---

---

Midnight was always a quiet time for Cider's safehouse. Contractors, while usually plentiful during the day, often lurked the streets at night with identities shrouded by the veil of nightlife. Those who didn't participate in partying their troubles and cash away often spent their time hunting the horrors that oft appeared in the dark. There was, however, a few stragglers that would spend their time relaxing at the easy.

Besides a cloaked figure drinking alone, the only others were the Ana and Cider. Ana was, like always, in her corner. Without paying attention to her surroundings, she frantically drew with her messy pastels. On the wall beside her were all of her pictures that seemed of value. The more chaotic pictures were cacophonies of pastel and were hidden away. Not a single hint of white would be left on the page. The more lucid drawings were displayed proudly. Childish interpretations of locales and monstrosities were often paired together. This wall often behaved like a bounty board with drawings only removed when a similar horror was slain.

The drawings only consisted of three figures. A crudely drawn, pink figure with arms that stretched from shoulder to floor; a very large figure with what seemed to be black hair, a large coat, and a red line smeared horizontally across their face; and a smaller-but-still-large figure that was a bizarre spilling of greys and browns to create a hardy persona.

Cider was, like usual, crouched beside Ana. Besides when a patron called or something required cleaning, she spent her time calmly talking to Ana. Besides the subtlest of nods or shakes, Ana was unable to form any kind of response. Cider, even though she knew this, would continue to talk to Ana for hours to reassure her in order to make her feel safe. The two seemed to have their own language—one that any observer could only hear half of.

The safe house was quiet and relaxing. The usual rowdy crowd was gone and the place was practically empty. It was calm and serene. Until Magpie came back, at least.

At first, it was a few heavy stomps and weird grunts. It started almost inaudible, but it grew louder until she was right outside the door. Without any pause, the door swung open.
"Fuck!" A wounded Magpie screamed.

Her entire body was drenched in stale blood, her jacket crackling as she moved. Her face was, despite the blood and look of pain, was unharmed. Her hands were the same way. In fact, the only part of her that seemed injured were her legs. Her tree-trunk like legs had managed to become even bigger. Covered in shallow wounds, her legs were incredibly swollen. Not a single trace of her original skin color was visible—it was either a vivid red or a deep purple.

Cider, after an initial shock, ran away from Ana to grab whatever first aid she could. Ana didn't even seem to notice. By the time that a constantly cussing Magpie took off her blood-soaked outerwear and sat down on a loose chair, Cider was ready with enough supplies to open a clinic. She placed a large basin beneath Magpie's feet and began to wash the blood off with water and alcohol.

"What happened to you, Mags?" Cider said, her eyes widened out of concern.

"That fucking thing was," Magpie replied with a grunt of pain and annoyance, "fucking annoying!"

"So that thing is still alive?" Cider's eyes narrowed, discontent that Mags was hurt for no reason.

"Yea. I got his arms though. Shitty thing just won't die."

"Got his arms?"

"Ripped them off. Shithead didn't even notice. Head was bolted on and covered in metal or—urgh—something. Bullets did nothing. Barely moved when I kicked it. Tried to smash its skull through that shit... Did it for a while... Didn't work."

"Why...? Nevermind. Rest up, Mags. Don't push yourself. I don't want you to end up a statistic."

"...Remember what you told me when I started? 'Nice people...' "

" 'Are the first to die in this city.' Yea."

"Can't die before you."

"I guess not."

By the time their conversation was over, Magpie's legs were cleaned and bandaged. She was off to the sole bathroom to try to wash the rest of the blood off of her body. Cider was disheartened. A worried look had shown itself.

"Whatever this thing is," Cider took the attention of everyone in this room, "we have to stop it. Whatever this thing is, it's tough. Magpie couldn't beat it. Please, all of you here, this is a new job. It's urgent. Located in the 9th Industrial Ward at the Tetsu Foundry is our target. We bought out some EDENPOL officers to evacuate and contain the area, but we don't have them forever. We can't let this thing get out. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask Mags, Worm, or me but time is of the essence. Get ready for a sortie."

_{Location - Somewhere in Eden - 11:45pm}

---

---

It was a warmer night than he had been expecting.

Regardless, Cassian didn’t regret his choice of dress. Khaki tactical pants, ebon boots, and a matching black button-down was a standard outfit of the Asian contractor since he preferred a professional look even above comfort. The only doubt in his mind at that moment was whether the jacket had been a touch too much. Sure, it was thin and light, worn more for style or function versus warmth, but it also added that pesky second layer of dark fabric and everybody knew dark fabric liked to retain heat. In the end, the slight breeze that came and went was just enough to keep the man’s mind off his attire and more on the situation at hand.

