[IC] 𖤐 Hell's Renegades 𖤐

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

Everyone wants to be a hero
So they say...
Everyone wants to make that difference
Everyone wants to save the day...

Anyone can be a villain
So they claim...
Anyone can force a change
Anyone can steal the fame...

People are black and white
So they speak...
People are but one side of a coin
No sense of balance and nothing unique...

But the world is more than simply black and white
So we’ve seen...
The world is silver and gray
The world is good and bad and everything in between...

Excerpt from "Beyond Black and White: Embracing the Spectrum of Humanity"

written by Dr. Malcolm Grey; September 1948

As a behavioral scientist, I have spent decades studying the complex nature of human morality. In my research, I have developed a theory that I call "the spectrum of moral relativism." At the core of this theory is the notion that all people - be they human or numan, hero or villain - exist somewhere on a spectrum of morality ranging from pure good ("white") to pure evil ("black"). However, no one is capable of existing at the extremes. No matter how heroic or villainous someone may seem, each person exists solely within the gray areas along this spectrum. What's more, no single person is ever static on this scale. Rather, we each flow freely along its length, pushed this way or that with each decision we make. Even the noblest hero is capable of a heinous act, just as the wickedest villain may still operate by some internal code of ethics that guides them toward some "greater good."

This fluidity is why I caution against either glorifying or condemning any individual absolutely. To idolize heroes as infallible is just as dangerous as branding villains as irredeemable monsters. Every person, regardless of where they fall on the moral spectrum, deserves the chance to choose morality. Of course, perspectives on what constitutes "moral" behavior can be skewed by one's place on the spectrum. But the potential exists in each of us to move toward the light or the dark by the choices we make. As long as we live and breathe, the opportunity remains to reconsider our actions and beliefs and to make an effort to align with moral good as we understand it. No one is hopelessly lost to the shadows, just as no one has achieved perfect virtue. We all exist in the gray.

January 12, 2012

"Breaking news out of downtown Turtle Ridge this evening as the country's first attempt at utilizing government-sponsored supervillains ended in complete disaster. The group, referred to as "Hell's Renegades" by the public, consists of incarcerated supervillains who were offered reduced sentences in exchange for hunting down dangerous criminals. They are overseen by the Department of Numan Conduct and Control's new villain rehabilitation program, said to be called the "Hounds Initiative". The team was deployed for the first time tonight with the goal of apprehending the villainous duo Tempest and Torrent, wanted for the abduction and severe sexual harassment of dozens, as well as the trafficking of countless individuals. However, the confrontation quickly spiraled out of control, resulting in the utter decimation of several city blocks. At least five civilians have been confirmed dead so far, with dozens more injured. Witnesses describe an intense superpowered battle that laid waste to buildings, vehicles, and infrastructure. The Hell's Renegades seemed unable to contain the powerful Tempest and Torrent, despite their own formidable abilities. In the aftermath, the DNCC is facing harsh criticism over the catastrophic failure of the program's first mission. Many are questioning the wisdom of unleashing convicted supervillains, even under government supervision. There are calls for the Renegades to be locked back up and for a full investigation into how such a disaster was allowed to unfold. The people of Turtle Ridge are mourning the lost lives and demanding accountability from officials who gambled with public safety. This devastating episode has shattered trust in the nascent Hounds Initiative and left many wondering if commandeering supervillain powers can ever be controlled."

February 29th, 2012

"This just in from downtown Brightburgh this evening as the efforts of the Hell's Renegades ended in complete disaster once again. The notorious group known to be sanctioned by none other than the Department of Numan Conduct and Control was deployed on yet another mission, this time against the world-infamous villain Entropy. The battle took place at the Brightburgh shipping yard, which was thankfully closed for the night, eliminating casualties. However, the intense confrontation between the Renegades and Entropy resulted in catastrophic damage to the entire area. Shipping containers were shredded, cranes were toppled, and buildings were reduced to rubble as the two sides clashed. Witnesses describe a terrifying scene of uncontrolled superpowers devastating everything around them. Despite their formidable abilities, the Renegades proved no match for Entropy. The master of chaos dodged their every attack while unleashing reality-warping mayhem that laid waste to the shipping yard. By the time the smoke cleared, it was utter devastation. Entropy managed to escape unharmed, leaving his defeated followers behind to be arrested.

