[System]
Legacy: Black Panther, Storm
WW II Predecessor: N/A
Alias: Thunderclap
Relationship to Predecessor: Son of Black Panther and Storm
Age: 18
Powers/Skills/Equipment: Weather Control, has an affinity for lightning. Hand to hand Combat. Vibranium Armor and armaments to assist in hand to hand combat.
Weaknesses: Typical human weaknesses when not inside nearly indestructible armor. Is susceptible to magic or psychic attack due to the curse left on T'Challa's blood line from the second Panther God's incantations.
Appearance:
Predecessor's History: The Black Panther that was Miles's Father was not born by the time WWII had occurred, but his father fought a gorilla war against the Nazi's push into Africa despite Wikanda's generally isolationist practices. Storm's father also fought a gorilla war in another part of Africa, but he had no super powers. Years later when T'Challa and Storm are matured and married they fought in many conflicts, but never outright war with civilians. When the pair was briefly Married Miles was conceived and was left in the care of the Xevior School for Gifted Children to be watched over whenever Storm was away on mission. He was named after Miles Davis, Jazz Trumpeter.
BRIEF Bio: Miles was raised by the X-men and formally taught at the Charles Xeviar School for Gifted Children, he knew little to nothing of his father except that he was the Black Panther. He inherited a large sum of Vibranium and had the experts associated with X-Men turn it into a suit like Black Panthers. He did not, however, inherit any of his super-human abilities, only his mothers weather control.
Additional Notes:
Miles really likes Jazz. But stay away from stereotypes, he will kick your ass.

[User]
The last few days had been a breeze for Jacob, a soldier of the Axis. He had been given a plethora of easy jobs such as guard duty or clearing out civilian areas. Today was no different as Jacob was sent out with another group of soldiers to clear out a warehouse where a group of American refugees were supposed to be hiding out.

Jacob and his comrades descended on the building stealthily in the hopes of taking the facility's occupants by surprise. As soon as the door was cracked open a puff of smoke began to poor out of the building. After the initial fear that this gas may be poisonous subsided as it seemed to have no effect on Jacob and his troops, the team entered the building and began to go off in groups of two to find any trace of the refugees. As Jacob waded through the smoke with his partner, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched but he kept this thought to himself as he didn't want to possibly give away his position to any possible occupants of the area. This feeling continued to grow until he nearly shot a rat as it scurried across the floor. Having recovered from a mini-heart attack, Jacob began to go back to the meeting point as their tips seemed to be false as there seemed to be no refugees in the area. Just a Jacob turned around he came face to face with an American soldier. With eyes as wide as saucers, Jacob toppled to the ground, fumbled with his gun and shot the soldier all before they realized what was happening.

Jacob quickly got up and began running through the facility looking for his partner whom seemed to have fled at some point during his scuffle with the American soldier. As he ran, Jacob came across a group of four american soldiers who seemed to be just as distraught as he was. Thinking quickly, Jacob pulled out a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and tossed it at the unsuspecting soldiers, all of which were hit by the blast of the grenade. Carefully Jacob came out to inspect the bodies closer in order to make sure they were truly dead. All but one of them were rotting in the depths of the underworld. Jacob raised his gun ready to take out the final soldier when he came to a sudden and shocking realization.

These were his comrades, his troops.

How had he thought they were american soldiers? It made no sense! Jacob ran to try and tend to his comrade's wounds but it was too late for the soldier as he perished. Just as his comrade's grip on life faded, a figure emerged from the smoke with a globe like helmet perched atop his costume.

"You came here to kill the innocent but you were thwarted by the might of the magnifi-!" suddenly the figure was cut off as Jacob sent an entire clip worth of bullets through his chest, leaving the body to fall on the ground with a thud. Jacob looked down at the body of the man he had just killed with disdain and anger. Now he would have to go back to his superiors and give the bad news about his troops but maybe he would be able to keep his position thanks to his killing of this seemingly superpowered being. "Vielleicht würde er sogar eine Förderung erha-" suddenly a loud bang rang out over the warehouse as Mysterio fired a bullet from his wrist mounted gun through the head of Jacob. "As I was saying, On this day you Axis scum have been thwarted by the might of THE Magnificent Mysterio!" Mysterio exclaimed as he held up a fist in the air in victory.

As Burt left his hot boxed warehouse, he saw a huge burst of fire coming from a few miles away along with some small aircraft landing. Figuring that it was either allies who may need help or Axis who need a beating, Mysterio began running towards the area, hoping he could find a bicycle or something on the way there so he wouldn't be as out of breath when he got there.

[Assistant]
Thunderclap was in DC when they came. He knew he had a choice. Stand and fight against the Nazi invaders and lose to the overwhelming power of Master Man, or save as many people as possible.

So he made the obvious choice and helped as many people hide as possible. He brought them to warehouses and he drew pursuers away, he got them into shipping containers on the railways, and in the bays. He moved by night when his black armor gave him a natural camouflage. And little by little he fought a gorilla war against the Nazis. He attacked patrols and he raided food trucks. He moved people out of DC as he was able, and brought food and water to those he couldn't move yet. He lost some, the people in the boats went first, trying to drive the boat got them all sunk. The railways went next, they were too easy to find. Those were Mile's fault, he made bad choices, and he couldn't save them all, but lord knows he tried. The sound of a nearby fight brought Thunderclap out in the day. Two supers were fighting, but he didn't know who was who just yet.

He stayed put, out of sight, as the living inferno let his rage spill over and onto the street and building around them. A yellow blur flashed all about, this way and that. Until finally a third combatant joined the melee.

Thunderclap continued to watch the action.

[User]
"I don't know who you are man, but thanks all the same..." the Torch said as the machine man touched down and decked the German speedster.

Alan didn't keep up with the news much, as the Axis/Nazi forces had destroyed communication lines and such in the region as they deactivated the United States' nuclear arsenal. The young hero knew that they may win this battle, he and this Megaman type person, but the war with Master Man and the Fourth Reich was far from over. Alan Pierce could feel eyes on them, something he'd always disliked. It could've potentially been survivors, so the discomfort quickly left his mind as the speedster picked himself up from the ground still stained by flames here and there.

"I was under the impression the Axis already took out most of the American heroes already in the last couple weeks. Glad to see a few more of us out here." Torch continued saying to the robotic looking guy.

The yellow clad Nazi speedster ran circles around the two heroes putting out most of the fires with the vacuum. It began getting a little harder for Alan to breathe but the Mighty Atom seemed unaffected by the power play. If only he could time another strike just right, or there was someone else who could catch the enemy of America off guard.

~KL~

[Assistant]
Watching from a standing position, Paul made no attempt to hide himself, simply watching with a keen interest as the two fought, the speedster slamming against the other man, who shot flames brighter than any he had seen before, these weren't flames, they were beautiful warm oranges wrapping through the air like ribbons, sticking to the ground almost magnetically before breaking and leaving paper-thin copies of themselves, and everywhere the German went the world seemed to warp, the flames billowing out into the sky before dying, consumed by the cone of pure speed. It was all too brilliant, too perfect, it almost disappointed him when another shot in, smacking the German across the face, in response, the speedster began to spin around and around, trapping the other two within. Listening when they began to talk, Paul noticed that they were speaking English, and without even hearing what they had to say, he came to the conclusion that they were Americans. Feeling very proud of his (Actually quite unimpressive) detective skills, Paul noticed the man with a torch on his chest gasping and coughing, obviously short of breath.

The hell? Does this guy have the power to take people's air? That bastard! Paul realized, growling and closing his hands into fists. Obviously, this Nazi was trying to murder good Americans, good Americans just trying to survive an unjust invasion, how dare he? Paul began dashing towards the fight, hovering an inch off the ground. It was his turn to add some of his own artistic vision to this fight.

The speedster was moving too fast to stop, Paul couldn't even see him, but Paul knew this fight wouldn't be about him stopping the speedster, it would have to be about the speedster stopping him.

He can't kill me, nothing can, but I sure as hell can kill him, I just need one punch, one blast, he'll be in pieces, I just need to lure him in, deck the Nazi bastard and send what's left of his head back to Germany in a box. Now I just need his attention, draw him away from what he's doing in order to ensure he focuses on me.

Paul had a punch hard enough to stop a charging horse and send the rider over his head, even if he was unable to stop the speedster with a single strike, it would almost certainly be enough to deflect him at least somewhat, and that was if the rider's speed combined with Paul's own strength didn't smash the man's head like a melon. If he was deflected, it would certainly make Paul the most dangerous target, meaning he would be the target as he wanted, and if the German died, it was all the better. There was no reason not to try, it wasn't like his arm could be broken, his unique physiology (or lack thereof) prevented that. Paul knew there had to be more sophisticated ways to do this, but there were also more sophisticated ways than the wheel to move things, and Paul wasn't going to go and reinvent the wheel, so screw it, punch it was.

Floating down to ground level, continuing in his move towards the fight by running, he twisted just as he was about to reach the yellow blur that grew longer and longer with each moment, throwing his right fist leftwards in a powerful haymaker, hopefully it would work.

