PLA Navy Ship Zunyi – 10/11/2022, 19:54 UTC+8

“Damnation, where could the enemy be?” Field Officer Pan’s eyes were glued to his binoculars, the command deck warming from the fires of his quiet vitriol. He was too preoccupied to notice his crew’s timid glances on his periphery. No sane subordinate, not even the captain, would suggest that the commander alter course. Pan muttered his frustration to himself, “We should have passed them by now.”

A beep from the communications device blessedly broke the tension. The aide received the first line of dialogue. “Field Officer Gao again, sir.”

“On speaker,” Pan demanded. “I’m busy.”

He would regret this decision. His accompaniment could hear the grin through Gao’s smug vocals. “Pan, you dumb bastard.”

“I’ve no time for your antics, Gao,” Pan announced. “I’m hunting prey.”

A snicker. “I take it you don’t require assistance from my reconnaissance, then?”

Pan came to the defense of his own fragile ego. “We do swimmingly ourselves.”

“I scrambled my jets to investigate your paranoia. Turns out, we did identify a fleet of enemy vessels. Two, in fact.”

Pan’s curiosity betrayed him. “Where are they?”

The voice cracked into a semblance of laughter. “The vital one is behind you, a few miles offshore of Mischief Reef.”

“Impossible!” Pan declared. “We had an impenetrable line of patrol ships. They couldn’t have subverted our eagle eyes!”

“Yes, about that: we detected a hole in your line, one ship large. They sailed straight though.”

Pan dropped his binoculars in shock. “Captain, can you confirm this?”

The captain acquired alternate communications and demanded confirmation from the blockade chain. Gao resumed his harvest of schadenfreude. “I’m certain you’ll report truthfully, but you’ll forgive me if I contacted the Central Military Commission in advance, to provide my humble perspective on the matter. Your pigheadedness tonight will cost you, Pan.”

Pan gripped the nearest railing. If Gao possessed mere fabrications, his testimony alone could relieve Pan of his post, and possibly of his head. Of course, if the evidence was more substantial…

“Field Officer Pan!” the captain reported. “The Luzhou does not respond to our hails!”

Gao dropped all mirth for his conclusion. “I’ll enjoy watching you fry.”

Mischief Reef – 10/11/2022, 20:15, UTC +8

The assembled crew had inadvertently partitioned the sandy beaches. On one side stood the ASEAN delegation: a cadre of captains, officers, and curious Arms Masters (most notably Iker Orozco), Captain Rhiannon Kennedy first among equals despite not deriving from a ASEAN nation. Her cap was tucked fashionably underneath her armpit. She held her chin high, not merely out of formality but in order to see the towering bearded Arms Master standing across from her. He himself was predominantly flanked by a short young man with white hair and a glowing sword, and secondarily flanked by a number of soldiers in tactical gear and armaments.

Kennedy hailed them. “Greetings to the Qing Restoration Society. In recognition of your efforts against the People’s Liberation Army, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations bestows supplies and ammunition. May our mutual prosperity safeguard the seas.”

The bearded man snapped his fingers, and a soldier hesitantly approached him. The tall figure stared Kennedy down as his underling translated her words into Mandarin. He responded in kind, and the soldier replied: “We are glad that ASEAN sees value and reason. It will be great benefit to you in the future.”

Captain Rhiannon nodded her approval, moderately concerned that her counterpart expressed not gratitude but assumption. Their support saved them from certain death, and the help seemed almost implied. Such things annoyed but didn’t faze her. “I was told to expect Jin Li, the commander here. None of you match his description. Where is he?”

The grunt started to translate, but his superior dismissed him. “Jin Li defends the waters. I am Ren Zhao, head of the Qing Zodiac. I have authority to address all matters here. The emperor will see you as He sees fit.”

Cranes on the Supply and Stalwart lifted relief goods off their decks. The crates were cracked open and distributed among the eager ASEAN, Qing, and automaton terracotta soldiers below. An ant line trailed into the concrete bunkers on the island to store the newfound bounty.

Iker was leftmost on his delegation’s side. Either willfully or unintentionally, he ignored Kennedy’s silent glare as he spoke out of turn. “Zodiac? I presume you must have special abilities, then.”

Ren Zhao beamed at the opportunity, unfurling his radiant banner. “I have the power to deflect incoming projectiles.”

“Sounds very useful to our current circumstances,” Iker commented. “Why aren’t you assisting Jin Li with the defense, then?”

Ren Zhao’s smile vanished as Kennedy tried to conceal a smirk. “And why aren’t you helping unload?” he retorted.

Iker unveiled his luminous axe. “I move single objects of similar material. It’s not quite practical to hack into grain and rations packaging.”

The white haired lad beside Zhao piped up quietly, motioning to the crane yonder. “I’m certain you could move the supply crates closer to the bunkers, then.”

Iker pondered the proposition. “That works.” He promptly departed the gathering.

Rhiannon resumed, “Regardless, I believe our obligations are met. Is there anything else you request from us?”

“No,” Ren Zhao stated. “You have done your duty. You have our permission to leave.”

The Australian saluted, and the Chinese bowed. With an about face, Captain Kennedy departed to manage the disembarkation. A seaman passed her by to draw the Chinese delegation’s attention. “We’re wrapping up; I don’t believe we need as many soldiers anymore.”

The lad nodded. “Of course.” The glowing sword and terracotta army vanished into earthen dust, carried towards the sea on the wind.

PLA Navy Ship Zunyi – 10/11/2022, 20:22 UTC+8

The crew still reeled from such a sharp 180 degree turn, as surely the rest of the battle group likely felt. Their fellow sailors had the right to complain, but they themselves bore no such privilege. They resigned to sit at their stations while listening to Pan rant about how “I’m going to get them this time! Catch them by surprise when they least expect it! A brilliant strategy indeed!”

A curt signal on the comms cut short his musings. Pan picked it up personally. “Glory to China!”

“Pan Gang. You are not authorized for this exercise. Stand down.”

“Who is this who thinks he can order around a Field Officer?”

The voice was not amused. “General Huang Chao, Joint Staff Department of the Central Military Commission.”

Pan sobered up rather quickly. “J-Joint Staff?”

“Stand down, Field Officer Pan.”

Pan swallowed, visibly calculating which actions wouldn’t lead to swift execution. “But, General Huang, we can still counter their actions!”

Authority wasn’t working; rationale must suffice. “Not while they’re within range of Arms Master traitor Jin Li. Your failure will not be compounded by the additional loss of our vessels.”

“Then we shall wait until they leave that zone!” the would be tactician proposed. “They have to depart sometime!”

“And outrage the international community with an action clearly made out of spite? NATO is still not directly involved.”

“But-”

“Pan!” Huang exclaimed, resuming his authoritative status. “It’s over! You have lost! If you pursue your current course, we will have no choice but to declare you an enemy of the state. You will stand down, like all the other fleets in the area. Is that clear?”

The bridge was deathly quiet as Pan came to terms. “Very clear, General Huang Chao.”

“Good,” Chao audibly sighed. “You will embark on the nearest craft to Zhanjiang for questioning. We will manage your replacement.”

The only question in "questioning" would be whether a bullet or injection was cheaper. Blood drained from Pan’s face. “Understood. Gòngchǎndǎng wànsuì!”

“Gòngchǎndǎng wànsuì.” Click.

Summoning his last strength, Pan stumbled across to the ship’s captain. He bowed lowly. “It was an honor to serve alongside you.”

The captain returned the bow and lied through his teeth. “Likewise.”

Downtown Angeles City – 10/14/2022, 20:26 UTC+8

Rear Admiral Adrián Abasolo wore not his customary white military fatigues but slacks and a button down long sleeve shirt covered by a jet black blazer. Nonetheless, he’d fashioned a small pin of the Philippine flag above his breast out of patriotic duty. His aide sat beside him, her form fitting sleeveless cocktail dress similarly defying typical dress code. Adrián’s eyes blurred as he peered out his window and the lights of the city faded into stars. “Jasmine, when did you last visit your family?”

Jasmine shuffled in her seat. “Probably a few months? Before the war, certainly.”

“Alright, once we’ve settled our guests, take this sedan and spend quality moments with them. I want to hear some more household stories like the one you told me yesterday.”

“Sir, I couldn’t.”

“Nonsense! Ryan would love to escort you. Isn’t that right, Ryan?”

The chauffeur in the front seat didn’t have the luxury of choosing his own attire; he bore the suit of a lieutenant. Perhaps he preferred that, given his lighthearted demeanor. “A pretty woman like her? Sure thing, boss!”

“No, it’s not that,” Jasmine lamented. “We believe my brother died in Lingayen, sir. He was reported missing, and he hasn’t reappeared since. I doubt we’ll have such merriment at home, not for a while.”

“Ah,” Abasolo uttered. He used the sobriety to prepare himself for the coming interaction. “You have my condolences. You’re entitled to bereavement leave whenever you require it.”

“Thanks, Admiral.” Jasmine smiled. “I’ll take it when the war’s over.”

Attagirl; what a treasure. The car braked as it reached its destination. The admiral looked behind him to see a string of parked buses. Two, three, four… they’d all made it. Excellent; traffic was no concern. “Well, let’s go pamper some magic people, shall we?” He opened his door, circumnavigated the vehicle, and opened Jasmine’s.

“Let’s,” Jasmine agreed.

Ritz Hotel Angeles, Angeles City – 10/14/2022, 20:30 UTC+8

The milky white inner room was yellowed by evening light. Arms Masters were directed to and seated in rows of chairs of high luxury and middling comfort. When the audience was situated, Admiral Abasolo appeared at their front. His smile felt unnatural, so he dropped it as soon as he introduced it.