While there were no civilian casualties this time, the property damage exceeded that of the Renegades' first failed mission tenfold. The shipping yard is a complete loss, with damage estimates already in the millions. Once again, the DNCC's controversial Hounds Initiative has failed disastrously. The public is outraged over this latest example of the government-sponsored team causing more harm than good. There are renewed calls to lock up the supervillains for good instead of unleashing them on unsanctioned missions. Public trust in the rehabilitation program has evaporated entirely after this wanton destruction. Officials are scrambling to explain how they could let the Renegades loose again after their previous failure. However, no excuses can justify the ruination of an entire shipping yard at the hands of uncontrollable supervillain agents. It seems the ambitious Hounds Initiative has backfired completely, proving that deputized supervillains bring nothing but chaos and damage. The people of Brightburgh are left to clean up the mess while demanding accountability from the officials who gambled with their safety once again."

March 7th, 2012

"Urgent report out of the city of Hollowhills this evening as the Hell's Renegades clashed with the notorious villainess Dark Eve, though the confrontation ended in disaster and chaos. The Renegades, a government-sponsored team of incarcerated supervillains overseen by the Hounds Initiative rehabilitation program, were deployed to bring Dark Eve to justice. Witnesses describe an intense battle that raged through downtown as the Renegades pursued Dark Eve using their formidable abilities. Despite taking heavy damage, the Renegades managed to apprehend Dark Eve and had her restrained. However, before she could be taken into custody, Dark Eve broke free from her restraints with a massive burst of dark energy. She then went on a rampage, wantonly attacking the Renegades and any bystanders in her path. Multiple city blocks were left in ruins as Dark Eve lashed out in rage. Several Renegades members were severely injured trying to recapture her, along with over a dozen innocent civilians caught in the crossfire. After unleashing untold devastation and chaos, Dark Eve managed to escape without a trace. The Renegades were left defeated amidst the rubble, their first big mission an abject failure. This disastrous confrontation has only added to the controversy surrounding the Hounds Initiative. The public is outraged that the government-sponsored villains caused so much damage and failed to contain Dark Eve. With the Renegades once again proving to be an uncontrolled danger, calls are mounting for the program to be shut down immediately. The people of Hollowhills are left to clean up the mess as officials scramble to justify unleashing convicted villains who bring nothing but chaos. After this catastrophic clash, trust in the Renegades is shattered, and many are questioning if deputized supervillains can ever be relied upon for good."

[Baphomini]

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

The office of Agent Presley Bell was cold and dark, cut off from the world just outside the large windows by heavy wooden blinds-- mostly shut, but left open enough to allow for some of the light of the late morning to stream in, forming lines much like the bars on a jail cell, shadowed across the room. Large, dark oak bookshelves lined the walls, filled with heavy books, folders, knick-knacks, and awards. A single plant stood in the corner between two of the bookcases, a non-descript tree that would be found in any office. Cabinets stood behind the desk, topped with more awards and stacks of files. The desk bore few decorations, namely a few pictures and a Newton's Cradle resting on a far corner of a large executive desk, clicking away in the silence that hung in the stiff air.

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In front of the desk were two simple chairs with arms, a man sitting in the one on the left side. Agent Roy Vega. His head was lowered, gaze cast down to his hands, clasped together in his lap. He twiddled his thumbs, anxiety raking through his body though he tried to hide it. His joints were stiff as he fought the urge to move. To squirm. The silence was unbearable. Agent Bell's fingers somehow moved soundlessly across his keyboard, hardly a tap to be heard as he typed on the silent keyboard, pausing at times to click on something before again typing away. True torture. Roy had just about had enough of it.

Finally, with one final click, Agent Bell sat back from his computer screen, pulling off a pair of reading glasses as he turned and faced the man sitting before him.

"Thank you for your patience, Agent Vega," Bell spoke, voice hard, words short, tone holding an icy chill that nearly made Roy shudder in his seat. Agent Bell fell silent again, watching the other man with an almost hostile gaze. He shifted then, moving to lean forward on the desk, setting his glasses, folded, to the side and lacing his fingers together, "Shall we be on with this then?"

Nodding in response, Roy lifted his head to almost meet his supervisor's gaze, though found himself staring at the man's nose instead, "Yes sir," he responded, praying his voice stayed even as he spoke, "Let's begin."

