falls from others in the hall. Passing him on the left were two what he could only assume were knights escorting somebody down the hall, a stern and tightly-wound looking woman following suit. He just did as he always did, keeping his head down as he dragged his big trash can along on it's heavy set wheels. The less he drew any excess attention the happier he was, not an unusual frame of mind for the ordinary serf.

Under the glow of whatever excuse for a light system the citadel had working for it he stopped before the door to the meeting room. Walking up to it he took a moment to listen through and try to hear if anyone was still inside. After a short period of quiet he gave the handle a good twist. The door opened with a confirming click, A short push from his hand opening the sight of the room before him. While it was, for that moment, quiet it was certainly not devoid of people lingering from the meeting they just had. Great.

Ed simply shook his head and started making his way towards the back of the room where the garbage bin was kept.

"Sorry, didn't know you guys were still busy here. I'll be out of the way in a moment." He excused himself, making his way over to the bin while hoping that nothing terrible was going to happen.

_
Meanwhile Id, lurking within the same room now, was always up to something terrible. The meeting had provided her a good couple of shady dealings in the field of research that sounded like a fair promise for interest. There was nothing so tempting that she'd break into a researcher's mind to steal it but a couple things were certainly a delightful dessert buffet of potential horrors and curiosities for her to sample, Edgar the veritable spoon in this taste equation. Her brother, both the means and a direct conduit for her fun.

Like a bad feeling Id slipped into Ed's mind, nestling nicely in her familiar crystal palace on the moon. "Oh sweet brother of mine, how I missed thee so~" She chimed with an intentionally fake melodramatic flare, as if she were reciting Shakespear's writings.

Yeah, sure... Edgar thought back at her, his frown quite accurately reflecting his mood towards her silliness.

_
"You should of stuck around and peaked, it was a blast! There was all sorts of juicy gossip. Wanna hear?" She asked, bouncing the heels of her feet with giddiness while she sat back in her big comfy violet gem of a throne. She didn't bother waiting for him to answer. "Did you know that they run experiments on serfs around here? One such experiment has been resulting in their heads exploding! Gory stuff huh?"

Doesn't surprise me.

As he carried out his internal discourse he simply carried forward around the table towards the trash bin in the corner of the room, head down as he tried his best not to draw any untoward attention.

Bellataire went on, raving about respect and freedom, life and power. Dawn kept an ear open to the man as she helped Drake limp inside, but for the most part, her attentions were more focused on the unsteady body propped up against hers. Her lips pursed into a thin line as she lead him to one of the couches- one that didn’t directly face where Rei sprawled, mangled as she was- and laid him onto the cushions as gently as possible. “We aren’t going to leave you, Drake. We will find a way out of this. Alright?” Dawn rested a hand on Drake’s shoulder, smiling in a way that she hoped would reassure him. Would convince him that everything might come out fine- not perfect, but fine- in the end, like they always did.

Her smile waned as Drake brought up the prisoner, visibly struggling to get the words out, and her eyes widened with blatant concern as he doubled over, pain etched deep into his face. Dawn didn’t need her Gift to see that Drake was fading fast- the nullification snuffing out whatever it was inside him that kept him moving. She caught Drake’s arm again, holding it fast for a moment. “I’ll head up and see what I can right now. Don’t push yourself.” With that, she stepped away, eyes grim as she ascended the steps into the attic.

The smell was vile- just as bad, if not worse, as the one that had been trapped in the cellar. Dawn kept her head down as she entered, but she could still quite easily see the full extent of the damage inflicted on the prisoner from where she stood. The stained, grimy shirt, the way he slumped against his restraints, how…broken he seemed. Much like his basement counterpart, he was teetering on the edge of death. Unlike her, there was little they could do for him in the short amount of time they had.

Taking in shallow lungfuls of the attic’s air, Dawn glanced about, looking for a place to conceal the man from the hungry eyes of the slavers. There was little furniture within the room, aside from a few boxes of old knick knacks and worm-eaten chairs that were far too small to feasibly hide a body. There were a few tarps scattered across the floor, too- evidently used for painting years back- but she couldn’t exactly just toss one over the prisoner and call it a day.

The options were beginning to look slim at best when she caught sight of a distinctly malformed section of the already-unfinished wall. The panel jutted out at the slightest of angles, showing nothing but inky black behind it. Bracing herself, Dawn went over to the prisoner, carefully untying the knot that kept him bound to the attic’s support before winding her arms beneath his.

“If you can hear me,” she began, dragging him to the unfinished wall, “then I’m sorry about this.” The wound in his gut probably wouldn’t be closing anytime soon, so she attempted to go as carefully as possible, prying the panel open with her foot before sliding him into the dark. She stopped once he was fully out of sight, loosely binding his hands again before leaving the makeshift compartment. Dawn pushed the gap shut again, and, once finished, stepped back to appraise her work. It wasn’t a perfect job, but unless they knew what to look for, it would be hard to catch. With that done, Dawn turned to leave the attic, wringing her hands as she descended.

She froze in her tracks upon passing one of the windows. Outside was the sight of numerous men prowling about the house, weapons in hand.

How long had they been there without them knowing?

Outside, she could hear a woman- the assistant Hel attacked before the smoke went up. Another quick glance told Dawn that she was still very much wounded from the incident, and that, unlike her companions, she was completely unarmed. That garnered a sort of respect. While her association with the slavers didn’t make her a moral paragon, her apparent attempt to resolve things was admirable. If it wasn’t a trick, that was.

