[color=gray][indent][indent][i]She was gone.
Taken. Stolen. Robbed.
[b]Gone. Gone. Gone.[/b]

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way!

He had sent that thing to get them back, to get her back; whole, pieces, limbs, and parts, it didn’t matter, he just needed them back. More blood, so close, so far, right there on the precipice of what he was searching for, what he yearned, what he deserved. Answers in the blood, answers in the flesh, sewed and plucked and wrought, answers in the membrane of self and the remains of the soul that wept. Answers in the sheering blue that promised nothing but death, and pain. He would see those eyes again, he would feel that power that rose as chaos and wrath, he would taste the anguish and fear, he’d tear those wings apart with his teeth. He would feel as if god and all-knowing again, no matter the cost- the price. 

[b]He would have everything.[/b]

Though the Chernobog was gone, never-there, taken, vanquished, it still had achieved something. And thus he stood in the middle of destruction and death, the bodies had been taken, and removed, but they hadn’t yet washed all the blood away and the air was ripe with the fear of those slain, there were fissures carved deep into metal and stone, the foundations nearly wrent apart. A wailing echo that lingers, the despair and lament of anguish he would taste and hear like siren songs that plucked at decayed heartstrings. Everything is muddled, torn, decrepit, and forsaken and he kneels in the crimson, worships it with hands that are not his own, where skin carefully rots and peels and shrivels- this body wouldn’t last much longer. He pools the water-washed hue of life through those hands of death and thinks: oh what did she see, what did it feel like when the name of names had been unleashed, the weapon, the product, the end of all made to be so. What did she feel, he pondered, and fisted through shorn feathers, those tawny hues so familiar, drenched and broken, those wings tossed aside so cruelly, hidden beneath drapes in muddied gold and red. He dragged them out and held them as if precious, but all the blood was congealed and dark and rotted, he needed it fresh. 

[b]And if he could not have one, he would instead have the other.[/b]

From behind, figures approach where steady beeps thrum, light a heartbeat, consistent and steady, flashing periodically in green, a sickly and toxic wash of color that shimmers over the rotted planes of skin worn precariously over a would-be corpse of a man. He smiles.

	[color=#ffffff][b]“Haven.”[/b][/color][/i]
[/indent][/indent]
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[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/q2WipLE.png[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=silver][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [i]The Foundation Institute - Atlantic Ocean[/i]
[/sub][sup][right][COLOR=silver][b]Human #5.079:[/b][/COLOR] [I]No Survivors.[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][center][sup][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#928b85]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#9b948d]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#928b85]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][/sup][/center][INDENT][sub][color=silver][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] [I]banjo - [@Hound55].[/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=silver][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [I]Unnatural Selection.[/I][/right][/SUP]
[INDENT]There are collective murmurs and mutterings of speculation, bodies quivering and rotating in seats, a sort of stoic reserve lain over some, anticipation seeded through others, fingers clutched and wrung and nerves still irritated and amplified by something that coils through the room, something malicious, something that poked and prodded and slunk through the bodies and invaded through pores and minds and hearts.

Scylla feels it first, Stephen second. Bulbous barbs of shadows tease through the membrane of addled minds distraught over the loss of some pony, before spearing through their collective thoughts, memories cataloged and leered through preciously and tossed aside in favor of hidden answers. The darkness of a room picked apart and shattered, a flashing ring of red with twisted bronze and golds, a first kiss under an uncertain moon of an uncertain future where a promise bloomed through heated lips and content sighs. Needles sunk and hooked, peeling their minds apart before Scylla’s own latent abilities rose, and with violet-pink waves of energy fortified behind them, they shoved those invading tendrils from their minds and stood, nostrils both darkened and bleeding carelessly, copper pooled over her lips where citrus and butter melded together through the final forced-indulgences of her meal. From above, onyx eyes flickered and rose, a figure of red hair standing close behind Stephen who held a once pristine napkin beneath his nose and met Scylla’s searching stare with a shaking hand. Her telepathic abilities (she could link her mind with others, transfer pieces of her subconscious on the waves of thought and emotion, feel and hear and think as they did and sheer through their minds) paled in comparison to what had just lanced through their heads, their hearts and souls connected on the amalgamation of powers, team Raindance having prided themselves on teamwork and blending their HZE’s seamlessly together. 