With a curt nod, Bell gave a simple, "Good," in response, then continued with, "I'm sure you know why you're in my office today, Agent Vega, but why don't we take a moment and have a little review? Hm? Five months ago you wrote to me proposing a new project. A project you had proposed once before, but what's more, a project I initially shot down. Can you think of any reason why I would decline this project, Agent Vega?"

"Yes sir," Roy answered immediately.

"And what would be that reason, Agent Vega?" Bell pressed.

Roy drew in a calming breath, swallowing back his growing nerves, and said, "The project held too grand of a risk, sir."

Agent Bell let out a laugh at that answer, "Is that all you think?" he questioned, then scowled as he went on, "Agent Vega, with all due respect, you should know by now that the project to which you cling so fiercely is--and always has been--the deranged beliefs of an absolute fool. To take incarcerated villains, free them of their confines--their restraints--and allow them to run amock through cities--around the general public--and hope, by some chance, that not only can they apprehend those villains which even our own operatives have failed to capture for years, but that by doing so, said criminals will somehow be reformed into, what, heroes?" Bell let out another laugh, but it was a sour sound, bursting out through a stinging sneer as the man shook his head, "Twelve incident reports, Agent Vega. I've had to write twelve incident reports in the three months your project has been up and running. Tell me, just how do you think this makes us look? How do you think this reflects on the DNCC?"

"To be fair, sir," Roy started and immediately regretted his words. Was he really about to start arguing with his supervisor? It was too late to turn back. Roy strived to make his words sound as inoffensive as he could, "My team hasn't exactly had the best support. Nor have we had the greatest of odds in regards to the missions we've been assigned." Nope, that was definitely wrong. Roy wished he could take the words back. Rewind time and just sit in silence while Agent Bell chastised him like a child. It felt awful, but at least it would be better than actively upsetting the man. This was definitely not the time to be upsetting the man.

Sure enough, Agent Bell did not look the least bit amused by Roy's words, and his scowl grew deeper, "Your team, Agent Vega, has been responsible for the deaths of nearly four dozen civilians, the injury of three-hundred innocent people, and over thirty-five billion dollars in property damage! Whatever 'support' you feel your team deserves. Is. Null! Whatever 'odds' you feel were placed against you? Absolutely irrelevant! If your team can't handle themselves on a mission even enough to simply lose the target without casualty, then what good are they doing in the overall purpose of this project, to begin with, Agent Vega? You claim this program will reform these rampant renegades you've collected, but all I've seen is a pack of chaotic animals spreading sheer chaos through the streets! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put an end to the Hounds Initiative right now and have those hell-risen demons sent back to their fiery pits where they belong!"

"Malcolm Grey wrote-"

"I don't want to hear about Malcolm Grey! I've heard enough about Malcolm Grey! Malcolm Grey was a crazed lunatic with delusional ideals and an egotistical view of good versus wrong. The man believed that laws were subjective and that morality was nothing more than perspective. The only good that came from Malcolm Grey's article on the so-called 'spectrum of humanity' was predicting the inevitable fall of a once-honored hero. A prediction we failed to see until it was too late. I'm sure, Agent Vega, I needn't remind you of the horror that was the Montreal Massacre."

Roy was silent, his head dipping at the supervisor's final words, hands gripping his knees, fingers clawing at the fabric of his dress pants as he fought to hold his composure, "No sir..." he answered tightly, quietly, unable to lift his head once more to meet Agent Bell's harsh gaze, "I'm all too familiar with the tragedy."

"Then enlighten me, Agent Vega," Bell said coldly, "Why should I allow this harmful charade to continue wreaking havoc on our country?"

Again, Roy was silent, thoughts swirling around in his mind as he frantically searched for the right answer to give. He knew that no amount of reasoning through Grey's teachings would get through to the man. He knew that a speech based on hope and belief would only get him thrown out of the office. He had nothing, and the longer the silence held, the greater the tension in the air grew. The Newton's Cradle still swung, each click sending the ball on the other side flying away from the rest of the line, and each clack sending the energy straight back in the other direction.

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That was when it hit him. Roy raised his head, sitting up straighter in his seat, and finally met Agent Bell's dark gaze, "Proof of concept," he said simply, "Trueheart's fall wasn't a disproval of Grey's theories, sir, but rather, a proof of concept. If a hero so grand as to be treated as a god can fall into the darkest shades of morality, then why can't a villain, seen as an irredeemable monster, rise to the lightest of shades in turn?"