“Greetings, everyone. While some of us have talked personally since, I’d like to congratulate you all collectively on a successful exercise to Mischief Reef." He didn't appreciate applause and so allotted no time for it. "We haven’t heard the QRS express their gratitude due to jamming operations, but the concerns we’ve received from intercepted PLA transcripts proves that our work was fruitful.

“Now,” he relaxed his stance slightly, “We already have another mission for you. However, unlike previous, that mission is not time sensitive. I’ve postponed it for a later date. Even now, I’m certain you’re exhausted from your endeavors in the South China Sea, and I won’t throw that kind of soldier onto the battlefield if I can help it.

“To that end, the Philippine government has authorized the renting of this establishment. The management has experienced a drop in revenue and so agreed. Apparently the well to do don’t typically spend their vacation in a war zone during wartime.” If that was a joke, his face expressed no humor.

“I’d like to make this perfectly clear: this is not a charity. This is mandatory recuperation in preparation for your next assignment. Keep physically fit, but don’t overexert yourself. We will offer daily trips to New Clark City’s stadium complex as needed.” New Clark City was a money pit, the brainchild of some city planner with time in excess who thought he’d usher in a utopia free of economics or rational thought. While it was there, though, Abasolo found no reason not to utilize its functions.

“A few drinks are fine, but you will be detained and reprimanded if you appear at roll call shitfaced. You are expected to be on your best behavior, especially to the staff here. They anticipated a leisurely pseudo vacation but now have to tolerate you. Treat them accordingly, with humility.”

He scanned the room. “If there are any questions, you may address them to me privately, not out of confidentiality but out of efficiency. The concierge at the front has your room keys and is on standby to distribute them. Dismissed.”

Intermission Two: Ghosts of Angeles City

The Ritz Hotel - 10/18/2022, 20:30 UTC+8

Task Force Obsidian had been reassigned to Angeles City for 'mandatory leave', and said leave was going to be spent in a hotel, one of Angeles City's finest. Noel was not sure what to think about such 'special treatment' as he listened to Rear Admiral Absolo inform them of the terms of their 'no choice vacation', but he knew everyone else deserved it for their hard work.

After all, he still had not made up for the 'Myron Incident'. Speaking of his fellow Arms Master, the latter still kept a distance from everyone else, having selected the seat furthest away from the group. Guess that moment of helping Kaitlyn and Iker did not change much about the group's opinion of him.

Having come from a relatively 'new money' Family, Noel was used to the luxuriousness of the hotel and knew that what made it all possible was Lotus Squadron and they were keeping the skies clear. He should thank them sometime when they landed; the successes in Lingayen Gulf and Mischief Reef were just not possible without them, but it was up to the Vietnamese Government to reward them, which they probably will due to how they were just that crucial.

Either way, once the group was dismissed, he'd take his keys from the concierge and go to his room; it was in the Regal Suite. For a brief moment, the boy sighed; he missed Regil already - Just what had happened to the other boy, his sister, and William, the enigmatic British guy? Were they gone like most of the Volunteers once they had acquired a taste of battle and war?

It hurt, seeing more people leave; Task Force Obsidian was shrinking and he was sure the Chinese knew it; their spies were everywhere even after the Government of National Salvation's 'housecleaning'.

This meant that Noel and Myron had the thankless task of rooting out enemy spies who tried to infiltrate Task Force Obsidian itself - Enemy spies who might have genuinely useful Noble Arms to boot. That said, he might be able to, at his own discretion, hire his own volunteers and have Myron vet them - There are also graduates of Trinidad Academy, the Philippines' own Arms Master training facility, to take into the group. But that meant that if those turned out to be compromised by China... That it would be his fault.

Two newspapers were delivered to his door; he took them - There was a national newspaper and a local tabloid, and the headlines on the latter chilled Noel's heart.

Apparently, there were rumors that the Amerasian - American + Asian mixed-race people - community in the area were the reason the Chinese were targeting Angeles City with missiles, drones, and bombers. These were falsehoods, but Noel knew how those could harm.

So he took the initiative and called Sister Marta through his new contacts, asking, You've seen the Tabloids - The ones in English, not Tagalog? I'm going down to the lobby to discuss what to do about them. You wanna come?

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022, 20:45 UTC++8

Balibago Street was the red-light district of Angeles City, where the descendants of the US Military Personnel that had inhabited Clark, mixed-race children who were unclaimed by their fathers, were concentrated, driven by poverty to continue in the profession of their mothers, aka prostitution, which was illegal but winked at in this country.

Myron was born there, but to an American businessman, not a soldier; the results were the same, though. Now, he and a unit of military police were keeping order, protecting people who despite their discrimination and degradation, were countryfolk, from those who sought to exploit them.

His presence terrified some, calmed down others, and caused yet more to spit at him for treachery perceived and real. It mattered not, if Noble Arms could protect them, then he'd take back everything bad he said about those weapons.

Then suddenly, there was a mob; forty to eighty men and women with bamboo spears, machetes, and pipe guns, shouting hate against the people they had always looked down upon as the lowest sort of folk for their origins. As the unit of military police - Barely eight men and women - called for reinforcements, Myron drew a K1A Compact Assault Rifle and pointed it at the mob.

No one hurts my people, he thought, hoping they would be intimidated. Imagine that; I have a people.

@SkyHresvelg@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Ryik

Muraya Ramen House, Balibago, Angeles City - 10/18/2022, 20:02 UTC+8

"Spicy Miso, please."

The waitress nods, taking back the menu and leaving Jason to his own devices.

The gunmetal jacket Ai Chen had thrown in his face on the flight over is unassuming enough, though infiltration work really isn't his forte. That isn't to say he's feeling much career fulfillment carrying out haphazard acts of terrorism, but he has to admit that his Noble Arm is uniquely suited towards 'lowering morale.'

The mission itself is rather onerous - him against pretty much all of task force: Obsidian. While he hasn't been saddled with taking them all down, besides his extraction, he's mostly been left to handle the whole thing on his own. Can't have him flipping out on any partner, and it's not like they could split up after he begins spreading the virus.

The waitress eventually returns with his bowl of ramen. He shoots her a thank you before breaking apart a pair of chopsticks and digging in. Maybe he should have tried actual filipino food for his first visit, but as a creature of habit, he can't resist going back to his old favorites.

The spice dances mildly on his tongue, and he bites into it hard enough to bleed, willing the regeneration to do its damn job. The scars on his skin and dark circles under his eyes are both its most glaring failures, but his burnt taste receptors from years of drinking coffee before it adequately cools down is perhaps its worst shortcoming. It wouldn't be so bad if he could fix it once and be done with it, like the same haircut he's been sporting since he got his powers, but he either can't help but foil himself with the same bad habits he's always had or his self-image is so intertwined with the damage that he keeps bringing it back without realizing. Either way, he reaches for one of the bottles of chili oil the restaurant leaves on every table and begins pouring on more of it, then takes a bite and smiles at the double-whammy of repaired taste buds and increased heat. It's not like he can feel the painful parts, so the physiological responses to extreme heat have a novelty to them not unlike the deterioration of motor function from alcohol.

Whatever, this should do for the taste test.

He bites into his thumb and pulls a small ball of blood out, hidden from the other customers by his bowl. Modifying blood is his specialty, but the most literal of modifications still elude him. Changing the color of blood to a different shade of red is easy. Blood already changes color based on its level of oxygenation and can range anywhere from a vibrant scarlet to a claret shade of black. While he's managed to keep blood healthy and alive at its more unhealthy shades, nothing really happens when he tries to go for shades of blue or green. Perhaps more frustrating is that, when he tries, he finds that it really isn't that difficult to push the color slightly away from red, towards orange, brown, and especially towards pink. At the extreme end of alteration, the orb of blood looks more like an orb of Pepto Bismol. Something about the image of that wretched indigestion medicine near his ramen makes his stomach turn, so he returns the ball of blood to red before taking another bite.

What he'd really like to accomplish is clear blood, indistinguishable from water, but the opacity on his little ball of blood isn't quite so flexible. When separated into component parts, semitransparent blood plasma should make up more than half of the contents of blood, but even through conscious effort, all he seems to be able to make is this sickly yellow mess that fills him with similar disgust when left next to his food. Does pure blood plasma even still count as blood for his powers? Is the blood plasma he creates even close to pure, or is it some bastardized contaminated mix?

Fuck it, he'll just put the blood in the chili oil.

Next, modifying the blood to have no taste. He begins trying to remove the iron so that the offensive taste of pennies doesn't stand front and center, but try as he might, any satisfyingly inoffensive taste constitutes complete death of the sample. He ends up having to bite into his thumb a few more times before finally giving up on removing the iron, aiming to overpower the taste instead. Luckily, enhancing the inherent meaty flavor leads to a surprisingly pleasant outcome, resembling the miso soup in some ways. Maybe he could slip it into the Miso too. Just gotta make it more of a dark orange-yellow... yeah, that works. Taste test, and- okay, a little bit more tweaking.

By the end, he has something that any chef would crucify him for comparing to miso, but it doesn't particularly change the flavor when added to proper miso broth.

It strikes him, all at once, that perhaps matching the ramen flavors was an unnecessary step to take, but he rather enjoyed the food here, and defending the chef's professional integrity is the least he could do before terrorizing the staff with zombie customers.

Well, no, the least he could do for them would be contaminating all of their supplies and not giving a damn how it affects the ramen. The entire exercise in blood flavoring has been a waste of time, hasn't it?

Jason physically shakes off the gloom. He has to consciously remind himself that further development of his Noble Arm could eventually lead to a breakthrough, no matter how inane the direction seems at first. He finishes off the rest of his ramen before flagging down the waitress for his check.