Who was he kidding, unless the man somehow managed to plant his feet six feet away from Paul, he was going to get clobbered, and Paul would be pleased.

[User]
(With assistance from @The Kid Lantern)

The opening attack hit its mark, and the speedster was temporarily stunned. Emphasis on "temporarily", for the speedster was back on his feet in mere moments. He then literally ran circles around them, until the force of his running began to suck away the air, leaving only a temporary vacuum within the vortex the Speedster created.

The robot was, of course, completely uneffected. The metahuman he was attempting to rescue, on the other hand, was not so fortunate. Atom's CPU calculated a dangerously short time before the metahuman would die of asphyxiation. Even before the air began to leave the area, Atom's internal computer was already calculating a precise attack that could stop the speedster in his tracks. All it required was a moment to charge up the Atomic Cannon. That, however, would not guarantee the survival of the fire-type metahuman, as there was no guarantee that the Atomic Cannon could charge fully before he suffocated to death.

Adhering to the First Law, Atom reached a robotic hand over to his current comrade and firmly but gently grabbed their shoulder, "Thrusters: full throttle." and with that command, his own jet boosters rocketed the pair straight upward. The vacuum the Speedster created worked like a tornado, appearing like a funnel of wind with a single clear opening straight up, which was where the two flew to.

The Speedster's vortex pulled Atom down like an intensified gravitational pull, but Atom didn't need to fully escape, just get far enough that his metahuman compatriot could breath once more and escape on their own. The robot himself was at no risk, having no lungs that required oxygen was one of the "perks" of being a machine in this situation.

"Thanks for the assist. Is that somebody else floating toward the super Nazi?" asked the Torch still being held in the air by the machine man.

Moments later the armored nuclear man struck at the speedster with power and precision. What happened next was the metahuman equivalent of a chicken running around with it's head cut off. The body zigged and zagged and finally ran into a building and fell to the ground.

Atom's scanners detected the death of the speedster, "Target: terminated." he reported, though not really to the Torch. In fact it wasn't that hard to tell that the robot was in contact with someone else during the whole affair.

[Assistant]
Thunderclap started to move from the shadows when he heard Torch speaking in clean American English to the robot. It pretty well illuminated who was who in this conflict, now it was time to help out. However, before Miles had half a chance to react the robot grabbed the torch by the shoulder and took off. They were just as quickly replaced by someone else, who dealt a death blow to the Nazi speedster. His body ricocheted around a few times before fu ally running out of momentum in front of Thunderclap.

"You're an American, I take it?" Miles asked through his mask. If it came to questioning if he was, it would be simple enough to prove, he would simply take off his helmet and expose his dark brown skin. Being anything but perfect Aryan pretty much proved you weren't a Nazi. Challenged or not, he would introduce himself, "I go by Thunderclap, pleasure to meet you."


[System]
* Appearance:
* Age: 16
* Personality: Korie is an interesting individual, coming off as a kind person and putting everyone before them. They're someone who follows orders without question but at the same time only if it is what they believe to be best for humanity. Telling lies is something that they would do if it means to protect and keep people safe, and if Korie would have to kill the few to save the many then they would do so. In the field of battle, Korie is calm and collected, keeping a level head even through the toughest of situations… but sometimes, sometimes they question if they truly are fighting for all these other people, or if deep down they are just wanting to fight for themselves.
* Motive to live: To be honest, Korie doesn't have much of a reason except for the orders given to them. They just want to live and survive and see the next day… to see the sun and breathe the air again. To have a chance to continue dreaming.
* Background: Korie comes from mother Earth, and raised from birth to be a soldier by parents who aimed to create a child who would be 'perfect'. Korie was their prize, something to be cherished and taken care of. Homeschooled and given regularly tests on a daily basis, this was their child's life for years. To Korie, however, life was incomplete; everyday was another unhappy lecture or rudimentary test… the same old, same old… everything was the same. Until Korie's mother was killed in a lab explosion. After the incident, Korie's father began to perform even more tests on his own as he abandoned his child to the military. Years passed and Korie was taken into the Framewerk units.
* Notable Deaths: Korie's Mother… Not much is known about their father or even if they are still alive or not.
* Other things: Prefers to keep gender hidden. Good luck getting to know them.

* Framewerk Code Name: Aester
* Appearance:
* Signature Weapon System: Aester's weapon is its ability to cause enormous vibrations throughout its body and focus it towards a single focus point to cause severe damage by using the pendulums that are hidden in its arms, shoulders, chest, and legs. While the limbs are well armored as a result, the joints are not, allowing flexible maneuverability for Aesther; a Jack-of-trades of sort.
* Secondary Weapon System: Aesther has retractable stakes underneath its arms and legs that allow it to pierce and stick to large foes, or to hold its ground if it needs to unleash a large shockwave to collapse the nearby surroundings (for example a canyon pass) , or if it just needs an immediate weapon.
* Flight-Capability/Thrusters: Korie's Framewerk has built-in thrusters that are fairly normal and capable of decent flight and space travel if necessary, but for the most part it maneuvers like a normal Framewerk.
* Special Ability: Blank.

[User]
Sigma clenched her fist. Having been watched by cameras was already considered when she set the plan into motion. She wasn't trying to be sneaky to her superiors, merely testing her waters, and organizing herself some sort of squad in absence of input. Perhaps I've misread those people. They seem to like to jest and mess with our minds far more than I've initially thought. Could she fulfill that kind of condition the new guy demanded after what was said and done? Even if they did pass, there wasn't guarantee the other two wouldn't turn on her...

Her thoughts were interrupted when both of them seemed to still acknowledge Sigma's plan, much to her surprise. Without doubt nor hesitation. The clone trooper was taken aback. She had bribed them, promised sweet things, and manipulated them... and yet, they were still determined to fight side to side. Thank you. She acknowledged mentally, as for the briefest of moments, her lips curled upwards. Sigma, the stoic Sigma, was smiling.

She put her suit swiftly, like many times before this drill. It clung to her like a second skin, perhaps too clingy in some...rather odd parts. Sigma thanked God for having a petite frame, as she could only shudder and imagine how the liutenant was able to squeeze her...more shapely frame in that kind of suit. Finishing the touch by running a hand through her hair, she began walking towards her mech, the Comet.

Inside, it was dark and mechanical, comfortable, but at the same time, ominous and cramped. She started to perform the startup checks when she saw the tiny window popup that came from Elora's Hud. Thinking, she typed a quick message.

I AM SORRY. NO STRAWBERRY CAKE.

Followed with.

IT WILL BE SACHERTORTE.

With that being said and done, she breathed deep, and steeled herself for the upcoming conflict.

[Assistant]
Ian had taken the coffee with a nod, quirking an eyebrow at how Korie got his own bathroom . . .and the strange symbol for it. Okay, he's got a lot of special privileges, must be the kid of someone important. Funny how they tried to throw me off like that, I really don't care if theirs a boy or a girl, I got what I wanted and that's all that matter. Iam perked up when the announcement was made by Lorenzo, his heart starting to race as he made his way to the hanger, tossing his now empty coffee cup into a trashcan and stripping down to his underwear as he made his way there.

When he arrived, he saw his suit was ready for him,and wasted no time putting it on. The skintight fabric didn't bother him, and he took a moment to look at himself, having had the suit customized to better match his Framewerk. It was mainly black, with a number of red hieroglyphic symbols linung the edges to give it some style, as well a tribal motif of a Jackal printed on to the front as well.

"Looking good as always, wouldn't you say Anubis?" Ian turned to look at the framewerk, as if he expected it to respond. A few moments of silence followed before he clicked his teeth dismissively. "Whatever, man, I think I look fan-fucking-tastic."

Ian entered the cockpit, sliding into position on the seat with a excited smile on his face. He always felt at home when he was in Anubis, it was like an old friend to him. He often spent time talking to it, uncaring of how it made him look to others. Anubis was his friend, his confident, and he trusted it with his life on a regular basis, and it had never failed to deliver.

"Come on Anubis, time to show off a little, don't you think?" Ian said as he started up the generator, awakening the God of Burials with a low hum, it.s eyes flashing open in a burst of intense red light. "That's what I thought, because win or lose, we're going to show those bigwigs watching exactly what they signed up for when they let me have you. Let's do this thing!"

Ian activated the Shroud, causing the air to ripple around him as intense kinetic energies began to ciculate arpund Anubis, causing it to float slightly, the blades repositioning themselves in preparation. Ian waited u tilthe way was clear, than he blasted out of the hanger at half-speed, which was still pretty fast as he left behind a slipstream that slowly dissapated behind him. He landed with a crash on top one of the ruins, causing it to crunble slightly and sending up a low, dense cloud of dust. From this cloud, Anubis 14 rose, the rid in it's hand com8ng to life with a flash as a silver spearhead burst out from the tip, an ethereal trail following it as he did a few practice swings.

"Nothing get's your bloo pumping like a good old fashion free-for-all."