"Because it simply hasn't happened, Vega," Bell replied dully, "and it never will. It just isn't possible. The scale of morality is not a two-way street. There is indisputable good, and then the path to evil. That is all there ever has been, and all there ever will be. You have to accept it and move on."

Shaking his head, Roy stood and stepped forward to set his hands on Bell's desk and lean in, "You and I both know, Agent Bell, this program-- This project-- These people. All of it. This movement is a movement for change. With the success of the Hounds Initiative-- For I assure you, sir, it will inevitably succeed in the end, and when it does, it will bring about a revolutionary change in our society. Indisputable proof," his hand beat the desk for emphasis, "of the scale of morality being fluid and free. Indisputable proof," again his hand hit, "that our society is not lost, but rather, misguided. Indisputable proof," once more Roy drove his hand into the desk, fingers curing into a fist as quickly gained the strength and confidence he needed to stand up to his supervisor, "that anyone, even a villain, can be a hero. And who stands at the center of this commendable discovery? None other than the Department of Numan Control, and by that vain, Agent Presley Bell, who initiated the project and stood by it to its glorious end!"

Agent Bell shot to his feet in a flurry of motion, slamming his hands down on the desk as his chair spun out of control behind him in the wake of his action, "Do not preach at me, Vega!" he snapped, "Sit your ass down right now or I’ll have you dragged out of this office!"

Roy stood his ground, gaze unbreaking from that of Agent Bell, "The Hounds Initiative has merit!" he shot back, "Admit it! Admit that you see it! If you didn’t see at least a glimmer of integrity--an ounce of caliber in this program, you would have never approved it. So admit it, Bell! Admit that you see what The Hounds Initiative," a sudden laugh escaped Roy then as he shifted and added, "What The Hell’s Renegades have to offer not just this country, but the world!"

At this, Agent Bell was the one to fall silent, and remain so for quite some time. He stared at Roy, hard gaze seeming to dig through the man, churning away at his surface like a farmer tilling the ground in preparation for the sowing of his seeds. It tore at Roy in a way that made him feel vile and wrong, but he helped his stance, refusing to let the man intimidate him more. The silence gripped the scene like a feral animal, begging to be released, and all the while, the Newton’s Cradle still clacked away.

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Finally, the supervisor shifted, pulling away from the desk, and turned to pull his chair back over, sitting as he did and turning to face Agent Vega once again, "Take a seat, Agent Vega," he said, voice lacking any indication--any insight into the man’s mind.

Roy obliged, pulling away from the massive executive desk and sitting back down in the puny little chair that stood in front of it. He didn’t feel as small as he had earlier. Despite Agent Bell’s masked state, he knew he had the man. This was how it always went, after all.

"End of year," Agent Bell stated shortly, "You and your team have until the end of this year to get your shit together. If I see one more instance of poor publicity, that’s it. I’m cutting the program and you and your Hounds are going straight back to the holes you all crawled out of. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Roy smiled, "Thank you. I promise you won’t regret this."

"Don’t promise me anything," the man scoffed, "Just deliver results, and don’t disappoint me again."

"Understood sir."

"Now get the hell out of my office, Vega," Agent Bell waved dismissively, setting his head in his other hand, as he slowly pinched at the bridge of his nose, "I’ve had just about enough of you to last me until the end of this year."

Still smiling, Roy returned to his feet and started for the door. He paused on his way, stopping at the corner of the desk and setting his hand to stop the flow of the Newton’s cradle, gently pressing the ball on one side in place until the movement stopped, before continuing out if the office. The time for sitting idly by was over. It was time to take action.

{ ♪ ♫ ♪ }

"And we're live in six...five...

...four...three...

...two...one...

Showtime blokes and bitches!"

The yell rang out through the cavernous hallways of the Lockdown Unit, breaking the silence of the absurdly early morning as a man with pure white hair took off running from the far end of the hall towards the communal space near the front of the unit. As he went, small blasts of multi-colored light shot from his hands, striking into each of the doors he passed on the way and shaking each door with an intense B A N G that was impossible for any soul to ignore.

"Rise and shine, motherfuckers!" he continued to shout as he turned to face the hall behind him, cupping his six-fingered hands around his mouth to direct his voice ahead, "If I can't bloody sleep, then guess what, neither can all of you!"