Scylla traded amber for onyx and met those familiar eyes that began flickering around the room as if witnessing the malicious endeavor of whatever had pierced through her mind. A cold spear of dread still lingered between her ears as those around her shuddered and palmed their brows, mutually experiencing the same thing.

It was like static, too loud, too invasive, careless, or perhaps wanton of the damage that remained as it stalked through their minds, searching, seeking, peering through trauma endured and of love lost, the loss of home deeply rooted into some and the ambition of self easily identified in those desiring to fashion a name for themselves. It was hopelessness, vain, and yet tantalizing and those were delicately plucked and pulled aside for later, for when it would matter, for when it would be needed. 

Some had left, another test, another failure, those that would remain and those that would not, taking the initiative to move rather than be left to wait. Through these shuffling thoughts, it speared harder, shuffled through those thoughts more carelessly, abandoning delicacy in favor of brutal efficiency to glimpse over particular suspicious natures and those that made meaningless claims to seek the truth. It ended with one man, deemed unstable, a sordid past coming forth to haunt and loom over the present and the shadows of an unachievable future. Talkative, garish, and gaudy and loud.

Scylla moved and stumbled, the pain came and went in nauseating waves as she drank to block out the receptors of her mind, wanting to drown and wash the lingering, festering touch of someone that had plied through her memories and left them scattered and distraught, disjointed and assaulted, left to the toils of perversion that pierced down into her heart at the thought of such power, such intent, that left her askew. She didn’t care whose glass she purchased and drained, she just wanted to make it all stop as figures descended to escort them elsewhere, presumably to their rooms, but more armored and armed officials clamored and came together, gesturing and surrounding a man she didn’t know, but recognized from that night on the beach when she had approached Blackjack with Amma’s ring. 

	[color=#ffffff]“Andrew Olyphant,”[/color] one of them announces, clarifies, and Scylla feels warm hands clasp around her and drag her back, but not before she glimpses a collar, or perhaps cuffs of sorts that are immediately placed and locked and fastened around the young man garbed in tan like she is. 

	[color=#ffffff]“I’m afraid that you’re a little too unstable,”[/color] William Montgomery states, having suddenly appeared, surrounded by more Foundation officials, creating an effective shield of bodies around him. [color=#ffffff]“Further analysis through your rather hectic academic file and recent psych evals reveal some rather concerning factors that we need to… Process.” [/color]

	[color=#ffffff]“Everyone else is permitted to their rooms,”[/color] he announces and leans in close, a sort of pity laced through his voice, but the look in his eyes is anything but, no longer the welcoming patron of The Foundation, but instead the ever-evolving and critical Mind he was known for. [color=#ffffff]“It’s solitary for you again, maybe we can help you, maybe your true potential hasn’t yet been realized.”[/color] He leans back, smiles, and says, [color=#ffffff]“Either way, we thank you for your part in the donation, we made sure to put it to good use.” [/color]

Groups section off easily, black and tan uniforms a segregated line down the masses as more senior students depart, pointing, laughing, pinning some with eager grins and wandering eyes, all of them predatory, easily marking their targets. Montgomery has Banjo hauled away with little ceremony, but he’s not the only one, others too are taken hold and effectively escorted away, all bound and collared, like animals. Someone mutters about a blind girl, someone who briefly lost their composure, but Scylla is barely able to make some of their mutterings out into coherency from the bubble and fog through all the champagne she had imbibed. It effectively smothered out the audacious sensations through her lobe and with slow blinks, she glanced down at the bracketing hands still on her arms, black leather coming into view before she turned, glancing up into eyes so dark, they appeared to devour all light. They pin her into place before she moves, creating a vast distance before the crowd swarms and pulls her in, more tan-clothed bodies lined up haphazardously. A small smile forms, carving through a severe, pale face, a dark glimmer beholden to an unknown figure of red hair, like a fox, eclipsed in dark leather, a uniform devoid of any rank or housing, but just as imposing from accentuating cuts of hide.