[User]
"Attention all Cadets," echoed Lorenzo's voice throughout the speakers from all over the base, "Your mock battle will be happening in approximately ten minutes! Hurry on over to the hangar and do suit up. Don't worry about being indecent either, the only ones that'll be looking is your Framewerk, so go ahead and get ready and move them to nearby ruins where you will be participating in the mock battle. Oh, and do put on a good show… we will be watching your performance with the utmost of interest!"

With a little disturbing laugh, you can't help but wonder if the man was watching you all while you were off to your own devices…

Antwon grunted as he pulled himself up at the thought of the impending battle, feeling pumped by his impromptu exercise. Yeah, these guys definitely aren't up to anything sinister. No sir, Antwon thought to himself, in particular looking towards the one camera pointed squarely in his direction at a farther end of the room. Antwon, mature as he was, enthusiastically displayed his two middle fingers straight in the direction of the lens, before leaping off his raised position and walking casually to the hangars with the rest of his peers. Ant couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as Ian started stripping before he even made it to his mech. Ant made a simple mental note: Watch out for that one.

Ant casually slipped out of his clothes and into his suit right in front of his framewerk, not bothering the walk to the bathroom, and uncaring of the peeping eyes (or so one could only assume) of the rather creepy superior who spoke over the speakers. It was a simplistic forest green, without much insignia, just like Perry. Ant took a moment to look upon his machine with a small sense of pride, then looked over the rest of the competition. He noticed Perry was slightly smaller than most of the other mechs, and far less... accessorized, for lack of a better word. But this only served to comfort him. None of these mechs have even the slightest chance of catching up to me, Ant thought.

Some were certainly threatening in appearance, and most had some very menacing weapon systems, visible from their exteriors alone. But they would be no use if they could not close the distance or make the shot. The only mechs he was truly concerned about were the quicker ones, taking mental notes of the framewerks known as 'Atty' and 'Anubis', the only other mechs that were even marginal in Perry's comparative speed. Most especially, though, was Ant's concern for the mousy girl... he took a very particular mental note of "data collector" when she introduced herself. She will be the most problematic, Ant thought. Best to make sure she is out of the picture, first. Or at least, make sure that I'm not in her scope.

Ant entered his cockpit, quickly made sure his systems were fully operational, and let the numerous thrusters scattered all over Perry warm up. Ant reveled in the sound of Perry's engine revving up to full power, as the lights in his cockpit hummed ever greater to full life. A rare grin grew upon his face, his eyes closed, as he took this small meditative moment to think back on the few pleasant memories he had. Ariadne. Having grown familiar with the sound of Perry's generators when they were ready, Ant's eyes sprung open with a new flame, ready for the chance to prove himself. Just before he could spring out, however, Ian took the lead. "Dammit!" Ant cursed himself, letting one of his targets out of the gate first. Best to get the head start with the others while you still can, Ant concluded.

Perry took a half-kneeling stance, similar to that of an Olympic sprinter. The sound of the thrusters grew even louder, until all at once, Perry practically exploded out from the hangar. In a matter of seconds Perry was already out in the field, noting Anubis was busy flaunting up in the air. Ant smirked to himself. Excellent, he thought, Yes, stay in the air. I'll just be down here, tending to my own business...

Perry leaped like a frog onto the massive boulder sunken before him, using the momentum to change his course left, using similar boulders to swing left, right, left, right... not before long, Perry was well out of view, making preparations for the long haul...

[Assistant]
Sigma examined the situation. Already, several of the fast framewerks were assuming positions. She pondered. Should I already start with my positioning? No, perhaps it is too soon. The pilot of the sniper framewerk instead took off at normal speed, resisting the temptation of igniting the spacetravel thrusters. Seeing piles of debris, she began to scan for a suitable cover, as it was expected of a rifle-toting mecha.

The commlink to Serah and Elora, however, was saying something different.

PROCEED AS IF WE WEREN'T ALLIES FOR NOW. LET THEM THINK OTHERWISE.


[System]
DESPITE ALL MY RAGE, I AM STILL JUST A RAT IN THE CAGE
anything at all to never feel like that again

---
07 JUL 2151P L A C E O F B I R T H
Kakunodate, Japan, Earth.B I O L O G I C A L S E X
MaleB L O O D T Y P E
AB+H E I G H T
188 centimetresW E I G H T
74 KilogramsI M P L A N T S
L2

Keep your chin up. Hands up. Guard your head, boy, don't let them in.

Chin up. Friends, family? Long gone, won't help you now. They watched you leave in a shiny tin can and slept better that night. Dressed you up in devil's clothes, so they shipped you off to make it real.

Hands up, boy. No time for tears.

Live on your feet, son, bob and weave. You got teeth to cut, no time to sleep. Gotta grow up fast, grow up hard, 'cause those devils are right there with you. Every day, hour, minute. No time to rest with a devil on your back.

Head down, nose to the grind stone. Shoulder to the wheel. No time for chit chat. Do your drills, son, be a man. Won't make it out of this as anything less.

They shipped you up to the monsters, boy. Come back one of 'em.

[User]
Kalyani had always been patient. As a girl, she'd spent months waiting for her mother to return from deployment, for her father to come home from long days at the office, for summers in the country side where she could breathe clean air once more. Jump Zero had been more of the same endless cycles of hurry up and wait that had been her whole life. If she held tight and kept herself busy, Kalyani was certain she could outlast most anything.

She could wait until Nagamura took the lead.

For only having two years under his belt, he was eerily efficient with barriers. He lacked drama or flair, and that served him well. His economy of motion was managed with an obsession that bordered on pathological. It was clean.He was an utter tool, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate his technique. It worked.

He snapped forward, a blow that she knew would break bones if it touched her. The air was charged, electric, blown aside by the screaming blue light that she lived for.

Kalyani moved directly towards it, raising a forearm to take the worst of it, palms flaring open, barrier eddying in the air, grasping wisps of the impact and tugging it into its currents. Endless swirling plasma curled around her flesh, feather light whispers stoking the heat in her skin.

Sometimes it felt like she might ignite. It was worth it, in these mad moments, everything she'd been through. Every frigid, hungry night, every petty injustice, all the bullshit—it had to be worth it.

The barrier collapsed under a quick pull of hands, condensing to a shuddering mass. Unbroken, straining at the reins, kicking against her control, itching to fly apart—she flicked an arm, like skipping a stone. She was six again, finding smooth pebbles to fling into the ocean, chalky white cliffs crowding out the world but for the lazy tide, counting jumps—un, deux, trois, quatre—maman, regarder! Quatre!

The shockwave skipped across leather mats, the ground shuddering with the impact. Kalyani cocked her head, watching the warpath of her biotics.

One, two, three, four.

[Assistant]
He hated seeing her this way.

In a moment of clarity, right before the storm, Yoroi knew exactly what it was about Kalyani that bothered him so much. He'd seen it before but it had never been so apparent, so obvious to him. As he watched her break her barrier, draw down her hand, fill with power--all in slow motion near-death-experience bullshit--he finally got it. There was something in the way she moved, something in how her face lit up in that blue biotic glow, something about the purse of her lips that radiated a joy he would never know and a pleasure he would never feel.

Like Mozart and Salieri, he thought stupidly, remembering a movie he'd watched one night as a child with his parents. Two composers, one of them achieving so easily the beauty the other had struggled so hard to perfect. One natural, one forced.

Whatever God of Biotics might be out there fucking loved Kalyani Madan in a way it would never love Nagamura Yoroi, no matter how badly he wanted it.

He watched the matting erupt in blue columns, spikes of energy that rippled the air and left little pockets of empty behind them from all the matter they'd displaced. This, he realized, was the difference--it was like realizing there was a third dimension he could move in, that the world wasn't straight back-and-forth. A shockwave, a literal wave of coruscating energy that rippled from below. How was he supposed to block that? He hadn't expected his own strike to do nothing, and in the wake of it his barrier was weaker than ever. Had she planned it this way? Did she know what would happen?

It was all he could do to mount a proper defense. To his credit, he met it head on without hesitation--both hands curled, snapping into fists that flared his barrier to life, but too little, too late. He caught the initial impact on his forearms, braced against it, but when he tried to contain the roll from trois to quatre he just....couldn't.

The drive into his diaphragm was a truck, a speeding car. Impact at God-only-knew how many Newtons of force, straight up into his ribs and sternum. It was enough to lift him into the air by more feet than a few, his guard still up and his teeth still grit in concentration, but when he tried to stick the landing all that impact hit his shattered ribs and he collapsed to his knees like a rag doll. Had they kept the mats red so it was harder to see the blood? It wasn't working--his was bright against the leather, a spatter through grit teeth as he tried not to be sick.

He couldn't breath. He couldn't breathe. His lizard brain was panicking, wanting to gasp, to pant, to suck wind no matter how much it burned, but the measured breath he drew in and that disgusting little groan he managed on the tail end was all he'd allow himself. She'd beaten him and he knew it--no way he was putting up a fight after that--but he'd be damned if he couldn't at least look the bitch in the eye.

It wasn't a smile. It wasn't pride. But he'd made her try--he'd seen what it looked like to be at the top. He just wished it hadn't looked the way he always wanted it to.