A pair of guards was sitting at the table in the living area, playing cards and watching a movie on the projector screen. They jumped up at the start of the commotion, before inevitably making way to the rambunctious man still causing a scene so early in the morning.

"Sabriel!" one guard snapped, "For fuck's sake, this is the third night in a row. Can't you just be fucking normal?"

"Sorry, love," the man, Sabriel Kudera, threw his head back to look at the guard, casually brushing a piece of his hair to the side as he flashed the man a flirtatious smile, "I'm afraid 'normal' just isn't quite in my vocabulary. Perhaps you could offer me a lesson~ I really am such a hands-on learner, you know~"

The guard rolled his eyes and shook his head, "For the last time, Sabriel, not gonna happen. I have a girlfriend."

Sabriel turned to face the guard, still smiling, "Daww~ What she doesn't know won't hurt her! C'mon big boy, let's have some fun! Maybe then I can finally sleep!" Sabriel threw his arms up, but quickly drew them back in as he suddenly recoiled in pain, "OW!" he burst, ducking his head down and putting his hands to the back of his skull, "Bloody hell, that fucking hurt!"

Behind him, another had joined the scene. None other than the resident insomniac, Harper Willard, who stood behind Sabriel with a heavy scowl, holding a firm stance, their hands close to their body and legs set to keep them grounded. With a quick flurry of motion, they swung their leg, and struck straight into Sabriel's tailbone, sending the man stumbling and falling to the ground with another yell of pain.

Rolling over as he hit the ground, Sabriel looked up at Harper, at first in shock, but his expression quickly shifted to one of anger, and he sneered at the other individual. He threw up two fingers in the middle of his set of six and thrust the gesture at his attacker, to which Harper responded with a similar gesture of their own.

"Oh, fuck you, Harper!" Sabriel spat, starting to get back up to his feet with an irritable growl.

Before he could get far, however, Harper kicked him right back down and slammed their foot down on the ground for emphasis. They closed their two first fingers to their thumb in a quick motion, then pointed fiercely at Sabriel, sneering right back at the man, before they turned swiftly and stormed back toward the hall, shoving whatever sorry sap happened to be in their way as they went.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you!" Sabriel yelled after them, obviously trying to get the last word in, as though it would make a difference in the fact that he had just had his ass handed to him.

"Honestly," the second guard spoke as the first made way after Harper to ensure they didn't cause any further violence, "Can't you all go just one night without trying to kill each other?"

[rexgn]

Anastasia Nonius woke up early per usual to pray, being devout of her religion. She prayed for a while and praised her god, the Grand Lyctor, the King Undying. After an hour or two had passed, Ana was applying her face paint, as she'd done her entire life forming the skull, when she heard a loud noise and yell from...the pest. She finished quickly, putting on her black hood, robes and, veil and walked out of her room, irritated by the disturbance. Ana watched Harper storm down the hallway, a guard right behind. She whispered a silent prayer while holding her prayer beads, walking down the hall and answered the second guard's question.

"No, sinners always resort to violence," she said, looking down at Sabriel on the ground with disgust. "May The First Reborn, The King of Catacombs, have mercy on his rotten, sinning soul." Ana walked past Sabriel, still looking down with disdain, moving on to the next bead, before whispering another prayer.

[JewelSerket]

Dr. Gate would have liked to think that she would never have been a murderer if it were not for her circumstances. They were, after all, quite extraordinary. However, mornings (if you could even call 2 a.m. morning) like this changed that perception entirely.

Sleep had already come poorly to the doctor before her recent experience with caffeine. Her body still shook all over from the several days prior. It turned out that rapid teleportation and spatial fluctuation was not fun for the body or mind. That or she was worse with coffee than she realized. Dr. Gate found her bed to be detestable, even after she was allowed back into her room. It was certainly more comfortable than the confinement cot, but not by much. She had thought to ask for a better one but had brushed it off, not wanting to be seen as weak. The Doctor was kicking herself for that decision.

Staring at the ceiling was doing little to help the Doctor’s restlessness. Her fingers wrapped tightly around a pillow, slowly pulling at it. If it were not for the fact that she was being observed, the Doctor would have been up and walking, trying to find a way to stabilize. To breathe. To–

Bang

That sound came from a few doors down. Dr. Gate pulled a pillow over her head and groaned into it. If that worthless rat touched her door, she would kill him herself. Or castrate him. Surely, Agent Roy would let her castrate him.