While he's waiting, he considers how to handle task force: Obsidian after drawing their attention here. Realistically speaking, all he'd need to do is infect one of them with the loneliness virus and his job would be done. Since they seem to be recuperating, it's unlikely that the Ritz hotel becomes an easier target just because some of them are drawn away, and thus it's likely best to just send one of them back as a trojan horse.

Jason takes his lightly flavored blood, keeping it red, and begins modifying the virus within for delayed release. This, he has already mastered, albeit only relatively, since the variance in victim metabolism makes it difficult to nail down a specific time frame before secondary symptoms manifest. A side effect of the greater delay is that the increased heart rate is harder to notice at first, though it stops being beneficial once it starts to kick in, becoming more obvious due to the longer period it's drawn out over. He should also probably keep collateral to a minimum, which in this case means making the virus lose potency if it hasn't infected a body by... let's see, the restaurant closes at midnight? That works.

Mixed in with a lot of broth or the rest of the chili oil, the dosage would be rather low, but direct consumption would still have people turning within several seconds. He decides to shoot for a dosage and potency where secondary symptoms begin to manifest after fifteen minutes or so, hopefully enough time for people to finish their meals and walk out, if only to lessen the trouble for the restaurant owners.

...Which is pretty pointless considering they're likely to get infected sooner or later, whether it be by the broth or their customers. He can feel a light ache at the back of his head at his own wishy washy bullshit and decides to stop thinking about it before the thoughts start to become their own problem.

When the waitress comes back with his check, he pays in cash, leaving a generous tip, before standing and infecting all the chili oil bottles he walks past. His own table was at the end of the restaurant, so it was simple to get all the unoccupied tables, and for the rest he just floated the blood droplets under their table when he passed by and into the chili oil bottles from behind their lines of sight, quietly observing the other customers as he did so to make sure none of them paid enough attention to notice. When he reaches the front of the restaurant, he stops, turning around and walking towards the back of the restaurant, as if forgetting something. It's rather trivial getting into the kitchen, albeit not very far in, and floating over the flavored, colored blood into all of the pots that look like miso.

One of the chefs realizes he shouldn't be there, but doesn't seem to have noticed his sabotage. "Sir, you can't be back here."

Since it's not the waitress, he plays up the clueless foreigner act, apologizing in Russian, not expecting it to be understood, before using a common tourist phrase, letting his accent shine through. "Where is the restroom?"

The woman shakes her head, probably unsure if the foreigner would even understand her words. "No public restroom." She moves forward to drive him out of the kitchen and he lets her, backing off and continuing away from the kitchen once he's out until he passes through the front doors.

Now he just has to wait.

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022, 20:45 UTC+8

The night had begun to set in the red light district of Angeles City and despite the tension provided by the war, the nightlife still moves as usual. The mob marching to some place however tells her that the tension had begun creeping in at some places. If this offer went bust or ended quickly, she could easily search for another job to fulfill her war chest.

After all, conflict creates demand for protection, protection she is uniquely suited to offer to the highest bidder. Noble Arm users are rare, the ones not affiliated to anything were rarer. Who wouldn’t want a bullet resistant Arms Master to be their bodyguard?

Still that doesn’t mean she was blind to the reality of her position, when compared to her fellow Masters she was actually at a lower level, even at her state she wasn’t sure if she could beat her sister at the first moment she unlocked hers.

She pushes those thoughts away, whatever she thinks of herself she must strive to keep it from affecting her job. She only needs to live and find her sister, then after that…

…get the happy ending they promised to claim together.

She took a deep breath and entered the designated meeting place, a love motel which would be an odd choice for a girl as young as her but there are things that had ensured that no one would bat an eye. The first one was the fact that this particular establishment was used to receiving students who want to share a night of passion and they will assume it is the same from her.

It might be illegal or immoral in the eyes of others but red light districts don't really care for such things.

It took her a while before she reached the locked door of room 307, there was no code or secret messages arranged between her and the client, just a proof of identity needed to be presented.

Sinagtala, a night colored sword materialized out of her hands and in a single swing a tear to Imaginary Space was created. After all, the best way to identify an Arms Master was through the arms they are wielding.

In a single leap the Imaginary Space was breached and a wall passed through.

In a single moment, Cristina materializes inside the room and in front of his client.

“Good evening gentlemen, to whom do I owe the pleasure of doing business with?”

Intermission Two: Ghosts of Angeles City

Balibago, Angeles City - 10/18/2022, Philippines, 20:45, UTC+8

Her client was an old man; a fellow Filipino whose wrinkled brown skin and wispy white hair fit well with his immaculate tan suit and silken beige tie. Facing the Arms Master, the man spoke, "Cristina Bernardino; I have heard much about what happened to you."

He was sitting on a small chair in the small hotel room, before saying, "Now, let me introduce myself - My name is Cornelio Malong; I am with the National Intelligence Coordinating Agency."

A pause for effect as he breathed hard. "I have spent a third of my life - 34 years - Trying to save the Philippines from itself. I grew my Noble Arm when I saw Angelito Jaime, the 'Hero of ASEAN', force the Chinese to back off with only his courage and a Noble Arm that wasn't even the most powerful, and saw that my country needed me more than I needed to live comfortably."

It was clear he had a habit of pausing often as he halted for a few more seconds and said, "Angelito Jaime is dying; the enemy no longer fears him. Age and lung cancer - A special type that shares his Arms Master Survivability - Are going to claim him within a year. But he fights on, using his own portals to return Chinese drones, missiles, and bombs to where they came from. And who am I to show less resolve?"

He coughed slightly, wheezing a little as he continued, "I'll be blunt. We've thrown away every opportunity to lift ourselves up since that glorious day in 1988. Our politicians are cynical, the poor, alienated, our activists, squabbling among themselves about how to help until their support ebbed away. Our army is split between those who want to fight China - Our side - and those who would gladly yield if it meant cash, a luxury home, and girls."

Breathing hard, Cornelio continued, "And now, we are at the breaking point. China is invading; their supporters, are everywhere. The political clans and 'great families' would gladly fight on the enemy's side to maintain their privileges, clients, and disinformation networks. Even those who want to fight the Chinese are vulnerable to blackmail, threats, intimidation."

He cupped his right hand forward, and a palm-sized mirror with razor-sharp edges materialized, floating above it. Cornelio then said, his tone gathering strength and steel, "This is Salamin (Mirror)."

Images then began to appear on the glass, of various people in dark apartments, typing furiously on computers that somehow kept operating despite power cuts and internet blackouts.

"These people are spreading disinformation about the situation to the world, while at the same time devoting their spare time to convincing the locals that the Amerasian - Asian-American - community in the city is to blame for the war and should be attacked. I will deal with them myself."

Then the mirror showed pictures of various influential politicians of Angeles City and the surrounding province of Pampanga, finally settling on a profile of an influential Ex-Speaker of the House from the province. Cornelio coughed and wheezed some more, then said, "This woman once held a very high position of power, and used it to work closely with China. She was thrown out when the Government of National Salvation was formed but has returned to her childhood home in Lubao, Pampanga, south of Angeles City, and is openly spreading propaganda advocating surrender to the Chinese. Bring her to Justice."

@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Ryik@Digmata

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022, 20:47 UTC+8

Cristina rolled her eyes at her client’s words, it wasn’t the first time a client did their homework and showed pity at her past. At first she let it slide but now it was getting annoying. Maybe one day she will slice the tongue of the next guy who mentioned it, her contract and reputation be damned.

She listened as the old man began listing his life story to her, perhaps it was because he was old, or this the first time the government actually hired her services but she begins to think that people in the military love hearing their own voice? Now that she contemplated it, that was true for a good number of her clients.

Or maybe they are just trying to ease her up in a desperate bid to officially recruit her, both are equally plausible if she looked at it.

Her face showed a tinge of sympathy at learning about Angelito’s condition, she might be a mercenary but there was a part of her that admires the Hero of ASEAN. For her, he was one of the reasons she could still continue her search for Basillia.

For everything else however it was only met with resignation and disappointment. “So nothing had actually changed despite the grandeur and triumph of that revolution.” she answered. “It’s similar to running in circles don’t you think?.”

She then watched as the old man summoned his Noble Arm, a mirror of all things to show her the task she is about to undergo.

But first she witnessed the treasonous actions of her fellow countrymen, in a nation that needs to be united, there are those who would see it rather fall divided. She would not miss them when they are gone.

She stared at the former speaker, one Flores Pagkanta that she had seen at websites and newspapers. This country could really use more competent politicians if only she knew where she could find them.

She took a deep breath and compiled the information inside her head. There are a few things that she could use a clarification and a thing that doesn’t line up.

“If I were to take this job, I would need a definition of your justice. Am I to drag her to the nearest court, or send her to whatever God she prays to? What about her protection details, had you compiled something or should I go in blind and lastly…”

She stared at the officer’s eyes as she tried to make the best impression of her sister. There is more to this situation than what was spoken and her former experiences are telling there is something.

“Why did you hire me? This task is something you should give to your best agents, not a freelancer who wasn’t even allowed to drink liquor under this country's law? Isn’t that a little bit sketchy, is it?”

---

The Ritz Hotel, Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022, 20:10 UTC+8

I'm not very good at this "mandatory recuperation" thing, am I?

Such was the predominant thought roaming through Qingshe's mind, as she stared out the window of the hotel room with a half-lidded gaze. Velvety-red curtains hung wide open, granting a decent view of the cityscape from the top floor of the Ritz Hotel. The sun had already set, casting the city in night and leaving the room the Snake occupied lit only by artificial light, warmly illuminating pale-yellow walls and white carpet.