[User]
It happened almost too quickly to process. Her shockwave slammed into an immovable wall, heat spilling off the casual abuse of physics. One moment he'd stood firm—the next, Nagamura had been knocked back. Something cracked, leather creaked, and the familiar thud of limbs on cheap pleather seemed to echo in the training room.

All she could hear was the thunder of her heartbeat. The world narrowed to the adrenaline coursing in her veins, the way her skin felt like it was stretched too tight over her frame, the whispers of charge clinging to the metal drilled through her skull. Her fingers flexed of their own volition, straining to channel once more. It would be so easy. It would feel so good.

"Jesus," someone muttered. Her fingers stilled and snuffed out the flickers of her corona.

Her senses opened, and the world came screaming into terrible focus. Whispers and an awful clap of hands, the shifting of the mat under heavy footsteps, two heavy fingers dropping to her shoulder, squeezing, as if the arc of blood on the mat were praise worthy.

The world blurred at the edges even as light went impossibly sharp. Kalyani winced, a hand snaking behind her right ear to press sharply against an implant, as if she could drive it deeper into her head. The relief was slight, but it was enough to let her take a ragged breath.

"A real biotic," Caelnus' mocking warble filled the dead air. Her translator missed whatever his quiet rasping trill and clicks meant, but the intent was clear. It took almost everything to keep her hands still by her side. What an asshole.

Nagamura kept looking at her.

It wasn't the wounded puppy Court gave her, or the usual frustration and fear she saw in her victims. Nagamura's gaze pierced through her, lightning that lashed tight about her spine and forced her to look, damn it. It refused to let her fall back into apathy. You did this, now look. There was no option but to meet his gaze and see the slash of red down his chin, shallow breaths that came with crushed ribs, and endless, simmering rage.

"Shit." The word was more air than substance, dissolving in a breath. She wasn't even sure she'd said it.

"Get up," The turian's hand finally left her shoulder as he took long, swaggering steps forward. A familiar panic rose in her throat, followed close by bile. There could be no round two.

"We've gone over time," Kalyani said blandly. Trembling fingers laced behind her back, knuckles whitening around each other. "They're late for the galley."

Caelnus fixed her with an unblinking stare, pinpricks of acid green boring into her own dark eyes. Her pulse went shallow, thrumming with the need to run and make herself small. Kalyani nodded her head towards the throng of students, holding her breath. She could see Caelnus' calculation, weighing the importance of breaking one versus throwing off the schedules for dozens.

For once, the distinctly Turian anal-retentive obsession with order worked out in her favor.

"That they are," Caelnus' agreement sounded airy, almost polite. It was unsettling. He looked down at Nagamura and Kalyani was amazed that he'd somehow managed to make his mandibles twitch in contempt. "Get to medical."

[Assistant]
At first he kept watching Kalyani because he'd wanted to see her. Now he kept his gaze fixed because he wasn't sure if he would survive whatever he might do if he looked at that fucking turian. He could barely hear the creature over his own heartbeat, hot and heavy in his ears, and it was for the best. Could someone die from hate? Just burn themselves out with it from the inside, spontaneous combustion?

Apparently not. He was certainly trying.

The shuffling of students making their awkward way out of the room filled the air as he tried to get his breath back, finally letting his eyes close and his shoulders shake. This wasn't his first injury and it wouldn't be his last--it wasn't anything medigel couldn't fix in an hour or two--but it hurt. Insides were not meant to be jagged, and with every breath it felt like his expanding lungs rasped on something sharp and intrusive. Had he, a niggling little thought in the back of his head wormed its way in, hoped that she would kill him? That maybe this would be it?

That he couldn't immediately consider the notion ridiculous was not a good sign.

Still, he wasn't dead. He was still on Jump Zero, still in BaAt, still lying on the fucking matting like any other of the pathetic wastes that filled these halls. The ones that didn't have it, that would never be strong enough to fight back. That's what he wanted, after all, why he put himself through all this. If he was every going to be strong enough to beat those fucking turians, he needed this.

Caelnus would have killed him. Kalyani could have, but didn't and she probably couldn't have taken the turian. So where the fuck did that leave him?

"Get up."

His words, this time, hissed through bloody teeth as he fought back that awful prickling in his eyes. Absolutely not. He was not about to fucking cry. He was still alive, and he was not going to give that fucking hawk the satisfaction. One leg at a time he curled, planted, worked his forearms down to the mat. Pushed.

Stood.

His chest screamed. He couldn't breathe. It hurt, but he was a raw nerve, now--everything hurt. Already he could feel the pressure behind his eyes, that throb that meant he was in for the worst of it for the next few hours regardless of his chest--why hadn't they put some kind of dampener on these damn implants? Something that wouldn't let them push so hard? There had been days when Yoroi felt the blood vessels burst, dripping down his nose. Once it had even come from his eyes, leaking like hot tears, unbidden. It was everything he could do to keep from screaming out of, what? Pain? Fury? Either?

But he looked Caelnus in the eye and spat out a 'Yes, Sir'. And he started towards the med bay.

He was burning and he knew it. The human body, the human brain couldn't stand that kind of emotion long term and he was already getting that awful hollow feeling in his chest, like space was just blowing through him. But Yoroi wasn't about to lose it in front of Caelnus, not after that, and so he put one foot in front of the other. Slowly, steadily, each step labor. More than anything he wanted to blow away, to catch that space wind and just dissolve into whatever cold emptiness was out there, spread so far apart as to be a statistical irrelevancy. He was passing Kalyani and something slipped out, dribbled past his lips like the blood he had to wipe off with the back of his wrist.

"We're gonna die here... aren't we?"

...where the fuck did that come from?

He would figure it out later. He would think later, process later, pick up the pieces later and move on, or whatever it was assholes like him did when shit like this happened to them. Right now, he needed the med bay.

One foot in front of the other.


[System]
Race: Human
Profession: Ranger
Age: 18

Personality:

Merrill is a grave young man that carries the world on his shoulders. He rarely speaks, and when he does so, it is with the barest minimum words that he can use to convey his meaning. He is a thoughtful young man, who takes the time to think about every situation from every possible angle. He is very hesitant to take action, and will only do so when he has considered the action and its possible consequences as far as he can.

One thing that he takes great pains to conceal from others are his abilities as a seer. He is very, very painfully aware that such abilities of divination and foresight, if discovered would lead to his instant execution with no questions asked because of the fears of magic. Because of this, Merrill is well aware of the fact that he is not just in danger himself, but he is also potentially a danger to everyone else around him, if his talent was to ever be discovered. Only a select few trusted souls know of Merrill's secret.

Merrill's goal and driving obsession is to learn more of his abilities as a seer. Primarily, he needs and wants to learn to control the talent, so he can tap into it and use it at will rather than have the ability take him at the most inopportune moments. On the odd occasion, he will go into a trance and seemingly lose control of his body - at these times he will speak in riddles and rhymes, often telling of an event still to happen, predict the weather, or divine some other obscure bit of information about another person that nobody else would know. When this passes he has no memory of the event afterwards. Merrill's biggest fear is that this will happen when he is around the others as something like that would cause his own imminent doom.

That is why above all else, he needs to learn to control his ability.

In addition to this, there is a certain amount of bitterness inside of Merrill in regards to his ability. Whereas most people would see an ability to tell the future as a blessing, to Merrill it is a curse. There is no worse fate in all the world than to know what is about to happen and know that you can do nothing at all to change it. To speak to a man and know he will die in the week, to know that two lovers are fated to split and be apart. To know your own destiny and have no control over it - there is nothing worse than that.

However, it is not all secrecy and gloom for Merrill. He is very loyal to his friends, and although he can count the number of his true friends on the fingers of one hand and still have fingers left over those friends he does have he will die for. But because of his secret, he will not learn to trust easily, and will not trust anyone unless he has absolutely no reservations of their intentions and believes that they will not betray him. In that way, he is perhaps overly cautious and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit paranoid.

Background:

Merrill was born in a small village near to Edsel, off the coast. Merrill was born the son of a travelling band of gypsies, and until his teenage years he was reasonably content with his life.

Until his latent "talent" manifested itself.

Over the next couple of years, Merrill's abilities became more and more prominent, and it became difficult to hide them. Eventually, it was Merrill's elder brother, Onlaron, who discovered the truth first. Onlaron did not share Merrill's fascination with it, and was in fact horrified. Although he did not tell anyone, he tried to swear the young Merrill to an oath of secrecy, impressing upon the impressionable youth how important it was to keep his ability secret. Merrill, not really understanding his brother's urgency, nevertheless agreed anyway, wanting to keep the peace.

However, some things would not be kept a secret, no matter how hard one tried. Merrill's family discovered the truth. His father turned the boy out, with nary enough food to last a week. Such was the fear and prejudice that one was met with in these times. And so it was that young Merrill left his home, friendless and alone, with no place in the world.

Fate would bring young Merrill to the village of Edhel, chased by dark shadows that he did not understand, but that he suspected wanted him for his strange power, and it was there he met Callie.......