BANG

He was getting closer. Gods be damned, he was getting closer.

BANG BANG BANG BANG

Murder. She was going to murder him.

Dr. Gate looked up and over at her shaking door. Her nails dug holes into her pillow. She threw it to the side and rubbed her face. Dr. Gate was going to murder that loud asshole. She wrapped her soft, forest green blanket around her shoulders and stared at the door. Dr. Gate gritted her teeth and stood.

Some days, the Doctor decided it was a stupid idea to choose this. She should have stayed incarcerated.

Dr. Gate snatched a pen from her desk, then dragged herself out of her bedroom. It mattered little to her that her blanket dragged on the ground behind her. She could clean it later. She would probably have to, given how much of a mess her allies were. It would not be the first time the Doctor got dirt on her because of Pine and his shenanigans.

A quick glance at the wall clock of the common room revealed it was four in the morning. Of course it was four in the morning! The Doctor used one hand to hold her blanket in place. The other was shoved into her pocket. It was something that would slow her down if she did actually decide to drive this pen into Sabriel’s skull.

Dr. Gate paused halfway down the hall when she saw Harper’s well earned assault on Sabriel. She stared with dead eyes at the man on the ground. Her mouth twisted into a contemptuous smirk. Good, She thought to herself, Maybe he’ll shut the fuck up.

The Doctor stepped into the common room, deliberately stepping around Sabriel in such a way that she could get close enough to inspect him. She pulled her blanket tighter, unsuccessfully trying to keep it from touching that dirty bastard. “Maybe you should think harder about your actions before you get payback for what you’ve done. Oh. Oh wait.”

Dr. Gate paid little attention to the guard’s question. If she was trying to kill Sabriel, it would have been done a long time ago. Not that she wasn’t still seriously thinking about it. The only thing stopping her was that he was useful.

Probably.

Either way, she could not bring herself to physically harm him. She just shot him resentful looks instead.

[Crimson Flame]

Being part plant, Pine could get by on very little sleep. That did not make the loud noises any less obnoxious.

As the disruptive noise echoed through the hallways, jolting Pine awake, he groaned and rubbed his eyes. The thin walls of his room did little to muffle Sabriel’s shouting. Pine sat up in bed, his hair tousled and his expression a mixture of annoyance and fatigue. “Ugh, not again,” he muttered to himself, pushing the covers aside and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

With a sigh, Pine got out of his bed and made his way to the door. As he stepped out into the hallway, he could hear the guards already attempting to intervene, but he knew from experience that Sabriel was not easily deterred.

Running a hand through his hair, Pine approached the scene. He glanced at the guards, nodding in their direction, before focusing his attention on Sabriel.

“Sabriel, do you have any idea what time it is?” Pine called out, his voice carrying a hint of irritation. “You couldn’t have at least waited for the sun to be up?”

[Sanity43217]

Being awoken by whatever nonsense Sabriel was up to was pretty par for the course these days. That didn’t make in any better in Lauden’s eyes though. Not that he was sleeping peacefully at the time. What little sleep he did manage to get was often plagued with nightmares. Hyper realistic dreams of being trapped back in that endless desert of ash. He awoke in a cold sweat to whatever commotion was going on with the other hounds. Lauden out a disgruntled sigh, he got dressed before heading to the common area to see what the racket was.

[CorviDoggo]

Bezaliel startled with the banging sound. Its wings flapped, its legs kicked out, and it almost bumped into a wall and the ceiling with that reaction. Not to mention, that nest was now… entirely strewn across the room. That colorful nightlight globe in the corner still soothed the Angel, however, and a few minutes staring at the gentle lights got it feeling well enough to rebuild the nest. The Angel spent a good few meticulous minutes weaving all of those plush blankets back together, putting every cozy pillow and plush back in place, and placing string lights back on top. Finally, it laid on its precious little mound of coziness, and chirped in satisfaction.

As much as Bezaliel wanted to bury its head back into all the covers, tuck its large wings in, and curl up into the nest, it simply couldn’t go back to sleep. Today was such a good night, too— dreamless, painless, eased by all the sweet little lights around it. But, young Bezaliel still wasn’t home. It was still entirely alone, in another dimension still entirely foreign to it. It flicked its long tail as it decided how to vent its frustration.