Swirling a glass of wine in one hand, Qingshe frowned, taking a sip and savoring the fruity taste on her tongue, an explosion of deep, soulful flavor lighting up her senses. Enhanced taste buds: never leave home without them. Despite the Admiral's warning, she wasn't really concerned with overindulgence. It wasn't like she could get drunk these days anyway... something she sometimes considered a detriment when she was feeling particularly adventurous or... "out of touch" with the average human. Lips tightening at that thought, Qingshe took the half-empty bottle of expensive wine from the side table she was sitting next to and refilled her glass. Yet, even as she took another sip, she knew the idle consideration had already soured her mood.

Exhaling through her nostrils, Qingshe set her wine glass on the table and glanced about her room with unrestrained boredom. If she'd had her way, she'd be working more on Lotus Squadron's "ladies" or tending to the wounded from the last mission, perhaps advertising some improvements for the Philippine military's equipment. There were some exciting things she'd have loved to try with the Navy, but it seemed red tape and the weakness of flesh and spirit her comrades were unfortunately prone to were going to waylay her as well. So, here she was, a woman married to her work stuck in some fancy hotel, being waited on hand and foot, pampered on the government's coin and orders. The television had been considered, humored and then finally discarded when the news was fraught with only the media harping on about and stoking social unrest.

She had considered making herself a nuisance to some of the rest of Obsidian, but those she would have felt comfortable teasing had all departed. Hannie... Kaityln... Indra. She'd actually been quite excited to poke the latter, a fellow national icon, but time and obligations hadn't really allowed for it. She was particularly worried about Hannie, now that she considered it. She hadn't exactly gotten the most positive impression of the girl's handlers by proxy, and who knew what they'd do after presumably needing to withdraw her for being a liability instead of an asset. People that were willing to wield a little girl as a weapon like that... She should have done something, been more proactive, stopped playing around so as not to keep scaring the poor thing. Maybe if she had...

Qingshe's knuckles whitened, as her hands tightened into fists. It was a good thing she'd already set her glass down, or she might have shattered it. And honestly, it would be a shame to stain the carpet with expensive wine and rack up even more unnecessary bills for her sponsors. Glancing out the window at the nightlife of Angeles City, she sighed.

"I need some fresh air."

Saying it aloud helped crystalize the desire into reality, as she stood from her seat, idly corking the remnants of her bottle of wine and dropping it from the table into her waiting shadow, where it disappeared into the bubbling depths without a sound. Scooping the wine glass from the table, she downed the contents in a single, deep swallow, licking her lips and setting the glass down.

Striding to the door, she idly considered her path forward and then briefly dipped into her shadow. Within the bubbling, humming depths of her ooze, garments and accents were stripped away, only to be momentarily replaced, forming from the nothingness that was whole upon her body, the crackling tingle of thunder humming in her veins and atop her skin. When she emerged from the ooze again right before her door, gone was the eccentric image of the Snake, the A-Rank Arms Master who drew eyes just by existing.

In her place, a mature beauty stepped outside the room, locking it behind her and pocketing the key. Though, she was still certainly eye-catching with her long, green curls for hair and full, womanly figure clearly pressing up against the inside of her clothes, she was dressed far more casually -and conservatively- in clothes that could actually be considered civilian. Nestled beneath her clothes against the small of her back, a miniscule puddle of ooze left a cord trailing from within to her flesh, sinking cleanly beneath her skin. But despite those features, she could pass perfectly well for a civilian, making a deliberate effort to control her contracting pupils to keep them from narrowing to slits and fixing her eye color into a solid green hue. Being even this low-key was an uncommon event for any that knew her. Yet, she wasn't looking to be hassled and eye-balled while alone with her thoughts. Obsidian had a responsibility to not take the generosity and freedom allowed to them for granted, and that meant not making a nuisance of themselves while on leave.

---

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022, 20:12 UTC+8

It wasn't too hard to avoid the rest of Obsidian, as Qingshe navigated the expansive hotel's depths, descending to the bottom floor and "hitting the streets", as it were. Her hands dipped into her white coat's pockets, as she ambled down the sidewalks with no particular destination in mind, watching civilians pass her by and trying not to think about how her skin crawled at the very concept of inaction and slothfulness, even when it was mandated...

She'd never been very good at just lazing about. Downtime was just another way of keeping her busy doing nothing, and her hobbies were borderline nonexistent. Life in the Chinese military -especially in these busy, warmongering years- hadn't really allowed for that, and when she wasn't busy with doing science on their behalf, she was working the PR machine like a dog. The very concept of "me time" was practically a foreign entity back then. And even once she'd finally cast off her chains, she'd just ended up involved with the QRS and fighting on the opposite side of the same war, moving from front to front, blunting the Chinese momentum with the presence only an A-Rank Arms Master could bring to the table these days, even newly properly christened as she was.

She was...

"Still not free, huh..." Qingshe murmured under her breath. Not yet, not until this war was done. Until that day, she would never be free to do as she pleased, to truly pursue the ascension of humanity and the recovery of all she had lost under her homeland's thumb, not while this foolish war raged on, not while humans tore each other apart out of spite, reckless ambition and pointless malice. All those resources, all those lives spent like water, all those brilliant minds forced to focus on developing the industry of violence and destruction, all those precious crystallizations of the soul -Noble Arms that could have changed the world for the better- thrown into the pyre of war and reduced to mere fuel for the flame...

It was so disgustingly wasteful.

It made her skin itch at the sheer incompetence, the irrationality of humanity at its very worst. To even contemplate the true depths of such waste, to actually calculate it, run the numbers and simulate -as she had- what could have been if everyone would just fucking get along for the sake of the common good of humanity... it made her so frothing angry that her mental stabilizers were triggered, restabilizing her reason. Not for the first time, she contemplated how much better things would be if she were in charge from the top-down and then discarded it. There was no point in daydreaming about the impossible, especially not if it would only stroke her own ego to arrogance. She was self-aware enough to understand that her nascent god-complex did not even slightly need a single drop more encouragement wherever she could starve it. The last thing she needed was to become the very thing she sought to destroy.

Yet, that didn't lessen her utter fury with her homeland. And more importantly, her disappointment.

It was why she'd betrayed them, after all, after they had killed her faith.

...And she should really stop thinking about that.

Shaking her head of that circular line of thought, Qingshe let loose a slow calming exhale. Inhaling the cooler late-day air, she snuggled her hands more deeply within her pockets and rolled her shoulders, working a few imaginary cricks from her neck. The night was young and her obligations none, and if she was going to really get in on this vaunted "recuperation" and decompression thing, then she supposed that she should try to stop thinking too much.

Impossible, her brain unhelpfully snorted at the concept. Regardless, reminiscence and self-reflection were clearly not her friends this night. It had only been the better part of a single week of this enforced "vacation", and she was already practically on the verge of climbing the walls and tearing out her own hair from boredom. After so many consecutive years always moving from one task to the next, she didn't really know how to deal with not having something of actual substance to do that furthered her future interests...

Maybe it's time to learn.

She checked her internal clock.

20:42

It seemed her aimless wanderings had just sucked time into a dark void, and now, she simply didn't know what to do with herself, even with the conscious realization of what she "should" do. Intellectually, she was aware that downtime was healthy, that taking breaks was essential to a happy work-life balance for humans, but habit and -admittedly obsessive- forward thinking advocated otherwise. Yet, if she didn't make up her mind soon, she was only going to find her resolution met by closed establishments for the night.

She was honestly disappointed at the shot of warped relief that rippled through her, as the sound of distant shattering glass rang through the night, followed by shouts of alarm. Qingshe's gaze snapped in that direction, her feet already carrying her closer, curiosity stoked, as she tried to catch a glimpse of what was happening from a distance.

Flashback - Collab between @Letter Bee and @Nimbus

BRP Ramon Alcaraz - 10/11/2022, 20:20 UTC+8

Noel, Nico, and Indra were back on the ship, and so was Myron. The ASEAN Flotilla had taken a beating from the PLA Navy’s battle groups, but the diversion had worked and the supply ships were getting through to Mischief Reef. Now, they could all return to Lingayen for their next deployment… Once Myron had dealt with some unfinished business.

He had left Kaitlyn, Iker, Qingshe and that newcomer Rocha in the ships; they could meet later. Right now, he had a good deed to do, one more action to make up for a childhood and adolescence lost in atrocities.

Gritting his teeth, Myron glanced down the corridor behind him. Callie hadn’t been terribly subtle in shadowing him. He gestured for her to follow him to one of the side rooms of the ship.

He had already guessed what she had seen, what Sohrab had told her about. But as he walked towards the side room, the young man knew that he wanted to come clean, and so was prepared to do so if she asked for it.

And so the Intelligence Officer opened the door, went inside, and faced Callie, saying, “What do you want to know?”

“That easy to read, huh?” The smile on Caroline Lidmann’s face was anything but kind. The whites of her teeth and eyes caught the dregs of the light, the rest of her silhouette blending into the darkness as she passed through the doorway. Her tone of voice was little better, full of frost and steel that stood guard over her intent. “Maybe I should ask you. What do you think I’d want to know, Myron?” she asked, her echoing words punctuated by the clang of the door falling shut.

The light flickered on automatically to reveal her, leant against the wall, arms crossed.

“Yes,” Myron responded with steel of his own. “People in emotional distress are that, as I’ve known through long experience. So, Sohrab told you about your father; that confirmed my own suspicions.”

He frowned and said, “Noble Arms are not genetic, but they come from personality and that vaguely-defined thing called personal growth. And your Noble Arm’s resemblance to the one held by Public Enemy #1 in the War against the Hammer has been noted, although again, Sohrab confirmed it.”