Strengths:* Expert Hunter and Tracker
* Physically Strong
* Swordsman
* Stealthy

Weaknesses:* Cold and distant - having been turned out by his kin has changed Merrill. He does not trust and he keeps himself distant from others.
* Paranoia - In that it's not paranoid to think everyone is out to get you when, in fact, everyone is out to get you
* Fear of magic
* Out of his depth. Merrill is, to be polite, out of his depth. Despite his outward demeanour suggesting otherwise, he is not ready for the world to be thrust upon him.

Powers:* Mental Alarm (upcoming danger - limited by range)
* Animal Handling
* Animal Friendship
* Animal Companion
* Augury
* Seer Sight (divining an objects past by touching it)
* Foraging (inhospitable terrain)
* Endure harsh conditions
* Endure deadly conditions
* Limited Foresight (1/day)

[User]
Life in Edhel was a simple one. It had been countless centuries since the days of the powerful sorcerors who had founded the village. In those days, Edhel was a small, but prosperous community of farmers.

Most of the villagers had never travelled beyond the borders of Edhel. Had they, they would have seen relics of a world long gone. Another time, another age. Rusted, metallic skeletons embedded into the soiled earth. Their painted majesty providing a vision of an age of flying machines and deadly weapons. These relics were dotted around the landscape, providing a picture into a world that once was, but could never be again.

These days, this new Edhel was build on the skeletal ruins of the old one. A village of hard working people with one Inn, Edhel was a gathering of hard working farmer folk.

The sorcerors were long gone, and their lineage was now reviled. History had been revised and altered. Where once they were a line of heroes and their courage the thing of legend, things had changed. In these dark times, sorcerors and, indeed, all magic wielding folk were seen as cowardly, villainous, power-hungry despots. Twisted creatures of darkness who had struck out to conquer the world. This revisionism triggered by their association with the thing that had come to lay waste to most of the known world.

Magic.

Once, a number of centuries ago, wielders of magic walked the lands openly. Divine and Arcane magic alike was used to make the world a better place. But over the roll of years though, something happened. It started as a strange, subtle twisting of the magic. When a wizard used their ability to create light, for example, the light was tainted by dark shadows, flickering and burning in the air. That subtle manifestation gradually expanded, until the magic was twisted and altered in ways beyond the wielders control. This random, bizarre manifestation led to magic and magic wielders being barred from the major cities across the land.

Then, one day, the Plague appeared.

It began through use of magic, spreading from wielder to the next. It twisted their physical bodies as it had their magic, destroying their humanity. What began as a plague carried by magic wielders quickly spread through the rest of civilisation. Despite every possible effort, there was no containing it. In a matter of months, humanity had been devastated, and the twisted, dead bodies of the plague's victims lay broken and rotting across the land. Civilisation was reduced to ash and dust. Those that survived the effects of the plague were twisted into hideous mutants. Their minds shattered, they were reduced to base, murderous killers. They scavenged the ruined wastelands in search of victims to feed their insatiable bloodlust.

Ansolera was dying.

Over the two centuries since, small pockets of civilisation sprung up once more. The survivors of the apocalypse coming together to try and rebuild some small semblance of the lives that they once had.

[Assistant]
He pushes through thick brush and scrub. Panting heavily, the man runs forward. He has been running for so long now that he can barely remember a life doing otherwise. Overhead, the blue sky is obscured by the treetops surrounding him. The tops of the great oak trees block the sun from shining down on him. Around him, he is surrounded by dark, impenetrable shadow. As he runs, he glances behind him.

Nothing but the dark, shrouded woodland trail that he has been fleeing down.

His lungs burn as he gasps in short lungfuls of air. And then, sudden pain, shooting up and down his leg. Wincing, the man falls to his knees, sprawling onto the dirt track. Rolling onto his back, he raises his hands up to ward off the attack that he is sure is about to come.

The attack that never does fall.

He is alone. Around him, the woodlands are silent. There is not even the sound of birds chirping to keep him company on his panicked flight.

Merrill. My name is Merrill.

Closing his eyes, he takes in deep lungfuls of air. His name was Merrill, and for three years now, he had been running for his life. For three years, he had been surviving in this barren wasteland of a life that was once meaningful. Running from his the shadows who wished him dead. Around him, his body ached, sending small needles of pain lancing up and through him. Blood trickled from innumerable cuts and scratches. Grunting, Merrill slowly climbs to his feet, ignoring the burning agony in his left leg. Right now, his need was more immediate than running from the shadowy figures that chased him. Right now, he simply needed to survive.

Merrill had seen terrible, terrible things with his own eyes. Ghostly whispers, and terrible, twisted beings who hunted him for what he knew. Dark shadows who could take form with taloned claw and sharp fang to rend and tear flesh from bone and heart from chest. Limping over, Merrill picked up his oaken shortbow, and shrugged his backpack onto his shoulders.

He had to survive.

Turning, he limped onwards, unable to put weight on his wounded leg.

"I am Merrill and I will live. I am Merrill and I will live. I am Merrill and I will live. I am Merrill and I will live. I am Merrill and I will live."

It became his chorus. His mantra. As he took one pained step after the next, the words became more than a litany to him. They became his only link to reality. As the hours continued to pass, and as Merrill continued to breathe and survive, the chant warded off the terrible, hallucinatory images that threatened to destroy him. Terrible, screaming banshees leapt at him from the shadows, conjured up by his own fractured mind. They looked to devour his heart, destroy his soul.

Finally the vegetation and the foliage began to recede. Finally, was this never-ending nightmare due to end?

Merrill came forth. He came forth into the light of the sun, beating down on him. Sun. Finally, was this terrible nightmare about to end?

The road angled down gently, leading to a collection of simple thatched huts. It was no more than a dwelling, yet to Merrill's tortured eyes, it was the most beautiful sight imaginable. Limping slowly to the collection of thatched huts, Merrill saw the people going about their daily business, blissfully unaware of the fact that their lives were about to be turned upside down. They turned to regard him with widened eyes.

He held out a shaking hand, and his whispered voice carried forth, "Help......me....."

He could not see who it was he has asked. His grasping hand reached out to them, and then he collapsed, unconscious to the floor.


[System]
Fatima Damiana

"Wild woman are an unexplainable spark of life. They ooze freedom and seek awareness, they belong to nobody but themselves yet give a piece of who they are to everyone they meet. If you have met one, hold on to her, she'll allow you into her chaos but she'll also show you her magic."
― Nikki Rowe

---

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Character Summary:
Aliases:
None
Age:
316
Birthday:
July 26th
Race/Species:
Hyllian
Gender:
Female
Birhtplace:
Eldan
Jewel Color:
Birthright - Sapphire
Offering - Grey
Class/Caste:
Healer Queen
Languages:
Dhemlan, Common, and Hyllian.
Occupation:
Queen

---

---

Appearance
Height:
4'10"
Weight:
120lbs
Body Type:
Curvaceous
Eye Color:
Pale Gold (nearly the silver of white gold)
Hair Color:
Black, wavy, curls
Skin Tone:
Bronzed

---

---

Character psychology
Sexuality:
Heteroflexible
Relationship Status:
Single
Personality:
She behaves in an airheaded and foolish way. Rather enjoying tea parties or galas. She appears to be easily manipulated or controlled by her Court and others around her. She smiles often and giggles too much. Good, kind, and benevolent. Her knowledge of the world seems rather closed and her trust in people naive.

But, behind the mask of stupidity hides a happy, bubbly, and vivacious woman. In her heart she is wild. She would much rather be riding horses and running barefoot through grass fields than spend another day doing needlepoint and watching theatre. She loves to feel the wind in her hair and the dirt between her toes. Dancing around a fire, drinking, and carnal delights are her preferred form of celebration. Climbing trees and getting dirty are second nature to her, but this has been stuffed down and tied tightly into a corset. She is a woman who believes in violence and sacrifice if it is for the right cause. Death is just as an important part of the cycle as life. She loves a good joke.

She doesn't have any qualms or misgivings towards any other living being, except perhaps Dorothea and her pets. However, if she is crossed or someone she cares about is hurt she will hunt down the offender and flay them, heal them, and then flay them some more. (By no means is she a squeamish woman.) She cares not what would happen to her own person as long as vengeance is had. She is also willing to sacrifice for the sake of her goals. The loss of one is nothing to the loss of many. That being said, she is compassionate and understanding. Her hatred is hard earned and she will always attempt to put herself in the other's shoes. There are actions those take in order to keep those they love happy and healthy. It is just as important to understand that their actions do come with a consequence.
Habits:
* Sneaking off to do something fun for a change
* Waking early and sleeping late
* Stopping to pet adorable animals
* Clasping her hands in front of her stomach when making Queenly statements

Hobbies:
* Mushroom hunting
* Potion making
* Herb collecting
* Horseback riding
* Soap and Candlemaking
* Dancing (in the rain or around the fire sort, though she can do proper fancy dancing.)
* Falconry

Fears:
* Death of a loved one
* Loneliness
* Loss of her jewels
* Centipedes

Likes:
* Being outdoors
* Thunderstorms or sunny days
* Carnal, earthly pleasures
* Getting dirty
* Howling at the moon
* Bathing in rivers

Dislikes:
* Stiff, thick clothes
* Skirts
* Shoes
* Clothing in general really
* Cabbage
* Sweet foods
* Curmudgeons

Skills
General Skills:
* Herbology
* Horseback riding
* Bandaging and suture (knowing traditional ways of healing are important)
* Creating salves and potions
* Cooking

Combat Skills:
* Basic self-defense

Magical Skills:
* Healing
* Reaching inside of a person to fix or break things
* Psychic Probe - Detection
* Disguising her offering jewel rank with her birthright.