Bezaliel’s door swung open, a few minutes after the whole commotion. Out came the giant, ethereal bird, its wings stretching out to almost take up the hallway. A single powerful flap was enough to absolutely launch Bezaliel over the strange meat man, over the guards, over plant guy, over the doctor he saw as a friend— straight to Sabriel. The Angel essentially tackled the white-haired man, its talons not piercing skin but still pressing down on his chest. It crouched down and let out a loud hiss before stepping off and going about its early morning, first turning around when Sabriel managed to get up by piecing together a sentence.

“My nESt!” The Angel shouted in that parrot-like voice, “my NEST! Do nOt! No scarING me!”

[Mintz]

There was blood. He could smell it; feel it, as if it were oozing out of every pore in him. An disgustingly coppery scent that seemed to pervade into everything around him. There was fire, too. Some of it natural, and yet so much more was a familiar hazy purple that slowly melted the surroundings into sludge. But more prevalent than anything else were the screams. Both physical and mental. People screaming for their lives. People screaming for it to stop. People screaming at a monster, begging and praying for it all to end. The psychic end of things were even worse, as if being assaulted by the fear and horror of everyone around, as their minds buckled and broke from the scene before them. It was-

"400."

As he pushed, his whole body lifted into the air, his entire muscular figure being put airborne by the work of a lone arm. He'd switched it up throughout the routine, of course; 200 per arm. In fact, he could do this stuff with a finger, but he figured it was a little early to be doing that sort of thing. Really, he had decided on a whim to spend his precious 30 minutes so early just to get himself out of his own head. Today was a bad one, he could already tell.

With his final push-up completed, the man effortlessly placed himself back on his own two feet. Despite the grueling exercise, he seemed to have nary a drop of sweat on him, as if it had been nothing for him. Which was true, frankly. Left without much to do, he simply went back to his bed and pulled a comic book from a cubby nearby. It was about...Trueheart. Definitely a more awkward subject nowadays, but he didn't let that hamper his reading experience.

This man was Jack Donovan. Beyond his almost disturbingly fit build, he appeared very unassuming, with his scruffy-looking brown hair and dark grey eyes and a rather slouched posture in spite of his exceptional physique. He idled away the time, reading over the whole collection of comics they afforded him. Honestly, if he felt like anything they'd managed to do lately warranted it, he might've asked about adding a few more, but...Things haven't been great lately, putting it lightly.

His much more shallow mental musings and casual reading experience were abruptly interrupted and completely shattered about an hour later by the headache-inducing morning call (if he was being generous) of one of his....'Teammates'. His brow furrowed, his morning getting progressively worse by the minute. Sadly, though, that had become the norm of this place. He took a bit of extra time merely trying to mentally prepare himself for the day, recalling some breathing exercises the therapist had taught him. "Okay, Jack...New day. New you..." He spoke the words, but there wasn't an ounce of confidence in them.

His lack of confidence seemed well-earned when, the moment he stepped outside, Donovan nearly got caught in the fly-by being performed by the resident Angel (even after all this time, he was still chewing on that, honestly). His rapid-fire reflexes pulled him out of that line of fire quickly...Even if there probably would've been more harm to Bezaliel than himself if an actual collision occurred. "JESUS! Bez! This place is not the size for flying!" Not even a minute outside and he was already yelling. He gave a quick exhale, as if trying to push the anger out of him. It was too early to get pissed off. If anything, it was too early for any of this crap, but that never stopped them.

When he made his approach to the impromptu congregation, however, Jack noticed the completely laid-out Sabriel. Well, he'd at least gotten his comeuppance already. In spite of everything, a small pleased smirk graced his otherwise grim features. He knew it wouldn't change anything down the line, but it at least made him feel better. Consolation prizes worked, too.

[Baphomini]

Rule #1: Yes, And...

As the crew gradually filed into the common area, even Sabriel could admit that, given the physical assault from not just Harper-- fully expected if he was being completely honest with himself --but Bezaliel as well-- less expected, but, still not that surprising, to say the least --things definitely weren't going entirely as planned when he initially set his mind on waking everyone up, but, he was never one to be thrown off his game, especially in the name of dramatics! He was right on top of things with each remark directed his way, giving hearts, flipping the bird, sticking his tongue out, and even grabbing onto Dr. Gate's blanket as she passed by to try and tug it away. He was unsuccessful in that, of course, but then again he was more aiming to annoy than actually steal. He really was an overgrown child at times, but in all honestly, that was his intention. The suffering of others, even in minor tones, was really what he lived for these days. If he had to be absolutely insufferable to achieve that, well, so be it.