Following up with a sigh, he continued, “And of course, you look like him in a way that is almost uncanny…”

Callie’s gaze tightened. “You don’t need to bother with the whys and wherefores, Myron. And maybe don’t tell a girl she’s in ‘emotional distress’, hmm? Not very polite.” A tiny adjustment of her arms, perhaps just enough to serve as a reminder of what they could be holding were her mood to fall further.

Myron nodded. “I’m sorry for that remark, then. So, where should we start?”

“From the beginning, maybe.” Callie shifted in her position against the wall. “You’re the one with the intel on this man. Brief me.”

The response was a nod, then a sigh, as Myron said, “Kendrick is the leader - or one of the leaders - of the Hammer of Masters, a notorious Arms Master Supremacist organization that hijacked the War on Terror by destroying several jihadist groups in Syria and taking all they had, before overrunning most of Syria, Iraq, and parts of Lebanon and Western Iran. He then proclaimed himself the ‘Malik’ - one of the Arabic words for King - of the ‘State of Masters’, and it took several years of fighting to bring him down. Even then, we could not have succeeded if he had not been so hated by the locals for being a foreigner and, well, irreligious, although his subordinates, particularly Anui-El, worshipped him.”

He paused and continued, “He had a wife, once. Or was it a lover? It was back in England, where he was born. Records were hazy, but he had connections to a group that claimed to be for ‘Equality’ between Arms Masters and non-Arms Masters but wound up being a front for the Hammer of Masters’ predecessors. Your mother - Mary, right? - was a part of that group, a Non-Arms Master member.”

Myron closed his mouth, then opened it again, perhaps noting the way that Callie’s expression shifted for the tiniest of moments to terror, then returned not to frost but to ice. He continued, nonetheless: “The Disablers sent a sizable number of volunteers to the Middle East, and I was one of them. I was sixteen, I think, and I spent the next few years cooperating with everyone from deranged jihadists to arms smugglers and drug cartels to hurt Arms Masters as much as I can, through poison, explosives, sniper rifles, and eventually, targeting their families. I wish the fact I was a kid myself was an excuse - but it isn’t.

“Eventually, the Malikate’s borders shrank to a city on the Syrian-Iraqi border, and I, on my eighteenth birthday, was ordered to infiltrate it as part of the final siege. I was captured and Kendrick, after showing disinterest in my fate, gave me to Anui-El for… I don’t want to talk about it.”

He looked at her and continued on, “Sorhab, Kendrick’s second in command, risked his life and threw away his position in order to save me. He broke into the dungeon and smuggled me out, and when I asked him why he threw away everything, he said, ‘Because I saw you, and you were beautiful’.”

Myron chuckled, and spoke, “Imagine that. I realized shortly afterward, when he left me, that the Hammer and the Disablers were mirror images of each other, fueled by hate. And I wanted no part of that anymore. That was when I grew as a person and grew my Noble Arm.”

He looked at her, then continued, “Anui-El, now dead, sought an heir for the Malik. There are other rumors that the Malik is still alive. If that’s the case… I’m done not trusting people; I’m done not trusting you. Besides, you’d prefer Qingshe over a deadbeat parent who abandoned you at a young age, right?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Callie said, light laughter under her breath. Her prior mood, seemingly, was dispelled. “That’s good to know.” She leant back just a touch against the wall, arms unfurling to fall behind her back. “How’d you hear that name? ‘Mary’, I mean.”

Myron answered, “You have a dossier; I have security clearance to see the more benign parts, including your mother’s name. After that came several web searches. Either way, though, it’s not like my past is clean so why should I judge you for your own, which you can’t even control?”

Then he mused, “So, what do you plan to do with what you know now? I request that you spare Sohrab, but ‘The Malik’ and everyone else are free for you to deal with…”

Callie hummed, a quiet, warbling thing. “I don’t see how much it changes. I’m not in this for vengeance on a man I’ve never met, I’m in it because the cause here is worth fighting for. If him and his allies are fighting against that cause, then we’re fighting them. No need to complicate it beyond that… If you ever have anything on him or his subordinates, abilities, weaknesses, personal quirks that can be taken advantage of, let me know.” She flashed a smile. “Like to think I’m a pretty good student.”

Myron smiled back. “I think you are. So, it seems we both have things to do now?” he asked, not so subtly signalling an end to the meeting.

“Sure,” Callie answered, voice already a little faint as she reached the door, opened it, then half-stepped through. “Good talk.”

And in a moment, with brass flashing into her hand and space appearing where it hadn’t been previously, she was gone.

Balibago, Angeles City - 10/18/2022, 20:33 UTC+8

He's always liked people-watching, even back when he was a civilian. Watching passersby isn't particularly stimulating, but hubs of activity tended to offer revealing windows into the irrationalities of people. It gave him a more reliable measure of what constituted normal behavior, free from the bias of entertainment or the specific quirks of his direly limited social circle.

It's become a more fruitful pastime, as of late. His intuition has since become strange, and behaviors he had originally dismissed as impractical or nonsensical make more sense in the context of social manipulation. He could recite a book on the topic word for word, but he's always struggled to identify how the underlying principles are or could be put into practice.

He stared at the ramen shop from a nearby rooftop. The way that man leans over his ramen, despite having finished eating. The way that woman seems to laugh at every other thing her companion says. The subtlety of simply tilting one's head towards another. The way that woman from earlier begins to stare off into space, like- yeah, that's the first infection within the restaurant. The other patrons scream. Ironic, considering they didn't even notice when one of the other patrons turned outside the restaurant and attacked someone in full view of the windows.

Looks like his people-watching time is over.

He dismounts the rooftop, not bothering with a safe landing. His steps are a little awkward for a few seconds after, but it's nothing he can't walk off. The zombies seem to be proliferating well, though they've always been rather stupid things. If nothing catches their attention, they tend to shamble aimlessly, and while they don't ignore the hustle and bustle of the city, they aren't exactly the running type unless they catch sight of prey.

He decides not to linger with them, walking down and off the street. The zombie virus is, honestly, pretty harmless in the end, but unless ASEAN quickly puts together that the symptoms match some random arms user that has only been active in Ukraine, the damage from the panic they cause tends to be vastly more devastating. After all, it's rare for zombie movies to end because the virus has a shorter lifespan than the common cold or flu. Granted, reinfection is a serious issue, but even without a quarantine, it tends to burn out in a week or two at most. Reinfection often happens before they get the chance to drink anything, so they tend to die of dehydration during the second round.

Still, that left the question of whether he should add more points of infection or leave it as-is. Dropping even a few zombies into a highly populated area is usually enough, but dropping them into different locations massively speeds up the infection rate. Knowing Ai Chen, he doubts she'd care how much collateral got involved. In fact, she might egg him on to cause more, even if it isn't beneficial.

Wouldn't it be, in this case?

Something about the thought is upsetting, though he can't particularly fathom why. He doesn't care for anyone here - probably no one in the country, even. He's unleashing a zombie virus that will have an indeterminate death count, even if it's all indirect deaths, so why does he feel opposed to the idea of spreading it more?

He tamps down on the feeling as he passes by another man. He doesn't particularly need to make a scene to infect him, so he doesn't, withdrawing some blood and guiding it to the man's face without pausing his walk. It only takes moments for the man's spluttering to cut out before, no doubt, being replaced by a thousand-yard stare.

He keeps walking.

His newfound fixation on preserving human life is pointless and detrimental. Life is not precious. Earth has had a chronic overpopulation problem even throughout the rise of Noble Arms. It's that damned OPL code.

It really was incredibly stupid, using normal human brain chemistry as the regeneration template. The idea that it wouldn't matter is laughable to him, now. At least his Noble Arm got it right.

He still hasn't tested his regeneration without his Noble Arm. He should have some degree of it in theory, but he knows that normal people view his thinking as lacking, somehow, and he'd hate to think the same. He'd much rather have an emotional blind spot than a logical one, thank you very much. Hypocrites, the lot of them.

He enters a nearby alleyway and lifts up his jacket and shirt to avoid creating a hole in them, then manifests a simple kitchen knife, feeling the throb of unfelt pain in his back. Reaching back, he pulls it out, letting his clothes drop, and hides the knife under his jacket. He can feel his blood staining the back of his shirt, but the jacket is water-resistant and his regeneration is fast enough to keep the wound from making a mess. Blood clotting is child's play.

He waits by the alley entrance, waiting for another passerby. Eventually, a woman holding a baseball bat does, and he uses his Hemokinesis to pull the knife out from his jacket and launch it at her. Human life isn't precious, and he needs to prove to himself that he believes it; that he can take it when the need arises.

The knife sinks right into her neck, catching her completely unawares, but the wound is pathetically shallow. An exercise in utilization of minimal force, he tries to justify, except he knows he can't lie to himself. He hasn't caused any meaningful damage. Frustration bubbles up within him, and he telekinetically pulls the knife out and jams it into her lower abdomen. It was something he did on the spur of the moment; something to take his anger out on, except why bother pulling the knife away from her neck, then?

It's a waste to kill her, he mentally argues. It's a waste to kill everyone haphazardly too. Human life isn't precious, but it has more use alive than dead. The justification rings hollow to him, but it's an acceptable excuse this time. He has no reason to kill people here. He can more closely examine his self-endangerment later... except there may never be a better time to do so than now. If he fails to pull the metaphorical trigger once, what's to stop it from happening again?

He can feel a headache coming on, already far too late to stop. He decides that if he's going to kill the woman, it's now or never. He reaches out - an unnecessary motion, but a steadying one. He could pull the knife out. The blood loss alone might be enough to do it, eventually, though it wouldn't be enough to clear his doubts, and he's not sure he wouldn't hesitate to stab her again. He instead reaches for the virus, barely accessible through her stab wound, and changes it to the rage variant, something that ensures she'll aggravate her wound and burn out - to death. There. He's done it.