What they carry on them:
* Pre-made healing salves and potions
* Handkerchiefs
* Medical supplies (bandaging, suture, needles, pure alcohol)
* A book on plants and their healing properties
* An extra pair of shoes

---

---

Histoy
Background:
She was born to the court and to a family that aligned themselves with Dorothea. She was the daughter of a Queen and herself a Queen. She was doted on and spoiled as a babe. As she grew older she showed strong promise in her abilities but was wild by nature. It took many punishments to finally groom the girl into being able to sit still long enough to read a book. Once she discovered the magic of the written word she was insatiable. At her birthright, she received the sapphire jewel. She was in love with it, cherished it, and would often stare into the blue depths. She studied healing both through the jewel and more traditional versions of healing, believing a place should be had for both. She also soaked up information regarding the ruling and caring for her territory. She studied economics, agriculture, and diplomacy. She wished to do right by her people.

Seeing her daughter's power, her Queen mother hid her away - often sending her to nicer areas of the realm. Fatima was never allowed to develop her own court. For the first time, her mother actually feared Dorothea and what she might do to her daughter. But, Fatima being the wild thing she was, would often go off and play with the other children. And as she got older, began to see the hardships her people were put through. And her heart was saddened.

At her offering, it was the Grey jewel that chose her. Her mother felt more desperate to hide her, using members of her own court to keep her safe. She was made to wear her Sapphire for the sake of her safety and to always keep her Grey hidden. No longer was her guard lax enough that she was able to slip away - though she tried. She was truly awakened one day when a small, dirty street urchin was run over by her carriage but no one seemed to care or give a second thought to it. The lack of appreciation for life outraged her. And she disappeared from the realm to go among the people of her territory and to pay back the life of the child that was killed. Though Fatima was small, she worked fields and sewed clothes. She learned to cook during these adventures and lived as the people. She came to truly understand their hardships and the lack of love the reigning class had for this realm and its people.

Fatima was eventually found by her family after about 50 years (at about age 205) and returned to her home. She vowed that she would do all in her power to make things right and change this realm for the better. The time for decadence was over. She had to focus and forget her wild ways if she wanted to help her people. Her mother's death has left her in a position to gain the sort of power she requires as the Queen of her village. Now she must navigate the nuances of the court and attempt to rise in power.

---

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Additional Information
Other:  Plaid, color code: 6E8E67
Theme Song:

Extra: roleplayerguild.com/posts/4723583
I agree to follow the rules for this RP and understand that if I do not follow the rules, the GM or Co-GM may kick me out of this roleplay.

Sybl Landseer

"The first rule of protocol is not to serve but to protect. And I will protect my Queen with all that I have. And all that I am."

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[User]
Outside of the Ashkevron Residence, Askavi -> Within the Eyrie, Faeril's secret work room

---

Silently hearing Gennar's words, Mikhail nodded as he told them there was a better room for what he was planning to do than Belinar's own room. Not only it would be more discreet... But honestly, he didn't want to make things worse for him. Faeril still haven't noticed the mess he made on the entrance of her house when he killed some of the warriors using his wires...

Unceremoniously getting the unconscious body of the other warrior and putting it on his shoulder almost as if it was a mere sack of meat, Mikhail followed Gennar inside heading towards Faeril's work room. Once they got inside, much to his and Gennar's surprise, they found not only Faeril resting, which was something they already expected to find, but they also found Dareen standing outside, in the hall to Faeril's room. Meeting the Pruul witch's eyes with a stern look, Gennar simply made a gesture with his hands telling her to stay silent as he went to a second door. Upon entering the secret room, it was immediately clear that it was much more suited for the type of works Mikhail had in mind than the previous one. Obviously, it would be wise to maintain the existence of that room a secret from the rest. What did surprise him more though was when Gennar mentioned that the room was in fact, Faeril's other work room. A single glance around the room was enough for Mikhail to realize that the Black Widow was much more than just what she wanted others to believe.

Dropping the Eyrien warrior he was carrying a few meters away from where Gennar dropped his, who fortunately, was already awake, Mikhail started helping Gennar to store the many, old journals and books away in the big chest. While he did so, he took a quick glance to Dareen as she helped Gennar to store the journals, stopping for a brief moment to read one of them. While Mikhail wasn't particularly interested in their contents, her reaction after taking a glance at them quickly indicated him that those most definitely weren't books about healing.

"You don't need to stay here if you don't want to." Mikhail said to Dareen, soon after. He knew that watching or doing that sort of stuff wasn't for everyone and he didn't want to force Dareen to stay there if she didn't want to. Even though she didn't seem to be that shocked when she entered the room, Mikhail still wanted to give her a choice.

"Good, one of them is awake. I'll start with him first. The other will probably wake up too once I start." Mikhail said as he finished helping Gennar, finally turning to the already awake Eyrien warrior.

Kneeling besides him, Mikhail unsheathed one of the curved daggers he carried with him, stabbing the Eyrien in the thigh and them twisting the dagger. A quick stab, avoiding any dangerous veins, it's purpose wasn't to wound, but just to inflict pain. The searing pain would be enough to fully wake the still groggy Eyrien and tell him that Mikhail wasn't playing around.

"Shall we start?" Mikhail asked, pulling the dagger with a quick snap of his wrist and cleaning the blade on the Eyrien's clothes as he looked at him with a cold, penetrating expression.

[Assistant]
Jandar Varan In front of Ashkevron Residence, Askavi
Gennar, Bellinar, Denvar… Jandar memorized the names he was given promptly, matching the appearance of each brother with each name as he gazed at one by one in turn for a few seconds. He turned, almost startled, when the Dea Al Mon introduced himself, and nodded cautiously in confirmation of the Prince's introduction. Given that only minutes before, the man had ranted and raved how he would be only Faeril's ally and not Fatima's or her court's, this practically placid introduction of his was slightly odd, but perhaps Mikahil truly was so professional that he could act as if nothing had happened. Jandar supposed he could reciprocate, but he'd still keep a cautious eye on this somewhat questionably ally of theirs.

In the mean-time, he observed peacefully with a slightly quirked eyebrow as Mikhail and Gennar carried the still living but unconscious assailants into Faeril's house with what in Jandar's mind was a very obvious goal in mind – information extraction. He didn't mind, though he did wonder if Fatima caught on. However, if the Queen said nothing about it, Jandar certainly didn't intend to alert her to the goings-on. "My horse, Teo, is still stabled by the inn downstairs," the Warlord commented when Fatima mentioned that the two of them were all packed to go. He kept a sharp gaze trained on the Queen as she faltered lightly at the sight of her companion's corpse, but as she was able to recollect herself swiftly, he did not intervene.

Fatima asked for help with gathering wood, but Jandar did not have a hatchet or ax on him, so he left that work to Bellinar and Xandar. The latter had stripped completely, and Jandar noticed the Eyrien's recently healed wound. He frowned mildly, thinking that the added strain of woodcutting in addition to the fierce combat they've just been through might not serve the Eyrien well, but the Warlord held his tongue. For one, he was not a Healer, and for another, the Warlord Prince was likely quite aware of his own capabilities and limitations; insinuation otherwise would be an insult. The two Eyriens would have to be manpower enough for the wood. As for the house work, all the others had gone there, so it was bound to be crowded already. Moreover, Fatima would probably stay right there, by the old man's corpse. The Warlord did not believe there would be any danger so soon again, but he certainly wasn't going to risk anything and leave the Queen by herself. "I shall stay by your side," he asserted, giving Fatima a calm and sure gaze, not with the intent to patronize or pity her, but simply matter-of-factly.


[System]
---

29

N A T I O N A L I T Y

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German

A L I A S E S

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Rebecca Rommel, Germaine de Staël, Jane Snyder

H E I S T N A M E

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Fox

W E A P O N O F C H O I C E

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A Pair of AMT Longslides, and a KM2000 for when things get more personal.

Generally though if Gwen is actually partaking in the violence things have gone to shit

D I S T I N C T I V E F E A T U R E S

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A woman bathed exclusively in blacks and greys that always wears runners with pink shoelaces. She wears no mask unlike her cohorts.