Dawn was about to reply when she caught sight of the other side of the fog. There, the man who was once Fen had pinned Toby down, in a way that seemed less than friendly. Especially given his new apparent loyalty to the slavers. Her teeth clenched, and she moved closer to the window, voice raised to catch the attention of their unwelcome guests.

“We aren’t looking for a fight,” she called. “And I’m sure that we can resolve things without one. Just let our friend go, first. Then we can talk.”

The head slaver, Bellataire, did have a point about one thing. He had lodged himself securely in a place of power from the very moment he arrived. The chances of a full-out brawl working in their favor were very low. Dawn didn’t want to think about what would happen if he ignored her request, or, even worse, sent his men after them all anyway.

At the moment, words were the best weapon she had at her disposal.

Erubescan Citadel

Sairan was a shit eating rat. A very stupid rat, at that- or such a clever one that Botrelle could not pin down exactly what he was up to. The more obvious and likely explanation was the former, of course, but the penalties for underestimation were not a tax she was willing to pay. 'Evil' and 'rotten' were awfully big words for an alleged man of science to be using while under preliminary investigation. Exactly where the department had dug up the headcase from beat the hell out of her- he either had the worst comedic timing of anyone in the Citadel, or the best.

She wanted to backhand that look off of his face, but she knew how to hold her own leash. She crossed her legs under the table so that the toe of her left heel tip-tapped against the leg of the desk while she waited for him to finish whatever nonsense he had to say.

Her lips quirked up in the corner at his question.

He was not in the proper chair to be throwing accusations of moral right and wrong, and certainly not in the chair to be asking any questions.

"That's a rather interesting take you've got," she said, pausing to pull his file up onto the glassy surface of her desk. "Aran Sairan, forty-five, now... No instances of rebellion or investigation- A clever slumboy who climbed the ranks like some Cinderella story. And now..." She furrowed her brow and looked back to the man sitting before her. "Now you've decided that the work you spent most of your life either doing or struggling to break into is somehow some... some sort of mad science? Your mission in your work- you think the mission of the people here is some contrived mission to do what? Be evil? I'm not sure I understand, Mister Sairan." Her expression fell into a searching, tight-lipped frown, and she steepled her fingers on the table between them.

"War is hell. Have you ever heard that?" Her voice was soft, her glare intense. "An old human General said that- And a good one, for a human. W.T. Sherman." She didn't expect him to know exactly who that was- it wasn't as if people outside of Command had to take strategy courses. But she did expect him to listen. "He said something else, too- Though people repeat it less because it isn't quite so clean:

"War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over."

Botrelle's eyes skimmed over his expression, searching for any sign that what she was saying registered. Perhaps a laugh. A sign that he was, in fact, a prank being pulled on her by someone trying to make her squirm at his gross incompetence.

"We are at war, Mister Sairan. We are at war to protect our way of life- Free thought, the ability to choose our own paths, our own love, even- it's all on the line, if we fail against Liberty. And sometimes, to win a war, you have to make sacrifices for the greater good. Even the seemingly cruel sort must, at times, be made.

We are the keepers of that greater good, here. The people out there- most people in this Kingdom aren't strong enough to bear that weight. So we, we 'people with no actual morals,' was it, now?" Her expression soured. "We have to carry it on our own.

"And we certainly do not conveniently forget that sort of duty to protect those who cannot handle the information in the middle of a morning meeting over our bagels and orange juice."

She let her gaze break from his features, the intensity replaced by a more simple tiredness. Her hands came to rest in her lap.

"So why, Mister Sairan, are you hellbent on tearing that down, as of now? Are you trying to make a fool of the department, or are you really, honestly dumb? Have you got anything less juvenile to say for yourself than 'I forgot?' Because I assure you, there are people above me who ask such questions with far less patience."

"Language. There's a kid present," Spire said sweetly.

Specter's sass almost earned him the honor of becoming Spire's first kill in far too many weeks. The man claimed to be helping, but when it came down to the wire - or in this case, the spinal cord - people would say anything to save themselves. Still, his point about running toward the ranch house with Hel did make him pause to think for just a split second, long enough for Pierrot's response to confirm.

Under the circumstances of what looked like an impending fight, he realized he'd better trust the guy...

He made sure to give the knife a little twist as he yanked it, bloodied, from Specter's back.

...Didn't mean he had to like him.

He pulled Hel to his side, sharply aware that without her abilities, she was even more vulnerable than the rest of them, and began backing up, toward the house, eyes on the numerous figures flooding toward them from the fog.

---

Toby was as furious as he was confused. He would take the blunt-edged eldritch horror over this simpering traitor any day. He'd already asked 'what are you doing' and that was the wrong question, he realized. Clearly losing his Gift had caused some kind of transformation. This wasn't Fen anymore.

"Who are you?" he asked, his initial efforts to struggle free focused on trying to pick up his gun, which had fallen from his hand when his wrist hit the dirt, but which he could feel just at his fingertips.

He soon changed his tactic. Toby may have felt blind, but he had never had his Gift as a crutch in a fight. Maybe that gave him an advantage, now. If he couldn't handle himself, he would have been killed a long time ago.

From his vulnerable position, he couldn't free his hands; Nicodemus had gravity on his side. But the man had left his legs free. So he used them. Bringing his knees up to Nicodemus' left side, he threw them between himself and his attacker, planting one heel on the man's neck and the other on his shoulder, rolling and forcing him away with as much strength and momentum as he could - not insignificant, despite the awkward angle. Nicodemus would either have to let go and be thrown off, or would have to take Toby's wrists with him as he slammed hard on his side in the dust, reversing the advantage.

Unless Nicodemus just held fast and possessed a tremendous amount more core strength than he appeared to have. Then it would just hurt like hell.