When the headache hits, he finds it easier to keep his gaze locked onto the pavement. It's not painful, per se, but it's probably the closest thing to pain he can still feel, like resting your head on a bed of uneven porous rock. It's an intrusive sort of discomfort that he's become excruciatingly familiar with, since pushing against the resulting mental fatigue is both pointless and sharpens the rock's jagged edges. It's certainly worse than the feeling of the woman slamming the bat into his head.

"American Bastard!" She yells out something he barely registers, and doesn't even bother trying to understand.

He kicks her back as his skull repairs the minor damage she managed to deal and she snarls, brandishing the bat for another home run. Why is she even carrying... doesn't matter. He can still identify an enemy when he sees one. He grabs the bat as it swings at him. He probably sprains his wrist in the process, but he wouldn't care even if he were in his right mind to. He sees flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, and, preparing to take on another assailant, he angles the bat and pushes it back at her, hitting her in the chest and forcing her back, before following it up with another kick, pushing her out of the alleyway and into the street. That should give him the time and space to deal with the new arrival.

He stares them down, arms raised, prepared to fight, and they stare back through slitted green eyes. The staredown drags on and on for what feels like forever, until the loud sound of glass shattering rings out from a ways across the street, and the tabby cat he's been staring down darts away, probably scared off by the noise.

Did he just... get into a standoff with a stray cat?

He clutches at his forehead, not sure whether the lingering discomfort of his headache or his mortification is worse. He glances at the woman with a baseball bat ransacking some storefront before walking away as shouts of alarm begin to ring out. He'd rather not put on the mask and give up the element of surprise just yet, and it's not really his concern what trouble that woman gets into. The rage virus isn't really the infectious type, if only because the behaviors it causes aren't conducive to it, but maybe she'll infect more people by accident, who can say? Ai Chen hasn't said anything about friendly fire, so it's not like a particularly ornery Noble Arms user getting infected should matter. Even if the Philippines gets blown up, he'll probably be fine as long as it isn't vaporized. Probably.

@Lewascan2

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022, 20:47 UTC+8

Cornelio Malong was about to reply, but then he heard the sounds of fire, of mobs, of chaos, and Salamin shifted to show scenes of zombies - The infected human variant, not the undead kind - rampaging throughout the neighborhood. He then gave a sigh and said, "You have your answer; while I did not know that the Chinese would resort to a zombie virus, I did not want to bother the other Arms Masters here as they're supposed to protect the city from any major terrorist incident. So yes, I was asking a child to do my dirty work; how like the political clans I am seeking to dismantle."

He chuckled and spoke, "I've changed my mind; I'm taking care of Flores Corriente myself instead of asking kids to do it. I do still need you, though,... So I'm offering 100,000 Philippine Pesos to get me out of here; is that good enough? After that, we need to link you with First Lieutenant Alonso's 'Task Force Obsidian'; they can take care of you better than I can, I think?"

-------

Noel Alonso was expecting to have to confront a mob but was not expecting the mob to be mixed with zombies, zombies that were not actually undead but rather infected living beings. So the First Lieutenant swallowed his pride as he pulled out his radio and called the rest of Task Force Obsidian, including Qingshe, "Task Force Obsidian, we need your help - Qingshe, you have full authorization to quarantine the infected in your shadow until a cure is found!"

Certain people might find him incompetent, but he knew when to use every resource available. Deftly sidestepping a burst of bullets on instinct, Noel swung his Noble Arm to try and invoke La Luna's power of enchantment, but found out that aside from copies of Qingshe's shadow, which he did not know how to use yet -

"What are you doing?!" he heard Myron's voice call out as the latter and his knot of MPs, who had shot their way through angry lynch mob and zombie alike with their guns. "You're authorized to shoot to kill here! These aren't civilians anymore - Defend yourself while waiting for Qingshe and the others to save the rest!"

Myron was right; he should at least defend himself while doing his duty - Command. So Noel sent a radio to all military and police units in Angeles City, saying, "First Lieutenant Noel Alonso requesting a quarantine of the Balibago Neighborhood! Repeat, First Lieutenant Noel Alonso requesting a quarantine of the Balibago Neighborhood!"

The reply was immediate, "Affirmative; should we ask the Air Force for an airstrike?"

Noel was repulsed by the notion, "No! Primary-friendly assets are here! Give us 45 and we'll have it under control!"

45 minutes, Noel? he thought to himself. You're really depending on Qingshe now...

------

Amadeo Balagtas was flying above Balibago, his Noble Arm giving him the power to act as an aerial asset in lieu of Indra Larsdottir, who had returned to the Ukranian front. Right now, he was scanning the streets for any clue as to whoever started this whole mess.

He didn't expect to find one almost immediately, as he saw a man throw a knife at the neck of a woman carrying a baseball bat and then after wounding her slightly, telekinetically pull said knife out to stab her a second time, in the lower abdomen; strangely enough, the man had a standoff with a stray cat as the woman raged somewhere else, ignoring her fatally bleeding wound. Was that man American? He clearly looked like one, and he had cause to defend himself if he was... But he did not look like a listed volunteer.

Amadeo regretted not having the precision to drag that man's breath from his lungs from a distance. However, what he did have was a height advantage and access to the Philippine Military's Arsenal, including a Barrett M82 strapped to his side.

Lock, load, swirl a few winds around himself to compensate for the recoil, and he was ready to shoot - But first, a warning.

"Oi, you a Volunteer?! If so, state your name and purpose!" Amadeo was not precise enough to carry sound specifically to other people's ears yet, so he settled for being loud.

Jason would be able to turn around to see someone shooting at him from the air - A redheaded man, one who looked like an American-Asian himself, but whose face and expression betrayed privilege that most of them did not have. A redheaded man just barely out of boyhood, with androgynous features that mixed masculine and feminine perfectly.

And one dead-set on confronting him...

@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Ryik@Digmata

Balibago, Angeles City - 10/18/2022, 20:48 UTC+8

As much as he wanted to keep his anonymity, the far side of the alley was fenced off and didn't visibly lead anywhere he could hide. He could get over the fence, easily, though the voice behind him came from above, and the words 'state your name and purpose' seldom came without a Noble Arm being trained on you. That or just a gun. Against an unknown enemy, he couldn't risk letting them get a good look at him, nor risk being unable to find cover from aerial bombardment. He reached into his jacket, pulling out his mask, and affixed it to his face before turning around.

He had already checked for potential witnesses before attacking that woman, who was, instead of attacking a storefront like he had initially thought, apparently now attacking a bank. What he had failed to do, however, was sweep the skies. Rookie mistake, Jason. He knows, logically, he can't spend his entire life looking over his shoulder for Noble Arm-based boogeymen, but some form of flight is pretty common among combat Noble Arms. Maybe not many within a given group, but at least one? Almost guaranteed.

In any case, he needed to bullshit his way through the flying guy with a rifle trained on him. He had no idea what the guy was talking about, and even if he did, he didn't care for deception. That's been true even before the OPL fucked with his head. That being said, a lie by omission isn't a lie at all. It's not his responsibility to volunteer information to people, and what they do with what he gives them is their own prerogative.

It was rather awkward shouting up at the guy from so far away anyway. It was, amusingly, a genuinely opportune moment to practice his piss-poor sign language skills. He covered his masked mouth with a fist ((the symbol for mute but held against his face the wrong way)) and then did some bullshit swirl of his two index fingers before tapping two fingers on one hand beneath his chin. That definitely meant that he was not going to talk, source: bro trust.

Amadeo just stared at him, looking confused. Jason repeated the totally accurate and not at all made up gesture that was just as likely to be a real sentence in sign language as it was to be the somatic component of an Occult Programming Spell. Amadeo visibly didn't get it, so he tried a few more gestures as he slowly walked out of the alleyway. Amadeo kept his rifle trained on Jason the whole time, and didn't seem to object when he came to a stop on the sidewalk outside the alley.

Reaching a communicative impasse, Amadeo reached into his pocket for a phone, perhaps to look up sign language. That was bad. Potentially worse was the possibility that he was looking up Jason's mask. He hadn't been too high-profile since nobody connected him to his virus' debut until after it had been mostly dealt with, and subsequent infections never made headlines like the first, but the mask was distinctive. The connection between the virus and the man in a plague doctor mask is known, and he wouldn't have a hard time looking him up if he was with Task Force Obsidian, which, based on the volunteer comment, he almost definitely was.

Not giving Amadeo the time, he began making additional gestures towards the nearest busy storefront - Sullivan's Irish Pub. The interior was dimly lit by colorful lights, and despite the mess going on across the street, it was full of patrons, probably not paying much attention from the loud sound of music coming from inside. Jason begins walking towards it, eyes still trained on the man floating distantly up above.

"Stop."

Amadeo shifts his rifle, keeping it on Jason, and Jason stops. He doesn't actually mind getting shot, though it wouldn't be good to let on just how little he would mind it - He does mind, in fact, that it'd put a hole in his clothes, and a headshot would be particularly bad, but best practice is generally to aim for center mass, which ironically isn't likely to slow Jason down too much. Jason continues making gestures he invented on the spot to indicate that he wanted to enter the pub. He even makes a gesture indicating that he's trying to get away from Amadeo, which probably reads as nothing since he can't do sign language to save his life. Amadeo continues giving him confused looks before trying to respond to his made up sign-language.

"Not the Pub. If you want to go somewhere, pick a place without people."

Right. Guess it's time to get to cover.