T E A M R E S P O N S I B I L I T Y

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The Infiltrator: A quick-witted charmer and a woman of many disguises, accents, and the the like. Gwen is usually put on reconnaissance gathering intelligence about the mark and when it comes down to it generally getting into places she isn't supposed to. The first drops of rain before the storm as it were.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

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All smiles and charm you'll want to tell Gwen she forget your watch after she just took your wallet. Spirits are high when she is around and not just because she's the first to buy a round of drinks. She is always on in that regard, always presenting, always keeping up the cool face, and it gets difficult to tell where Gwen stops and the Fox begins. Though it is safe to say that she is a very prideful creature who thinks very highly of herself. Also if you would like your sensitive bits intact it would be wise not to mention her family.

When the real Gwen manages to slip through in the rare moments that she feels comfortable you get to see that she's more of a less heightened version of the Fox she presents. She's still pretty full of herself, smart with a real thing for numbers and playing nice isn't that hard to do when your already a fairly amicable person yourself. She's flighty and will probably leave you to die but at least she will feel bad about it. Yet you also see the bundle of insecurities and fears that lay beneath. She's scared of messing up, she's scared of slipping, she's scared that her father is right and that she is nothing more than a waste of space, and maybe most childishly she's scared that people won't like the 'real' her. Yet when push comes to shove she knows how to move.

H I S T O R Y

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To understand Gwen you need to understand the Fuchs family. It all started with her grandfather, a smart lad who made his fortune selling Nazi artifacts that he helped loot and steal in the first place back to their rightful owners at twice the price after the War. The Fuchs family with their new wealth would slowly yet surely make a name for themselves as business mongrels whose shadier dealings were often ignored on account of the large amounts of money they invested in the rebuilding efforts of West Germany.

Gwen's father Henrik was a legitimate businessman, legitimate in the sense that he had enough money that he was basically untouchable, who dealt in "proper business transactions". Gwen was the second of three children born into a loveless marriage and at the age of ten was swiftly sent away to Saint Ascelina School for Girls in Saarland away from her family home in Berlin. Saint Ascelina School was a primer boarding school known for producing some of the best and brightest and Gwen hated all eight years of it.

Though it would be here that Gwen would begin to partake in her family's pastime, making a tidy little profit smuggling in and selling banned substances anything fro cigarettes, to alcohol, to boys. She would somehow make it through her time at Saint Acelina without getting expelled and partly through her grades but mostly her father's money she would be admitted into Heidelberg University. She would drop out a term later partly to spite her father, and partly because it just 'wasn't her thing'.

Refusing to go back to her Father that had treated her like she hadn't even existed, she took to harnessing her skills at Saint Acelina for much bigger scores. It was perfect in a way, you never suspected that the polite young woman you were talking to was waiting around in the park to talk to a contact about selling a crate of military grade explosives.

Eventually things started catching back up to her and she fled across the Atlantic looking for safe harbor and new work. Here the name Fuchs meant little and she could start anew, and do it better than her father ever had. And well you know the rest.

S K I L L S

---

Gwen's a people person through and through. She knows how far a quick tongue and a smile at the right time can get you and well lying is pretty much second-nature at this point. She's also knows how to be pretty inconspicuous when it comes down to it how to get lost in a crowd, and not draw attention to herself a fairly useful skill when she's infiltrating. These skills of subterfuge are matched with a highly extensive makeup kit and wigs to disguise pretty much anyone into anyone else at least for a couple of moments. She's pretty shit with a gun though and would much rather prefer getting up close and personal.

F A V O R I T E S O N G

---

Move.

[User]
Deft and practiced fingers worked while Adrian spoke. They tapped, ground, and separated the keef from the bud proper. Once that was done, it was sprinkled with due care into a paper and tightly rolled. The joint made its way from the table to lips and was lit. The cherry of the smoke bloomed and the thin blue smoke was inhaled, held, and exhaled. A little hum of appreciation left those same lips and then green eyes flicked up from the still glowing cherry to Adrian.

"So, what? Am I supposed to just Smokes company and play with myself?" Whitney asked, a few stray puffs of smoke leaving her mouth as she asked her sarcastic question. The inked up woman reclined luxuriously in the wooden chair of the dining room and raised a brow to their leader. She swung her leg over and crossed it, gesturing in a 'well?' manner with the hand holding the joint she had just finished rolling. She was clearly a bit miffed about being mostly ignored during the entire planning phase. She was damned good at keeping people in line and acting properly spooky when she wanted to, but, seemed to relegated to guard duty, or worse, car duty.

"Rest of the plan sounds tight but I am just trying to figure out how I fit into all this. Then again, I ain't gonna say no to free money." she placed the roll back to her lips and took another long pull, still keeping her eyes locked on those of Adrian. If he didn't really have anything for her do at least she could just get her smoke on with Smokes and wait until they needed her to go carry some heavy stuff.

[Assistant]
Donald listened to the speech, yawning. He ran a rag over his machete, looking it over and testing the edge by pressing it against his hand. It was sharp enough, though the tribal paint on the blunt edge was beginning to chip, he'd have to paint over that when he set up a workshop. For now he was just carrying all his supplies on his back. With a nod and an upturn of his lower lip, he spun the machete in his hand slowly, he hadn't practiced enough to do it quickly. Securing the sheath on his back with his left hand, he slid the blade into it with a yawn. He was pleased with what he saw so far, Adrian and... the hacker guy seemed to know what they were doing, but that wasn't important, what was important was the high-quality tail that had gathered. He found himself not-so-discreetly looking at asses. He was a pervert, yeah, but a chivalrous one.

With a tap of his tongue, Donald chimed in after one of the two damsels spoke about how she wished to be a part of the heist. He had to support her, it's what a chivalrous gentleman would do.

"Yeah! The girl don't want to just sit back and toke all day! Now yu giv ha wok mah?" He asked, accidentally lapsing into Guyanese in his righteous anger. Smiling, he approached the heavily tattooed lady and offered a hand. "Teddy Daivari, explosives and other heavy machinery, but for now I guess I'm just the keycard guy. I like your tattoos, very pretty," he offered in a hushed voice.

Still holding out his hand, he looked back at Adrian and shrugged with a sarcastic frown.

"I also wish I could blow something up but this more important, dammit!" He demanded, this time in American English, he still managed to drop a word. He really needed to work on improving his English, girls like accents, but they also like smooth-talkers, and Guyanese isn't exactly French. He could try using what Spanish he had, but a Guyanese person speaking Spanish was about as attractive as a Russian speaking German. Not fun in the slightest.

[User]
Suddenly, Whitney found herself with a person who was supporting her position. Well, he was doing so a little more dramatically then she would have done, but, it was still nice to have someone on her side. He even stood up and walked over to her. She eyed him a little wary at first, her green eyes skeptical at best. He also was packing a machete for when you needed to whack through a thicket of vines or people, but, his was decorated unlike her's. She just had a tool, he seemed to treat his more like a totem or something. Had a funny accent to. She couldn't quite place it. It almost sounded like some of the cholos she used to know, but, not quite.

He introduced himself to her quickly and offered her his hand as well as a compliment on her tats. She had seen him eyeing her a bit, of course, he wasn't looking at her sleeves or what you could see on her back through the white Bladerunner tank top she was wearing. His eyes were lower. Hell, she wasn't going to knock him for that. She knew her lower body was a real draw, but, still. He could have been a little more discreet. She glanced down at her right arm sleeve for a second, taking a look at the geometric patterns that were on her upper arm that faded into the biomechanical piece that finished the sleeve out. Her eyes flicked back to his hand and she gave him a half smile and popped her joint in her lips before reaching out with her right hand and shaking Teddy's hand. "Thanks, blood." she said through her mostly closed mouth. "Name's Whitney, or Ink," she introduced herself gesturing to her right arm with her left hand as if to lend credence to her nickname, "I'm your girl when you need someone tuned up, feel?" she said before leaning around her supporter and taking another long pull off her smoke. She popped the thing out of her mouth, handed it to 'Teddy' casually, and returning her attention to Sharp. "So, the fuck am I going to be doing?" she repeated, smoke filtering out of her mouth as she spoke wreathing her head in a halo of weed smoke.

[Assistant]
Two fingers slowly ran in circles across a temple trying their best to appease the demons of disrupted circadian rhythms. The backlash of decisions from a night before as a mistake's worth of drinking finally came to a head, currently winning a decisive combat against the stalwart defenders of morning, a shitty sludge-like substance that could be considered coffee in some rare circumstances. Yet despite any internal anguish like always Gwen presented herself with a level of composure and general put togetherness that betrayed little of her current state.

She was dressed simply enough in the inconspicuous stylings of the nouveau riche inhabitants of SoHo - jeans, small black men's t shirt and some sort of black bomber jacket of indiscernible origin. All in such a way that she could've easily been confused as a marketing manager or some other upper middle class bullshit. Hair was pulled back into a short ponytail a few loose strands having fallen away and landing across eyes, the indiscernible lovechild between grey and a pale blue casually looking outward from her position with her shoulder propped against a nearby wall.

There was a small nod and something reminiscent of a smile at the corner of her mouth when her 'name' was mentioned nothing overt but done with enough care to show that she was actually paying attention. Yet juxtaposed against the current tableau that her cohorts had cast the woman looked decidedly out of place. Her posture emulated little of the swagger of the Australian, the ill-conceived bravado of the man with the machete, or the don't fuck with me attitude of the other woman in the room, it was much more causal and there was something to be said there. Gwen wasn't in the business of making statements, Gwen was in the business of being forgotten about, you lived longer that way.