He had just arrived at the coordinates sent to his smartphone and it was, as he expected, another back alley. His first clue had been the maze of narrow walkways and paths he had to take to even reach the moderately large square opening, but his disappointment stemmed from the fact that Aya always insisted on meeting in these kinds of stereotypical places. The Ito-Gumi had their hands in a lot of business around Eden and they outright owned a mess of entertainment facilities, but for some reason Cassian’s former partner-in-crime never suggested any of those to meet at. It was like she was against being comfortable. Cassian pulled his phone from a velcroed pocket on his pants and checked the time just before the sound of steps began growing in volume.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” A tall woman apologized as she strode into the square and stopped just a few feet short of Cassian. Aya was full-blood Japanese and very attractive to go along with it. She was petite in form and lithe in movement, traits that had many turning a head when she passed by. Her eyes were large pools of umber that always maintained a sharp gaze under professionally done eyebrows and silky, black hair usually styled in an up-do of some sort. This time she was wearing a form fitting red dress with gold accents and designs and high heeled shoes matching in color. A long, leather trench coat barely hid the dress and stopped just short of dragging the ground. Cassian whistled in approval. Aya shook her head and chuckled.

“Another meeting after this, I take it?” Cassian asked, a slight grin curling the corner of his lips.

“You know how it is, Cass. My role during negotiations is obvious and important, but that doesn’t mean I appreciate it.”

“The same can’t be said for the clients, I’m sure.”

“As it’s meant to be, of course.”

“Meant to be, indeed. Sounds like the same kind of fate that forces us to meet in these alleys.”

“You don’t like the alleys?”

“Not a big fan of alleys, truthfully. Especially when you literally own a restaurant.”

“I don’t literally own anything. That would be the business’ property.”

“Either way, it’s still a restaurant.”

“Are you hungry? You always seem pretty straight-to-business during our monthly meetings, Cass.”

“I’m not saying I’m hungry at this moment. I’m also not saying I wouldn’t have liked to maybe sit in the comfort of that restaurant. If a little food came my way, I wouldn’t refuse it.”

Aya chuckled. “Okay, okay, no more alleys.”

“Is it a promise?”

“You have my word.”

“But do I have your commitment?”

Aya smiled and moved a piece of hair behind her ear. Her hands found warmth in the pockets of her trench coat as a slight exhale escaped the crack in her lips. “Down to business,” she said, a sudden seriousness enveloping her disposition. Cassian straightened himself up as well.

“To business, indeed. Here.” A small, manilla envelope emerged from within the Asian man’s jacket. He held it out towards Aya, beams of moonlight illuminating small patches on top of the thick package. Aya hesitated a moment before she slowly, but surely, accepted the package. She placed it into an unseen pocket within her own coat. Her expression shifted a bit; she started to seem a little nervous.

“Cass… You know-”

“Don’t say it,” Cassian interrupted, “I do know. And that’s why I choose to do it anyway. I’ve told you before. This is something I feel… I feel that it’s my responsibility. Even if you disagree, just let me fulfill my duty.”

Aya’s visage perked up a bit. “There’s the Cass I know. Blindly following your own sense of duty.” She began to take a few steps back and raised a hand. “Till next time, then. I won’t hold you up.” With that, she turned and picked up a brisk pace as she made her exit through the same path she entered. Cassian stood a moment, time seeming to slow as his thoughts raced. Amongst the disorder though, he knew he had to continue. It wasn’t even close to being made right yet. Not by a longshot.

_{Location - Cider's Safehouse - Midnight}

---

---

"Whatever this thing is," Cider took the attention of everyone in this room, "we have to stop it. Whatever this thing is, it's tough. Magpie couldn't beat it. Please, all of you here, this is a new job. It's urgent. Located in the 9th Industrial Ward at the Tetsu Foundry is our target. We bought out some EDENPOL officers to evacuate and contain the area, but we don't have them forever. We can't let this thing get out. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask Mags, Worm, or me but time is of the essence. Get ready for a sortie."

Cider's voice brought Cassian back to the present moment. He realized he had been staring at his drink and slowly sipping it without consciously thinking about it. A hand palmed his forehand and ran through ebony locks. Meeting with Aya always seemed to have that effect on the contractor. Meeting with her was the only time he was truly relaxed and free to be completely natural, something he had given up long ago in favor of controlled emotion and disposition. Besides the meeting, the night itself had proven to be a pretty barren one.

Cassian hadn't found anything out of the ordinary on his rounds and the back of his neck never buzzed even slightly. The man wasn't in the contracting business for the thrills, but it would have been a lie to say he wouldn't have enjoyed a little rush. As it were, he had sufficed to get his blood pumping with a cool elixir and it turned out that it had been a good thing he decided to purposely take one of the weaker brews. If there was something out there that Magpie couldn't take, then the night was going to be much more than a little adrenaline kick. Cassian stood and promptly abandoned the last quarter of liquid in his cup. It was time for a sortie and he knew what he needed to do. Before grabbing any weapons though, there was someone he wanted to speak with first.