Stephen is nowhere to be seen now, but the man continuing to stare her down gestures towards her upper lip where lingering blood has now flaked and dried, and Scylla wipes it away clumsily, the back of her hand coming away splotched in runny pink.

	[color=#ffffff]“Get plenty of rest,”[/color] Montgomery announces, hands clasped at his back, a line of guard and students now behind him, the true line formed now with the transfers gathered, and the body of the Foundation standing behind, all poised and refined, strength undulating through every poise of perfection they conform. 

	[color=#ffffff]“Tomorrow your true trials begin.”[/color]

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The room is dark and stale, sweltering heat pools through the blackened corners as the ocean continues to ebb and flow beyond the glass, what little light reaches within, Jim latches onto it preciously, for he doubts he will ever make it out of here. Alive, at least, his mind shrewdly torn apart, pain eternal as it pounds through his temples in time with his heart, critical and relentless, and made amplified by the bruising of his eye and the blood still awash through his mouth. He spits, and winces, every simple movement inspiring nothing but agony. Summer stands off into the corner, mute and vacant, eyes glazed over, suspended in the throes of something unknown as Yoshi Nakamura observes a wall inlaid with various screens, security footage, Jim figured, fed directly from every nook and cranny The Foundation possessed. 

He currently kept watch on the students gathered, leaving space for Jim to watch as well though he tried not to, but try as he might, the concern he had for his students kept him glancing back and forth, more or less forced to witness it all unfold.

	[color=#ffffff]“All of this could end,”[/color] Nakamura casually stated, a calmness taking over, as one would dismissively converse about the weather. [color=#ffffff]“If you tell me where the deed is.”[/color]

Jim refused to answer, with no quip or wit to spare, for every time he spoke, the pain began anew and his resolve was frayed and broken, chewed up and spent and left raw. Summer’s eyes slowly began to glow, arms twitching, an awareness that bespoke of unwarranted misery and power wrought through her stare as Yakamura turned, regarding Jim once again.

	[color=#ffffff]“The lives of your precious students could be spared,”[/color] he continued. [color=#ffffff]“Though I’ve noticed some of your Blackjack is missing. What a shame,”[/color] he noted, and lifted his hand, palm up, counting them down. [color=#ffffff]“Jonas’ heir. The next Daytripper.”[/color]

	[color=#ffffff]“The sub-class,”[/color] he scoffed. [color=#ffffff]“The power mimic, or should I say Hyperion’s heir?”[/color]

	[color=#ffffff]“The washed-out celebrity. Could’ve used his face, though, Can’t buy publicity like that.”[/color]

Yakamura formed a fist, which he dropped shortly after. [color=#ffffff]“And her, our Tiamat. Though we keep her banners up, to welcome her home. Once we get her back.”[/color]

At her mention, Summer twitched again, head canted down, eyes aglow still, hands poised and arched, trembling in their suspension, a mere puppet on strings.

	[color=#ffffff]“Where is the deed? My patience wears thin.”[/color]

Jim refused to answer, but he smiled, split lip pulled taut over his teeth, blood washed over his bite. Yakamura snapped his fingers as Summer approached from the corner, fingers hovering near his brow as tremors worked down Jim’s body. The pain was instant and hideous, his body bowed, threatening to break, to snap, as his screams filled the darkened space, Yakamura’s voice echoing through his shattered mind.

	[color=#ffffff]“Death it is then.”[/color]

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It’s a quaint little cabin, tucked back into the woods where it would’ve been the perfect home, a quiet getaway from all the woes of the world and the hatred that spewed from it all. But a steady signal proclaimed otherwise and with a location now known and seen, it was only a matter of time. Shadowed figures loomed from afar, lost in the thicket, the forest hushed and blanketed at their arrival, suspended on the breath of fear as they stalked through the perimeter before scaling back, the signal wavered every so often through the range of trees, but they had it now.

And they only had to wait.[/INDENT][/INDENT][/color]