As the final two members of their so-called team piled out of the hall--a stark contrast they both were, walking together. Two inhuman beings. An abomination of animal traits in a barely humanoid form, standing but a few feet tall, nearly half the size of anyone else in the room. This chaotic mix avian, chiroptera, caprinae, and felid genes was known to many as simply Casey, preferring to abandon nir given family name. The second being walking just behind them was a ghastly sight of taut flesh stretched over elongated bones, stretching well-over nine feet tall. It was a colossus compared to the feathery creature shuffling in front of it. This was the resident alien, Rubber, as it chose to be called-- though for what reason it would choose that of all names was beyond anyone's understanding. In contrast to Casey's tired shamble out of the hall and toward the couch, Rubber took long, reaching steps which brought it across the room in a mere few strides. It stopped above Sabriel and glowered down at him.

"What is the being of this noise?" it hissed, "I was to be having a pleasant dream. You are to be ruining this. For this, I will be of making sure you are to be paying."

Sabriel couldn't help but snort at Rubber's awful sentence structuring. He had no idea how Bezaliel the freak who spoke like a parrot seemed to have a better grasp of proper English than the walking Halloween decoration. "'For this, I will be of making sure you are to be paying,'" he repeated, mocking, and finally shifted to get up to his feet.

Rubber narrowed its eyes at Sabriel, "What is the being of this mimicry?" it questioned, "Since when is the child man of being like that of the being of my own or the creature being of from beyond these planes?"

Again, Sabriel snorted as he straightened up, "Are you talking about Bezaliel?" he asked, his tone belittling. With a shake of his head he focused on smoothing out his scrubs as he went on, "Honestly, Magnum, for claiming to be the 'higher being' all the time, you sure talk like a gormless knobber."

"Who is being this 'Magnum'?" Rubber questioned, "Why are you being of conversing with that of my own but speaking of on another?"



As the two bickered, Sabriel continuing to mock Rubber for its speech pattern and lack of understanding in regards to his humor, and Rubber continuing to question Sabriel's words in deepening confusion and growing frustration with the man, Casey flopped nemself onto one of the couches, falling face first into the seat cushion with a long groan, "Fer the love of Genesis, somebody put 'em on mute. Please. I swear, m'This close to slamming m'self inta the fuckin' wall n' s'ploading this place sky-high."

[Crimson Flame]

Unbelievable. Everyone else called Sabriel on his obnoxiousness and all he could do was make rude gestures. No apology, no explanation on why he did it, nothing useful. He just went ahead and got into an argument with the alien about its speech patterns. Pine didn’t like Rubber. Sure, he personally wasn’t the biggest fan of humanity either. But something about this thing’s attitude just rubbed him the wrong way.

“Magnum? Really? You’re insult falls flat. Magnum actually sounds impressive.” Pine remarked with a sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I suppose complaining about nicknames is futile anyway. I’ve been dubbed everything from Jolly Green Giant to Lorax.” Despite his grumbling, Pine couldn’t deny he found Sabriel attractive… He didn’t know why. Sabriel is nothing like Evan, before he betrayed him. Maybe that had something to do with it.

Pine flopped next to Casey on the couch. “I would love to see someone put them on mute too. Got any plants handy?”

[rexgn]

Anastasia sat still, the beads of her prayer chain clacking together in a monotonous rhythm that filled the noisy space around her. She looked disdainfully at the two figures in the room, an alien and a man-baby. Her expression was hidden behind her hood and veil, but her disapproval was discernible. Closing her eyes, Anastasia tried to focus on her prayer, blocking out the noise and distractions around her. She knew nothing could interfere with this...practice. It has forever been drilled into her skull. The second one of the day, and she started, speaking in her usual soft, breathy tone:

"The Lord Undying, in shadows you dwell,
Grant me your wisdom, from behind the veil.
Guide my steps through the paths unknown,
And claim me as your own, on your spectral throne.

Laudo os, linguam, faciem, pedes et manus in immortali devotione."

She repeated her words three more times, speaking slowly and deliberately each time, the sound of her beads clacking as usual.