At the pace he walked, it didn't take long for Cassian to reach his destination and knock firmly, but lightly on the bathroom door. "Mag," he called to the wounded blonde, "When you're ready, I need to ask you about that thing you fought. I just want a little more information." He moved to the side of the door and leaned back on the wall waiting for Magpie to either emerge or her voice to echo.

A particularly dour man in scavenger’s rags sat on the couch, a dismantled magnetic rifle laid out in the table in front of him as he cleaned and repaired the weapon. Asche looked up from his rifle, watching with an expression of morbid curiosity as Magpie returned to the safe house. At that moment, he decided staying in to repair his rifle rather than going on patrol was the right call. "Trouble, smells like"

The former EDENPOL officer began to re-assemble the magnetic rifle as he listened in on the conversation between Cider and Mags, “Going to be a mission, looks like. Finally.” the black-eyed contractor observed; rising from his seat and slinging the rifle across his broad shoulders as soon as he finished restoring it. Asche took a moment to adjust the bandages on his arms, tightening them and making sure they were secured properly. While not a debilitating weakness, exposing the corruption to the light ached horribly and he couldn’t afford distractions while in the field.

As soon as Magpie and Cider parted ways Asche approached his liaison, his heavy boots thudding against the safehouse floor,“What do we know about this thing, other than it being really bad at dying?” he asked plainly, glancing towards the bathroom, “Though I suppose I should ask Magpie about that.” out of the corner of his eye, he spotted another of the contractors doing just that, "Or I can ask him on the ride over."

Of course even knowing exactly what sort of being they were being sent out to eliminate wouldn’t do Asche much good; his power was ill-suited for direct combat, and if bullets didn’t hurt it his main weapon was dead weight. “Could stab, might not work. Arms ripped off, didn’t kill it.” The large man shook his head; now wasn’t the time for doubts. It was the time for action. “Anyways, ready to depart as soon as the group is suited up. Don’t know the area so I’ll be tagging along the old fashioned way.”

As Cassian tried to gain the attention of Magpie, the shuffling inside of the bathroom stopped for a moment. At first, there was no response. For an awkward amount of time, there was some banging, spilling of water, and pain-filled expletives that came from within. Finally, the door partially opened. There emerged a Magpie, clean but not dry. Her hair was still sopping, dripping outside of the washroom as she leaned her head out.

"Well, what's there to know? What it is or what it do?" She stated, her voice was laced with a venom of disinterest and disrespect. "Thing's a skinless freak. Its arms were less arm and more blade. Like if someone sliced beneath your elbow and replaced those with swords or something. Tore 'em off so you don't have to deal with them. Moved weird, too. It had bad control over its body, but it was still freakishly fast. Hard to read."

After sharing the basics, Magpie's face became a bit more serious. She seemed to have some difficulties recalling what had happened."One of the cops shot it for a bit. It healed up from those. Besides healing, it ain't very durable. Felt like an ordinary human. Weaker, even. You guys can probably deal with it. Probably."

Her head retracted back into the washroom and the sounds of washing up resumed.

Ambrosine was late to the party. She had to deal with a couple minor burns and set a few broken bones. Someone got rowdy at a bonfire, so she was stuck cleaning up the mess. Once she walked through the door, the distinct odor of medical cleaning and old blood wafted into her nose. With a grim, "Hmmmmm," she looked around to try and find Cider. She saw many of the usual suspects in the safe house. After all, she saw virtually all of them as recruits. They seemed oddly riled up, so whatever happened required her attention.

Not seeing Cider right off the bat, Ambrosine cleared her throat and loudly spoke up. "I smell a clinic. Who is injured? Why did it happen? Most importantly, will a standard dose work for them?" She flipped up the flap to her medic bag and brought out a syringe full of painkillers to add emphasis to her point. Her other hand closed the door behind her. With that, she began to patiently walk through the safehouse, her steely gaze scrutinizing every member's current health as if to try and seek out who decided to start bleeding near her.

“Tetsu Foundry…” Muttering came from a firework of curly red hair, its host crouched over an Eden roadmap. It was something that could have come from a travel office, a simple grid of streets and businesses across the city-state that had been utterly ruined with scarlet scrawl, lines, and circles. It was the thesis of a conspiracy theorist, and Thomas Dempsey looked the part. “Ninth Ward… got it… Ninth Ward… eugh!”
He gave a hiccup and physically leaned away as Magpie, still bloody from battle, passed by him on her way to the restroom. He looked like he was fighting not to jump. While his nostrils flared at the ironraw stench of blood, he looked relieved once the other contractor was gone. Nothing happened. Nothing much did, these days. That didn’t mean it didn’t still scare him. That didn’t mean he could let his guard down. Lucky for him, Dempsey wasn’t the type to relax. Ever.