Jason doesn't acknowledge Amadeo - a nod would be a lie - but he stares up at him, patiently waiting for his attention to flick back to his phone. When it does, he dashes straight towards the pub, and a gunshot rings out as the sensation of a bullet wound hits the back of his right calf. It rips right through his leg, but either misses or ricochets off the bone, because he finds he can still put weight on it. It's unsteady and he's liable to collapse with every step, but it keeps him going long enough to enter into the pub full of aghast patrons and throw himself over the bar counter, leaping up with and sliding over it on his good leg. He generates a few knives in his back, grabs two with one hand and tosses them into the crowd of patrons. When push comes to shove, he finds it much easier, and he's going to need more blood than whatever he can pull out of himself for this. He grabs the man behind the counter as he pulls the third knife out of his back and drags the man down, holding the knife against his throat. It never hurts to have hostages. Sitting on his ass with his back against the counter, one arm draped around the man with his other arm holding the knife, he begins pulling the loose blood he can sense from over the wall of the counter, modifies it with the loneliness virus, and shoots it towards the front of the shop, blindly splattering the first of the patrons to run away - maybe that guy too, if he followed. Afterwards, without waiting for any sort of confirmation of the situation, he switches to the fear virus and shoots it towards the patrons stuck at the back of the pub, including the band who were, up until his entry, singing a song about whether some girl would spend time with him if he told her the world was ending. He pulls the rest of the blood closer to him, ready to splatter the first person he sees peeking over the counter.

He's been in the pub for about three or four seconds, and although he can't see most of it from his angle, it no doubt already looks like a horror show. He saw it as he entered - relatively little standing room between the occupied bar stools on the left and the tiny tables lined up against the wall on the right. A live performance occupied the small stage at the back of the pub, probably a local band that performs for fun. He wonders how bad it looks with all the walls covered in blood.

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022, 20:47 UTC+8

Cristina didn’t expect this development, she was simply prodding the man for more information but it seems he instead got a realization and decided to take things into his own hands. It sucks that her job disintegrated before her eyes but seeing that light in those eyes. It wasn’t that bad.

She then grabbed Cornelio’s hand and whispered, “I hope you haven’t filled your stomach, the first time tends to empty them.”

She swings Sinagtala and immediately dives into the tear, for Cornelio it would be a surreal sight that he won’t even completely comprehend. For her, it was a near perfect copy of the world if only a little darker.

In this place the chains of logic and physics are weaker allowing her to apply vectors on her body and pass through the walls for the brief moment that she could access it. First they landed on a rooftop allowing the two of them to see what was really happening, whatever it is they have a lot of time to escape due to being in infancy. She then silently grabbed Cornelio once more and moved into the imaginary space a few more times.

Eventually they would be out of reach of the players who had never seen them in the first place.

Border between Balibago and Malibanas, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022, 20:53 UTC+8

Cristina believes that she had given the old man and herself enough time to breathe. Entering the Imaginary Space multiple times in quick succession was more taxing than battles that she had entereds after all.

“There I believe that I fulfilled the end of my bargain.” she muttered as she stood up from the bench she was sitting at.

“But I don’t need the money I had saved enough over the years when I begin working.” she muttered before the man could say what she assumed was gratitude. “I have something else to ask, you did your assignment before trying to hire me right?”

She gave herself a nervous smile. “If you did, you should know why I’m still here despite that.”

Nobody wants to put their lives on risk after.

“I’ve been spending three long years trying to find her and yet nothing comes up. If you could help me find her, I’m willing to follow any orders you give me.”

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022

When doing good deeds, it's important to remember to take some time for yourself. That's a lesson worth learning even if you don't intend to spend your life being a wandering do-gooder, but it's something Sister Marta had to learn very quickly indeed. When she had begun on her path, she dedicated her absolute utmost to everything without a moment's respite, and - predictably - she almost crashed and burned because of it. Never again wanting to put another at risk due to a self-serving, self-destructive sense of duty, she has dedicated plenty of time for personal rest.

This is why, unlike some might predict, she found no problem lounging inside a comfortable hotel suite for some time. She didn't do much on her first outing, but it was still highly stressful, and a good long soak in a warm bath and some rest on a fluffy, soft mattress did wonders to soothe her many worries. However, scrolling on the phone and watching local television became tedious and unengaging after several hours. Feeling a need to connect with the world again, she left the suite behind to take a walk to no destination.

These walks are meditative, almost mystical experiences for her, despite how mundane they ultimately are. She takes her time to carefully observe not just the people and their actions but the patterns on the sides of buildings, the behavior of city birds and other stray animals, and whichever trees or flowers cross her path. Stopping to sample food and drink only when necessary, she simply takes in the world and uses it as an inspiration. After a couple of hours and at least one meal too many, she is somewhat tired and desirous of a comforting rest once more.

Finding a comfortable seat on a serendipitously placed bench, she closes her eyes and focuses on the auditory sensation - people's conversations, the thrumming of engines, the occasional blowing breeze. Promising that she's only resting for a few minutes, she sinks into the city's symphony and drifts off to a reasonably undignified sleep on a public bench...

The exact location, Hours Later

They say that, given enough time, one can get used to anything. For the nun who had slept through anything from aerial bombardments to bumpy offroad excursions in the back of jeeps, the hustle and bustle of a city was almost like a lullaby.

However, the sound of panicked screams, generalized chaos, anger, and violence nearby are an exception even to that rule. She blearily lifted herself from sleep, stretching awkwardly and brushing her eyes before noticing that something had quite clearly gone to hell while she was dozing off in public. Zombified citizens and furious passersby alike interlaced in a dance of complete chaos - worse, other people were still involved!

Shaking off her fatigue, she leaps into action, summoning the Left Hand of Might and rushing into the fray. Mentally restraining herself to only use a fraction of its power, she runs to the aid of a man being set upon by a zombie and bats it away roughly, sending it flying back onto the pavement. Another Zombie lunges at her - she weaves away from the blow, grabs the infectee's arm, and throws it aside.

"What on Earth is happening here? This must be an attack of some sort...!"

“I’ve been spending three long years trying to find her and yet nothing comes up. If you could help me find her, I’m willing to follow any orders you give me.”

Cornelio Malong turned Salamin towards Cristina, showing her a slightly older woman who definitely looked like her sister, but with hair completely bleached white, a psychotic grin on her face, massacering ASEAN - Thai, specifically - troops before turning two Noble Arms in her hands against a battalion of Chinese troops who had been marching behind her. His next words were, "Your sister has fallen to the words of the Downward Descent, and has become an uncontrollable calamity on both our forces and the Chinese, who are supposed to be allied with the Downward Descent. After that, we believe she was imprisoned by the People's Republic of China, perhaps in one of their PoW camps downstream from Jinghong Dam..."

---

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022, 20:46 UTC+8

An internal alert was considered, frowned at... and then ignored. Qingshe frowned, as she didn't even bother picking up Noel's message. Why was he hailing her on both her personal and the Task Force Obsidian frequency? Well, either way, it wasn't really her problem, right? After all, she was on mandatory leave. They all were. Noel really shouldn't have been hailing them at all right now, and if anyone asked? Well, she'd just say she had her contacts silenced while on leave. She had that right.

The shrill ringing of alarms joined the rising chorus of chaos, as Qingshe finally came into sight of a three-story building with a functionally nonexistent parking lot. A single green brow rose to her hairline, as Qingshe spied the proud yellow banner with black words declaring the establishment as "Maybank". It was a piddly, unimpressive thing, practically a hole in the wall convenience store in size that didn't even have a whole building to itself, Qingshe decided, as her feet carried her up to the broken doors, the windows having been clearly bashed open to admit someone.

"On your knee- Arrgh!" An authoritative voice called out before crying out in alarm, as a scuffle clearly ensued from within.

Eyeing the broken sign on the ground that clearly labeled it as being after-hours, Qingshe dithered on approaching the building, before her shadow briefly boiled up from underneath her shirt to fire paintballs at the rather mediocre security cameras overlooking the area, quickly blinding them after several layers of paint. Feeling more secure in her anonymity, Qingshe strode closer, mostly retracting her shadow, as she leaned her head into the doorway and saw a woman struggling with a pair of security guards, one of whom was nursing a bleeding hand.

The woman was snarling a spitting like an animal, writhing on the ground and swinging a bat she held in one hand wildly, spitting invectives. One of her legs was bleeding from a bullet wound, but despite the growing puddle of crimson beneath her, she seemed to care not a single bit about it. Adrenaline? Rage? Either way, the persistence on display didn't seem natural... but then again, even mundane humans were known to reach some strange heights at times.

Pursing her lips, Qingshe considered the matter. Technically, she was on mandatory leave... on orders to avoid combat even. If word got back to Admiral that she -or any of Task Force Obsidian- were interfering in matters of civilian law jurisdiction like this? Well, she couldn't imagine it would be a pleasant conversation. She was, after all, for her own part, a foreign advisor as much as a member of Task Force Obsidian. Technically speaking, her jurisdiction in matters within the military was already murky, never mind outside it.

Her shadow snaked around her waist, propelling a capsule at the snarling woman's face. The capsule, designed to be thin-skinned, broke easily and harmlessly on impact, releasing chloroform all over the madwoman's face, and she slumped into unconsciousness in moments. Shaking her head, shadow retracting, Qingshe ducked out of sight and headed back towards the main road, ignoring the cries of surprise and alarm behind her. Her job here was already done, and she was certain the bank security could handle keeping the intruder contained until proper law enforcement could take her.

Well, that had been a short-lived bit of excitement, but it seemed she was now once more be...reft?

Gunshots. Shouting and screaming.

She hadn't honestly though too much about it before, but now that her detour was over, she was starting to grasp that whatever was going on... was much larger than she'd first assumed. At first, she'd thought that woman -on the surface of it- was an isolated incident... but as she got a glimpse at the distant -yet still encroaching- crowd of rioters currently spreading down the length of the main Manilla N Road, she realized that conclusion was most certainly erroneous.