“E-everyone? Is that figurative?!” The redhead’s nervous, wheedling voice pitched over the others, paper crumpling between his fingers as they tensed. It seemed it was not—while there weren’t many people in the safehouse at this hour, the situation was time-sensitive. The scribbled bounty on Ana's wall had proven itself a threat, and Dempsey had no choice but to answer the call to erase it. But I’m not prepared! Dempsey thought, breath hitching in a moment of panic. He hadn’t had time to make any new mods to combat this particular threat! He hadn’t—well, he hadn’t even been out on a high-stakes assignment since the time the fire hydrants exploded—

Bits of chewed nail were already flying as Dempsey vanished to grab his equipment and reappeared next to Cider, skinny and wide-eyed with a sniper rifle in one hand and a pair of pistols at his waist. “I-it might still have a blind spot or other hidden vulnerabilities,” he said in a mess of rapid syllables, the words blending together like machine gun fire. He gave a little jerk and his eyes darted around like the strokes of a child’s crayon before his attention snapped back. “Can capture alive or incapacitate if healing is infeasible. Nets, tranquilizers. Arm-stubs potential weak points?” He directed a nervous little laugh towards Cider, the first real indication he'd been speaking to her the whole time.

The twitchy contractor never seemed to stop moving, not until the moment the impromptu fighting force departed—he was running back and forth to grab some new bit of equipment, coming back with a piece of body armor ajar or a paper ball stuck in his hair, then stood nervously a little ways from the rest of the group, chewing his fingernails again. “Mph!” he exclaimed suddenly and spoke up, “Can I say something? Ask something? Wh-who’s leading this sortie, ma-ma’am?” Not him! He was no good at giving orders! He’d freeze like a rabbit, and long-distance snipers didn’t make the best communicators!

"Think it'd die if we cut out a few of its vitals?" Asche inquired, not directing the question to anyone in particular. Things were shaping up to be one hell of a first outing for the ex-EDENPOL officer, and he still wasn't sure if he would be able to help deal with this creature properly. "Help without fighting. Other ways." This time he didn't silence his thoughts, they made a good point. The dark-haired contractor focused his gaze on Dempsey.

Asche's black eyes followed the hyperactive redhead as he flitted about the safe house, a stark contrast to his own stoic calm, "Hey, fireball, can you stand still for like ten seconds?" Though spoken firmly Asche's voice remained monotone, "Fear is good, keeps you sharp. But panic? Panic means haste, haste means mistakes. Mistakes get people killed. So stand still, and learn to keep a level head." For a few moments the taller man's voice adopted a much softer almost paternal tone. "Doc, with the syringe, you got anything for anxiety? Hydroxyzine maybe? it's a prescription anxiety medication. Used to know a girl who was on it, pretty high strung but mellowed out while she was on the stuff." his voice softened ever so slightly as he spoke.

Camelia... the contractor's mind seemed to drift away briefly to an old memory for a few moments, his left hand drifting to a shirt pocket and feeling the small locket within. Asche quickly snapped his focus back to the present, removing his hand from the locket, "Nevermind." with that, the stoic monotone had returned.

_{Location - Cider's Safehouse - Midnight}

---

---

As he waited on a response, Cassian's mind drifted back to Aya and their meeting. She was still stunning, even after all this time. Though aside from her youthful physicality, she was still being relegated to the same kind of roles. It was disgusting, he thought. Some things never changed and the absent-minded contractor felt, in that moment, that he had made the right decision to leave two and a half years ago. Simultaneously, old feelings began to resurface. He suddenly felt the strongest urge to make another appearance at the Ito-Gumi office and set things straight himself. There was no question that he could do it, but it was a matter of honor and it would constitute a severance of the deal he agreed to. Then again, he had already broken that same deal the moment he continued meeting with Aya. Where that was acceptable in the Asian man's mind, barging in the office and raising would be much less so. Some things needed to be upheld, even if one vehemently disagreed with the fallout it caused. Magpie's sudden emergence from the neck up brought Cassian back to reality.

The best way to describe Magpie was straight to the point, at least in Cassian's opinion. She had a unique way of conveying information and seemed to be the type of person that not everyone would get along with. That was perfectly fine. To Cassian, Mag was an essential asset and a pretty interesting person to boot. It had been a long time since the man had actually considered anyone a friend, but large legged blonde could qualify if the two made an effort to learn more about one another. All that aside, what she revealed about the mystery creature was intriguing even if not very much to go on. Most of it was normal to a variety of beings, but the thing that stood out was its supposed healing factor. Bullets did nothing and could be healed from, but it had fragile durability? The thought both vexed and helped Cassian further understand his soon-to-be enemy. Mag had been able to rip off its arms even though her guns did nothing. Did that mean this thing was weak to simple hand-to-hand combat? Cassian grinned. If that were the case, then maybe they had a chance after all.

"Thanks, that actually helps a lot," Cassian said through the door as Magpie retracted her head and resumed what she was doing. He pushed off the wall and made his way down the hall, greeting a few contractors he passed by. No one had anything like their own room in the safehouse, but Cassian had claimed one of the rooms with a bed for that night and he returned to it, pulling a duffle bag from under the bed and plopping on top of the firm mattress. He always kept his knife on his person, but guns didn't always come with the contractor. Guns elevated an already tense situation exponentially and on top of that, due to Cassian's unique ability he felt that he didn't always need to have a gun on hand. He grabbed his 9mm and charged the slide a few times, ensuring functional operation. He had already cleaned it when he first arrived, but it was habit to be sure there was nothing loaded and that the slide was free of objects and smooth.

He stood and affixed the weapon into a holster under the small of his back and grabbed a few small metallic orbs before leaving his room. Now that he had his information, it was time to get ready for a sortie. Cassian arrived to the group and only looked around briefly, but he instantly noticed a nervous and twitchy redhead. The nervous man clutched a large sniper-rifle in one hand and was chewing nails with the other. That was concerning, but at least at long distance he would be safe. In spite of what others may have thought, Cassian was always concerned with the lives of those he worked with first. He agreed with a more serious individual who offered a dose of hard reality to the nervous kid, but at the very least, nobody else would be impeded by a fearful sniper situated away from the frontline of the battle.

Cassian stopped a little ways away from Asche and began fiddling with his own 9mm once more. He begun filling a magazine with ammunition, purposely committing the act in a slow manner. "The sniper will be alright," he started. "Just be glad he'll be away from the immediate battlefield. At the very least, we shouldn't have to worry about coddling him while trying to take down whatever this thing is."

Ambrosine put away the syringe after seeing no one in immediate need of medical attention. The twitchy redhead could use a psych evaluation, but she was not qualified for that. A man mentioned hydroxozine and asked if she had some. The man's knowledge made her crack a bit of a smile, though it was very close to a smirk. "I don't carry mental health drugs. I am a field medic rather than a psychiatrist. I am also a doctor, so I can prescribe some meds, but for anxiety, I leave it to the professionals."

She walked past the redhead, walking up to Cider. "Hey there. You are looking as young as ever." Ambrosine had been around since Ultralight started working in small cells. In fact, she was recruited to a cell directly after the interrogations. Being so old had the benefit of her being able to give some lighthearted ribbing to anyone about her age or younger. Cider definitely knew how old she was given their history of working around one another for so long.

With the twitchy Thomas muttering about, Cider, while initially surprised by his sudden appearance, intently listened to everything he had to say. "I would prefer if this thing wasn't captured. I'm not saying you can't try to incapacitate it, but try to finish it off on site. It'd be difficult to transport and hold," she teased with a gesturing to the refrigerator in what was barely a kitchen, "so I would prefer this thing gone."

"As for leadership," Cider mused for a brief moment, "there's no strict hierarchy set by me. You can figure it out yourselves." It was a simple answer given by Cider. After all, contractors usually worked with inconsistent teams. To force a leader on everyone would be difficult. While she had faith in those who worked under her, she was always cautious to push them into disagreeable positions.

As Ambrosine had greeted Cider, Cider nodded back to her. Usually, she would reply to anyone trying to make idle chit-chat. However, now was not the time nor place for casual conversation.

"Like the boss said, this is a kill mission first and foremost. Incapacitating it would be an unnecessary risk, and take too long." Asche agreed, mulling over the available information before jerking his thumb upwards towards his chest before performing his best impression drill sergeant impression, "You can call me Smoker. Hard to explain what I can do, just call it teleportation. I'll play distraction, try to keep it busy and away from the rest of the team. I ain't good for much in this fight but I can at least keep the rest of you out of the line of fire."

Next, the dark-eyed man narrowed his gaze towards Dempsey, "Twitchy, three questions. First, what's your name, Second, how good of a shot are you, and third do you have any AP rounds?" he asked rapid-fire, focusing on Thomas and awaiting his reply before continuing, "That thing's head is probably armored for a reason. I'd wager that if we blow the top the beast goes down with it." the large man explained while scanning the other contractors in the room.

Asche pointed at Ambrosine, "You, name?" he demanded flatly, pausing just long enough for her to respond "If a headshot can't take it down, then plan B will be to disable it and cut it up piece by piece. Best way to do that is probably a big helping of the strongest sedative you can find. The problem would be getting close enough to dose the nasty. If push comes to shove, think you can handle it?"

Despite his commanding tone Asche wasn't thrilled suggesting anyone else get that close, nor was he sure that issuing orders to strangers was the best way to operate; but he had seen missions go bad because of poor organization one too many times."Care what happens to them, why should I?" He shook his head gently to clear his thoughts as he felt the shadows creeping in; careful not to let his concern show.

Finally, the former officer shifted his attention to Cassian, "Last but not least, who are you and what can you do? Don't see much in the way of specialized equipment, or any other giveaways of what your particular skill-set might be."