In the corner of her vision, she heard a gunshot and saw someone in a vividly crimson mask dash burst into some sort of diner across the highway. A frown crossed her lips at the fresh chorus of screams that tickled her ears, as her eyes narrowed at the sight, drifting back and forth between it and the chaotic crowd of fighting people. Coincidence? Independent interests? Just someone taking advantage of the chaos? Someone she didn't recognize out of hand was flying through the sky in pursuit, a gun in hand.

Slowly, unconsciously, Qingshe's tongue crept across her lips, as her pupils narrowed ever so slightly.

Sudden chaos, uncertainty and so many delicious things to investigate.

"Where oh where shall I begin~?"

---

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022

Driving on a riot police truck was not something Henri had expected, when he had come to the Philippines. However, the orders came, and the cops needed an arms master to help deal with the supposed zombie infestation.

"Okay, everyone, listen up!" The captain of the squad spoke. "These zombies have entered a riot, and are spreading fast! Our mission is to drive away the rioters, before they too become infected! Use all means possible! Velasco, Marquez, Torres and del Rosario, you're on recon duty with the Arms Master! Find out what makes these zombies tick! What was your reach again, Sergeant!"

"Twenty meters!" Henri replied.

"Don't go any closer than ten meters!" The captain ordered, "Withdraw immediately, if something goes wrong, and inform the rest of us and the headquarters, what you found out! Are there any questions, men!"

"Sir, no sir!" Everyone replied.

"Good!" The captain said in turn "Now, prepare to move in Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"

Once the order came, the cops rushed out of the van and into the scene. As ordered, most went for the rioting crowd, while the four assigned to Henri followed him to the zombies.

"Leonidas!" Henri said releasing his Arm, and soon enough raised it above his head, while the cops gave cover, "Fighting in Shade!"

The zombies in Leonidas' range suddenly turned to normal. Shocked queries of 'Where am I' and the like came from the mouths of the cured, followed by screams of horror at the sight of zombies still infected.

Henri needed to rest again and deactivated the power. But the moment that happened, the cured were zombies again.

"Time to withdraw" Spoke one of Henri's protectors, Torres probably. The others nodded, and while Henri wasn't fully on the idea of retreat, it was more important to bring the information back.

Henri pressed his communicator, as he and the cops returned to the main group. "Sergeant Leroi reports from the field. Zombies confirmed to be of Noble Arm origin. Anti-NA field neutralizes the infection, but doesn't cure it. Further studies will be required. Over."

With that, the police operation continued. Once civilians were dealt with, it would be needed to determine, if the zombies would be captured, isolated... or eliminated.

Cristina stared at the man’s Noble Arms, three years of ceaseless searching looking at every single lead and purposely diving into scams in hopes for a trail that she can follow. Three years of sleepless nights, backbreaking work and thoughts of everything being for naught and the only thing that she will see was her ashes.

All to be trivialized by a stranger’s Noble Arm, that casual defiance of logic and physics that started her hell, now becoming her guide to what she wished from the start.

“Noble Arms are bullshit.” she muttered and laughed as she hid her face and tears before wiping them out.

She kept her face and emotions in control as she watched the video, she could recognize her sister’s original Noble Arm but what’s with that one on her left arm? Her sister has fallen to the Descent and had probably lost her mind.

She gripped her Noble Arm tighter, she doesn’t want to think about the implications.

“Thank you.” Cristina answered as the hologram closed from their sight, she now had a direction but before she could pursue it, she had a contract to fulfill.

“Cristina Bernardino, Freelancer is reporting for duty, give me your orders.” she gave a mock salute, decorum was if things actually became official.

Balibago, Angeles City - 10/18/2022, Philippines, 20:50, UTC+8

Noel had a copy of Sophist's gravity powers and Qingshe's shadows - Multiple copies gained from observing multiple uses, actually. And so, as the moon rose high in the sky, the boy took a step and every combatant, whether rage-addled mobster or infected zombie, within sight suddenly found themselves floating six feet upwards into the air, while a half-dozen zombies were plunged into a living shadow that began to pump information into Noel's head about what anomaly was happening.

It was clear that he, for now, didn't need Qingshe - What he needed was to restore the situation with decisive force with the tools at hand. Looking at Myron, he said to the Intelligence Officer, "You were right. If we don't squash this soon, we'll lose the trust of our people - Tell Rear Admiral Absolo we'll follow his orders for Mandatory Leave... Once we clear the obstacles preventing us from enjoying our rest."

Noel had fought in the coup that had brought the Government of National Salvation and its civilian allies into power, and before that, against Moro Rebels in Mindanao. He was no stranger to his country's internal conflicts. He looked at the road labels; he was at Aniceta Gueco Street, close to Muraya Ramen House. With no hesitation, he marched there, throwing a few more zombies and mobsters (just a pair of each) into his copy of Qingshe's Shadow; was it some sort of pocket dimension? It mattered not; he was not panicking this time.

"What next?" Myron asked, and Noel pointed northwards, where another infection point had been reported.

As they moved forward, with Noel using more copies of Sophist's gravity control to restrain looters, mobsters, and infected, the young man messaged Callie, saying, "Special Operative Lidmann! Orders are to contain every rioter and infected - Use your portal to put them away!"

------

Amadeo pointed his gun at Jason, any civilians were behind the counter with him, but he was confident enough in his aim to only hit the enemy Arms Master even behind the counter, and so technically, technically, he could make the shot. But instead, he chose to talk, "I have aerokinesis precise enough to rip off your breath from your lungs. Do not test me."

He was lying. Can Jason detect that? But what Amadeo will not lie about was, "You've already killed civilians; by the laws of war, you would be designated a terrorist and war criminal and deprived of the Geneva Convention's protections because of that and your presumed lack of official military status. Do not make your situation any worse; if you surrender now, arrangements can be made in exchange for the survival of the remanining civilians; even more for curing the infection you caused..."

Amadeo knew this second lie would not work. But he needed time, time for reinforcements to arrive. But how to draw them towards this spot? Wait, military officers had flares, and he was one - Perfect.

With his other hand, he pulled out a flare gun and fired, all the while leaving himself vulnerable for a split-second; enough time for Jason to call his bluff.

------

Henri Jamessen would see the flare from several meters away; the truck carrying him could probably get there in thirty seconds, twenty if they didn't care about accidentally trampling people. Now, it was his decision not just whether to go there or not, but at what pace, and what would they do if they got to wherever the flare came from?

------

Sister Marta would also see the flare; she had ended up in a location slightly farther from the area than Henri, and on the other side of the neighborhood too. That meant more infected to knock unconcious, more rioters to do the same, and the occassional scared child to heal and otherwise tell to go to a safe place. Either way, it would take her a full two minutes to get to Amadeo's location on foot, unless she ignored everyone else while running.

------

"Your orders?" Cornelio Malong said as Noel made his way northward, beads of sweat on his face as he strained to continue controlling his copies of Qingshe's shadows, "I was going to ask you to fight the Zombies, but it seems like Task Force Obsidian is counterattacking already; playing it smart. So instead..."

He spotted a Drone/UAV that was taking a video of the entire scene, and said to Cristina, "That drone isn't one of ours' - Bring it down. We cannot let the enemy know their attempt at destruction was so successful."

@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Ryik@Digmata

---

Balibago, Angeles City, Philippines - 10/18/2022

So far things were in order. Zombies, though dangerous, had some predictable acting patterns, which could be used in herding them. Henri himself had recently taken a risk and lured a bunch of zombies in an alley with a chain-link fence, climbing straight over it and leaving the infected behind. Should suffice until the cops could come and take them.

It was around this time that the signal flare appeared in the sky.

"Units 5, 17 and 22 to the emergency location!" Came the order through the comm-link. Henri was assigned to unit 5, so he'd have to be there as well. Quickly he rushed to the center of action, where the three trucks were already being loaded by the cops.

"About time!" The captain noted Henri's arrival, and then stopped him from entering the truck. "No! You take the front seat next to the driver!"

Henri did ponder the captain's intentions, but orders were orders, so he simply replied "Yes, Sir!" And entered the front of the truck.

The convoy moved in a single file to the signal flare's direction, though the path was soon blocked by more zombies.

"Now, use that Arms trick of yours" Captain ordered.

Henri did as told and activated Leonidas. "Fighting in shade"

The infected in the front and sides of the truck regained their selves and, realizing a police truck was moving towards them, got out of the way with the best of their ability. And as the trucks moved forward, the field vanished and the infected became zombies again, but by that time a path had already been cleared forward.

Henri had to admit that it was clever from the captain. Cold, but clever.

In the area they reached, there was a full chaos going on. Quickly the riot cops exited the vehicles, Henri with them, joining the shield wall.

"Attention!" Captain spoke to a loudspeaker, "This is the police! Surrender now, and there will be no further trouble!"

It was unlikely to work, but protocol was protocol. The units prepared to make their move, and Henri put his shield above his head, just in case.

"Consider it done.”

Cristina smiled and disappeared using her tears and began chasing the drone, she was sure that one of its numerous cameras would see her face. Only for a while though as she begins to jump from one tear to another.

Flight is one of the more annoying things she dealt with throughout her career, her ‘flashes’ can only go so far and she had limited uses for it. It is why when she finally reaches one.

She tends to pin them into the ground and ensure that they will never fly again. She even used one of her Shooting Stars for good measure.

She took a look at the now burning piece of metal, shame that it can’t fight back but a job is a job.

She then decided to take a look at the perimeter of the battlefield making sure that whoever may see her won't have the opportunity to intrude her search for other drones, she knows that whoever is behind this can and will want to milk this incident for all it’s worth. And sending a single drone would either be very arrogant or very stupid.

While the former is plausible someone who planned this attack is definitely not the latter.