Ambrosine heard the basic rundown going on behind her. Then, Asche addressed her. "Call me Stim. I have meds. I also have some power. I'd prefer not to announce it for now. We will see if I need to explain it later. I will give you a tip: I am capable of going toe to toe with this." She checked her bag to see what she had that may affect the creature, seeing a few options. "I have a few neuro-muscular blocking agents. Those would shut down its ability to move but provide no benefits to pain tolerance or awareness."

She pulled out two bottles, though she had two spares of each in the bag as well. "Norcuron and Pavulon are both commonly used. Norcuron has an onset of about 60 seconds and lasts 30 to 40 minutes. Pavulon is 90 second onset with at least 180 minutes of effect. Both would suffice for our purposes, but we need to gauge how long we need. Pavulon will provide more time to eliminate, though at a slower onset. If we can simply down and kill, Norcuron is likely our best bet."

He was listening. Honestly, he was. It was just that he was thinking physics and hypotenuse and wind speed breathe deeply hold breath trigger trigger— “Yep! Uhuh?”

Dempsey snapped to and flinched like he’d been slapped by the man instead of being given an anxiety recommendation. “Fireball! Twitchy! That’s good, h-heh, that’s... really good...” His gaze flicked away again. “No... nonono... gotta stay sharp. Gotta be alert, think on my feet. Can’t l-lose focus! Heh!” Besides, who knew who might sneak up on him while his head was fuzzy?! He needed his wits about him, or he’d be a sitting duck. Mellow Dempsey was useless in a sortie. He thought he would be, anyway.

The group was coming together and the redhead twitched in recognition that he was the topic of discussion, making another jerky motion that might have been a nod of agreement to Cassian and Ambrosine. “Y-yes ma’am!” He stammered to Cider. His pupils dilated as the implication of keeping a monster in the safehouse sunk in and a shudder ran through his body.

Dempsey gave another hiccup and turned back to Asche, already deflating in relief that someone was stepping up to a more leaderly role. “M-me? Nailgun. They call me that.” He hitched a nervous laugh and his fingers tightened on his sniper rifle til the knuckles turned white. “O-oh boy, you can count on me for the shot,” he assured the other contractors, jiggling the weapon. “Face is protected though. Right? I heard that?! Mask, or something.” At the mention of AP rounds, Dempsey threw a hesitant glance at Cider for permission and gave a quick nod. “Got it. Gotitgotit. I know a place—overlooks Ninth Ward, will stake out.” He threw a thumbs-up.

Cider, with an implied question from Dempsey, gave back a quick nod.

"Aw, babes," the cloaked Worm said, his voice effeminate, "when someone tells you to head out, you should really head out."

"There's an unmarked car waiting outside the ward. Suit up and get in, it'll take you to 9th industrial. There's a manhole that leads inside, take it and just," Cider said worryingly, "stay safe."

Finishing whatever business they had at the safe house, the group left the claustrophobic maze of alleys and roads that protected their base of operations. The trip there was, for lack of a better term, uneventful. They entered the car, only to be greeted by a rust-bucket of an android sitting in the driver's seat. Though, to call it a robot was a touch misleading; it was most similar to a mannequin. Their chauffeur was completely immobile, save for its simplistic, featureless head which turned with a single motor. Everything that the driver needed to do was handled by the car itself. The robot only served as an aesthetic feature that made the car look more human. That and it dispensed licenses and registrations through a single slot on its head. The car was completely ordinary, except for the blood on the backseat. Not an extraordinary amount, but enough to know who exactly left the mess.

---

The 9th industrial district was always an odd place. Almost every square foot of the place was used for four-story concrete buildings. Narrow roads with no place to walk allowed for some travel, alleys forgotten by time, and thick, voluminous nets covered anything higher than one story. Not a single light out on the street illuminated the way for travelers. Only light-bleed from the bustling factories gave a sense of space in the dark, cramped concrete jungle.

The car drove next to the Tetsu Foundry. Officers, along with their yellow tape and (more persuasive) threats of beatings, kept both worker and onlooker from checking out the foundry. But the robot drove past and instead, stopped outside an alleyway. There was that manhole, slightly ajar from its hole. A bloody hand print marked the edge of the hole. Obvious who it came from. Entering the manhole was, in essence, entering the third circle of hell. As if stepping into the raging inferno, a sweltering heat overcame all trespassers.

With dense buildings covering every square foot of the ward, there was no way to use any overlook for this operation. Instead, a pipe was climbable to the walkways that allowed for supervisors to oversee the mooks. With a knife, one could easily cut through the netting and break into the building via a window. It was still extremely hot, though. More of a dry heat, if anything.

The ones who entered from the hole were greeted with a simple ladder up into a small closet connected into an office. A single tiny window covered in iron bars allowed for vision out, but it could barely cover 1/4 of the building. Anything of value had already been taken. All that was left was useless papers and furnishings. A single, heavy door separated the office from the work floor. But that scraping, that horrible screech. Metal across concrete, that noise permeated past the door.

Whatever had invaded the foundry, it was on the other side.

Along the whole ride, Ambrosine prepped herself for the mission. She filled all the syringes she could with the paralytics and taped them into a compact handheld setup to inject easily. After that, she put on her sap gloves, then her knuckle dusters on each hand. She kept her handgun and rifle holstered and held at her hip, respectively. She had an idea to help incapacitate it, but she needed a better view of it before she could make a decision.

Once at the site and in the office, Ambrosine let out a soft sigh, closing her eyes for a moment. The thrill of being combat contrasted to the real danger of being taken out for a long period of time led her to try and level her feelings. Looking at her companions, she motioned to the door. "Merde, that sound is horrible. Anyone got eyes on the target?"

The former officer took a few moments after disembarking to check his supply of ammo before following Ambrosine inside. Asche shifted his attention to Ambrosine and nodded, "Eyes on shortly, Stim." he offered flatly. Asche began to fade away as he walked backwards into the corner of the room, his body dissipating into smoke and drifting backwards into the seam where the walls met.

As Asche entered Shadowspace, he took a few moments to orient himself to the other world. The strange geometries took getting used to, especially when entering an unfamiliar region of this place. The shifting tapestry of dimensionless forms rolled and turned around the black haired man as he focused his mind to find the way forward. Slowly, he could see the path forming in his mind. Not so much walking as sliding, he moved forward towards a sharp bend in space relatively close to the point where he had entered.

Exiting into the real world once more, Asche found himself on the factory floor, at a corner near a roiling vat of molten metal. The contractor raised his rifle to his right shoulder, advancing forward through the foundry and reporting on his findings over comms.

_{Location - The Tetsu Foundry}

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Silence enveloped Cassian once he boarded the transport. His thoughts had taken him into his own mentality and his expression shifted to one of intense focus. Something was bothering him about Magpie's encounter, but the piece he felt was missing remained elusive. The senior contractor was more capable than most, yet she had run into trouble with this thing. More than that, it sounded like the encounter was even one-on-one, a situation where someone like Mag would enjoy a significant advantage, but even that had proven to be worth little. No one ever expected her to die on mission, but to have such a hard time with a single target was more illuminating than what it seemed like the others were giving it credit for. Cassian had never considered himself some kind of one-man army or even extremely capable, but his skill along with his ability had always allowed him to survive every situation he'd found himself in. As the speed of the transport slowed however, he began to feel a knot in his abdomen. He would need to take this threat very seriously if he wanted to return to the safehouse alive; he would need to do more than simply survive if he truly wanted to come out on the other side of this.

The transport stopped near the manhole Cider spoke of and Cassian made sure he was the last to disembark. He shook his arms out a bit and adjusted his dark jacket. Considering the nature of the target and the expectations on mission, the contractor had decided on wearing a uniform more fit for speed of movement and agility--black, tactical pants that fell over matching steel-toed sneakers and a fitting, grey t-shirt with a thin jacket over top. It was nothing fancy at all and offered zero protection, but Cassian's battlefield methodology had always been more about evading danger and minimizing self-injury as much as possible. His gaze shifted to the others and he took stock of them once more. This was the team, after all, and he would need to coordinate with them properly if he wanted to have a hope of being on the winning side.

He checked his extra magazines and his handgun one last time before re-holstering and pulling on a pair of thin, black gloves. They were plain to the eye, but also had squares of custom padding stitched into the palm and fingers on the front of each hand. With nary a word, he followed some of the others into the manhole and it was only a short trip before he emerged in a small office alongside Ambrosine. He made it just in time to catch a glimpse of Asche disappearing into a wall in a veil of wispy smoke. He raised an eyebrow. "Damn. Bet that's useful," he said to Ambrosine who was busy messing with her own gear. Once she motioned to the door, Cassian nodded his head, agreeing with her assessment. "Yeah, it's not the greatest noise. But, we're gonna have to see what's on the other side so... Here goes nothin'."

The handgun quickly reappeared in a tight two-handed grip, but lowered towards the ground. Cassian motioned towards the door with his head, expecting Ambrosine to follow, and took a slightly lowered stance just in front of the large slab of metal. After a moment, he reached out and grabbed the door handle and begun slowly pulling the door open.

Nghh. No high ground. No vantage point with a straight shot, or at least nothing obvious. That meant closer quarters. Windows, fire escapes. Probably crossing paths with EPOL, since they were there trying to control the situation already. Fine. That was fine. Was it fine? I don’t know if that’s fine! I don’t know if that’s fine at all! He couldn’t think about that now, or he’d come undone into a disorganized mess like a bunch of tangled yarn. Or maybe that would just make the tangle worse. Was that better? H-heh! Dempsey didn’t know!

When the car door opened, the breath of “fresh” air (as fresh as the hot city air could be, even at night) felt like a hand of grace, and the redhead exploded from the cab like he’d been squeezed from a wet tube. Thankfully, nothing happened. “Down we go, huh?!” The sniper tried to speak casually, neck jerking a little as he jogged a few steps around the manhole to warm up his nerves before his carrot top disappeared from view.

His boots clicked on the ladder as they ascended. Dempsey climbed one-handed, the other frequently reaching back to touch his rifle. He pulled it forward from where it had been strapped across his back and jiggled it a little as he peered out the tiny window, calculating just how close the target might have to be. “This could work, this could work,” he muttered. His hands were working like birds released from a cage, fluttering around the barrel of his weapon as he changed out the current ammunition for what Smoker had suggested. “Could get a good shot, maybe. Probably. Ngh.” He bit back a whimper and the words what was that? as the echoing of dragging metal reached them in the little office. He knew what it was. It was what they were here to take care of. “D’you—"

Dempsey trailed off as he turned and saw the guy who’d been calling the shots ‘disappear’ into smoke. Considering everything, he reacted surprisingly normally. It wasn’t the strangest thing he’d seen since becoming a contractor. Losing sight of their leader-figure did seem to up his anxiety, however, and he suddenly took a knee at the window, jamming the barrel of his gun up against the bars. His trigger finger cocked, pupils dilating, heart rate increasing. “H-heh! That’s perfect, just perfect… guess I’ll wait… I can do that, yeah, just wait. That’s what he said. You guys can go through the door, and I’ll wait.” The jumble of words was basically nonsense. At least the comms were working—he hoped he’d get a heads-up before it was too late.

Still, Dempsey kept one eye on the opening exit, a muscle in his shoulder jumping as he braced himself to swing around if anything nasty came through. Who knew what might happen?! What if there were more of them? His frizzy hair stood on end as if filled with static, fanning out slightly from his head like some Studio Ghibli character. Sneak attack?! Nope! Wouldn’t get him!

As the Cassian opened the door, a dense wave of heat flowed into the office. The floor of the factory was industrial, to say the least. Everything was designed for utility. The outside of the office flowed with a left turn into a thin walkway, no wider than a man and a half. Thin metal rails prevented accident, but they felt uncomfortably low. Even if the fall was a meter and a half, it felt unnecessarily dangerous. The office was indented in the wall and the walkway led along the wall. About ten meters away, the path ended with a quick turn to dangerously steep stairs to another path, stairs, and finally the ground floor.

The ground floor was designed with the creation of metal rods in mind. Closest to them and on the left hand side of the wall was a cutting machine. Stopped halfway, the machine was a long V-shaped catcher made to collect the recently cut rods. On the wall furthest away from them was where girders carried out large rolling vats to pour into the machinery. It was open, but dark. All power had been cut, the remaining light coming from molten metal and dropped flashlights. It was enough to see, but it wasn't enough to make exact detail.

But that scraping stopped once the door fully opened. It came from the left. There, the abomination was fully in sight. Even in the light from the glowing metal, you could make out it's pink, skinless form. It was human in shape. Lean muscles were easily visible without anything to hide them. It's left arm seemed to slashed at the elbow, only to have a thick steel blade attached. It's right arm was normal. It was taller than most, but would be taller if it had most of its head. Rather than having a formed skull, the abomination only had a mandible. No face, no eyes, nothing.

As soon as that door opened and swung into the office, the abomination began to move. It slowly turned towards the door and began a slow approach. Moments later, it sprung, bone crunching as it quickly soared three meters towards them. It quickly began to claw its way on the ground towards them, the large blade being more of a hindrance to its movement.

But on the ground floor, Asche saw something different. On the right wall—his left—was another shape. Between them was nothing more than a raised pathway, high enough to barely be cover. It didn't seem to spot Asche at first, his back turned to Asche. Still human in form, the second abomination was another skinless abomination, fluid oozing from each strand of muscle. On its head, a thick metal helmet. Simplistic in design, it was as if someone put a shapely metal dome on someone's head and neck and bolted it place. On its back, just below the helmet, Asche could barely make out an odd symbol. He could see little more than a large triangle. Anything else was too difficult to discern.

Upon spotting the abomination Asche crouched as close to the ground as possible, "I have eyes on the target, matches Mags' description, and it has some sort of triangular symbol on its back." he reported over comms, his voice barely a whisper, "No cover nearby but it hasn't noticed me yet. I'm going to move closer." True to his word, the contractor pressed his back against the wall and began to move forward, approaching his opponent with every modicum of stealth he could muster.

"And this is why I wear dark clothes." the cursed man mused as he drew closer while attempting to get a better look at the symbol on its back. Asche raised his rifle to his shoulder as he crept forward, drawing a bead on its back just below the helmet, centering his aim as close to the center as possible. If he had to shoot this thing, he was damned wall going to try and hit it in the spine.