She watched as the other woman questioned her role with something of a mild curiosity. She held her tongue, she didn't know anybody here really, friend of a friend that used to work with SASR had put her into contact with the Australian when she had run aground in the States, and she found that if had the capacity to just shutup and listen you could learn a lot about people.

Almost as quickly as she had spoken the one playing with his machete had jumped up to defend her. Lecherous sort with wandering eyes that Gwen rather didn't appreciate and an accent that she couldn't quite discern like some debris from the caribbean had washed ashore of several different continents, judging from posture alone he looked like he thought he was hotshit, in short a loser.

Such arguments early on did little in the way of reassuring her of the longevity of this gang of thieves but it was an interesting thought experiment itself seeing how their leader would react to it all. The small ghost of a smile flickered across her features once more as she followed the conversations gaze as it moved back towards Sharp giving him a sympathetic shrug of the shoulders but still choosing not to engage directly. This wasn't her fight and she wasn't about to make it hers either.


[System]
Gender:
 Female

 Age:
 16

 Appearance Description:
 Asahi measures up to 156 cm and weighs 43kg. She's got fair skin and a lithe build with toned muscle. She doesn't have fancy clothing but tries to look her best no matter what.

 Former Life:
 Student

 Clubs:
 Mixed Martial Arts Club

 Gear:
 A bag with: two pencils, a sharpener, a notebook, some hygiene products, and a few bandaids and alcohol wipes.

 Skills:
 - Hand to hand combat. Whether it is striking, wrestling or defending herself while on the ground, she's got a very acceptable level of proficiency across the board, having even beaten one of her senpais in a sparring match before.

 - Athlete's endurance. Being able to fight at 100% for 15 or 25 minutes with barely any rest is a feat that only people who have trained for a long time are able to achieve.

 - Sewing & Repairing clothing. Having raised herself for the most part, she's grown accustomed to treating her clothing right. She repairs her clothing whenever it gets danaged instead of buying a new piece in order to save her Mom some much-needed money.

 - Cooking. Being poor and needing to eat is a good combination to learn how to whip up meals when all you have are scraps and old cans of peas.

 - Rationing. Her family's money problems have had both her and her Mom rationing food to last through the month to such a point that Asahi has unknowingly become a light eater, sometimes skipping entire meals.

 Likes & Dislikes:
 Asahi likes:
 - Cheap Ramen.
 - Having her efforts recognized.
 - Hugs and physical shows of affection.
 - Small snakes.
 - The feeling of her knuckles smashing into someone's jaw or nose.
 - The tiger ears she wears on her head.

 Asahi dislikes:
 - People that bully her because of her poverty.
 - Her Mom's current boyfriend.
 - The feeling of someone's knuckles smashing into her jaw or nose.

 Personality:
 Asahi is an independent, cheerful and carefree girl. Born into poverty, she's never known what it feels like to be able to get what she truly wants. After being fired from her last job, she has turned to spending her free time with other kids. Sometimes they'll get in trouble and other times they'll just loiter around, messing with each other.

 Biography:
 Asahi was born to poverty. Her father left when she was a few months old and since then, her mother's had to work herself to exhaustion each day to make ends meet. For as long as she can remember, she's been picked on by the divas in class for being the kid that has no money for makeup or stupid accessories or the newest model of phone that is actually the same as the older, but twice as expensive. Asahi's known what it feels to not be able to do many things because of things beyond her control, and she hates it.

 One day, she got into a fight and relished the sight of her bully's bleeding nose. Of course, the satisfaction didn't last long, since the bully sent her asskissers after Asahi when she left school that day. She couldn't attend school for a week after that.

 Tired of being bullied, when she was able to return she immediately signed up for arguably the most intense martial arts club, the MMA club. A year and several bully beatdowns later, Asahi enjoyed the relative freedom of using the girl's locker room without someone ripping or stealing her clothing.

 Eventually, though, Asahi got tired of being the poor kid, so she got a part-time job and started earning money. Enough to buy her own stuff. She was happy and proud. Until she came home one night to her mom crying over the kitchen sink while she washed a plastic dish. That night, she rolled the cash in her pocket from her payday and sighed. The next morning, her mom found an envelope on the floor in front of her bedroom door, with a note littered with drawings of hearts that read:

 "I love you Mom, don't cry. I have a job now, so please accept this."

 Things were good for a while. Then Asahi's mom got a deadbeat boyfriend who did nothing but spend their hard earned money on booze and junk food. Another day, after having her ass handed to her in the MMA club and arriving at work bruised and with bandages all over her knees and arms, she was let go. That was a mere month ago. Now her family is back at the start.

 Other:
 The only family Asahi knows is her Mother, Asato Seka, who works two jobs and only spends 8 hours a day at home, most of which are spent sleeping or with her boyfriend.

[User]
Yuuki Kenji

---

 7:20
Yuuki Residence

---

 Should we cut down the size of the festival this year? Or reducing the fund of the baseball team? The track team needs some gears badly. But it does not seem like they really need it do they? How about the asking for more fund? Nah, it would probably get shot down immediately. Cutting the unnecessary tea and snacks seems like a good idea. And for Christ sake, how much paper do the literature club need? Are they planning to chop down all the trees? And the Cult club, what are they  The boy sighed, looking at the opened window before looking back at his note. Most of the fund had been distributed reasonably, with some problems like the Cooking club with their stupid thousand layers cake or the literature unreasonable rate of using paper. All is needed to put to check and balance, and Kenji needed to submit this plan by the end of this week.

"Just today, another woman was assaulted by a strange man. Luckily, she was rescued and transferred to the local hospital. Based on her description, the man was in his feral state…"

Focusing on his natto, Kanji glanced over the news with a flashy red title on its first page. "The End of the World?" or so to speak, providing some brief summaries of what others news had provided before. There was nothing new besides from the nearby stores are having a promotion on seaweed. But Kanji just laughed off before putting the paper on one side, unaffected by the shocking "revelation" of some tabloid newspapers. Truly, the thing can only be used by his mother for some gossips and debatably juicy materials.

"Thank you for the food," Kanji said, loud enough for his mother to overhear but small enough to keep the motherhood's conversation between his mother and the beloved sister to flow. And then the usual things, cleaning his own dishes, taking the pills for his mother, reminding he will come home late,... Another year is coming. Another year will soon go by.  Kenji thinks before he said goodbye to his mother, who is growing older by the years.  She used to be able to accompany him to his first-day school , Kanji thinks before giving his mother a final wave. That humble soul, withering away as time passed on, is still observing him and her from afar, fulfilling her long-promised oath.

And out of his hearing range, Kenji's mother whispered before slowly closing the door, "Have a nice day."

"Mother, would you ever leave us?" A soft voice broke out in the night, following the sound of something sobbing at the night. The woman darted to the lamp and turn on the light, fear of what happened to her son. Kenji, rubbing his eyes, remained to ask her the same question as she begins to check if he got hurt.
"Why did you ask?" The mother asked him back, before rubbing his back and getting him another cup of warm water.

"I'm scared."

"Oh come on, baby. Don't be. Did you have a nightmare?" The woman said to him before wiping another tear from his faces. Her expensive nightdress, now soaked with the little infant's sweat and tears, continued to be used as a napkin to take away her son's fears.

The little boy didn't say much, but his soft nod was enough to inform her. And his sister, after hearing from their mother, felt comfort in such loving had fallen back to her sleep of Doraemon and Shin-chan. But the boy, still painted with fears from his dreams, hugged her tight and refused to set her free from him.

"I will always be with you." She said, before giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Now, would you like another bedtime story? I'll make this a secret if you promised." The woman pulled out a collectible of Grimm stories, gleefully watching her son's streams of tears began to dry.

"Once upon the time..."

[Assistant]
Genjo Arata

---

6:30 - 7:45
Genjo Residence

---

6:30, the same time Arata awoke each day. This morning his phone had selected a ONE OK ROCK song for him to listen to as he dragged himself out of bed. He grabbed his smartphone and turned the alarm off, his pyjamas were baggy on him, his top clearly showed he didn't have much muscle in his arms and his bottoms were a bit too long for him.

He stumbled downstairs, into his kitchen, as he put a piece of bread into the toaster he checked his phone for news. He disregarding most of the articles and quickly went to see if anything about his favourite anime were on the news sites. He briefly put the phone down whilst he buttered his toast. As he was eating he put on the latest episode of his favourite anime.

There was no one in his house, his mothered had sent him text saying that there was an emergency at work and she'd gone in earlier than usual and she'd made him lunch, leaving it on the counter. His Dad, a British man, had gone home for a month or so and was meant to be returning soon, it was not as though Arata saw him much anyway as he would be in a casino somewhere. Arata sighed, finding loneliness peaceful but boring.

He thought about his parents as he buttoned up his shirt, the final part of his uniform, apart from the bag he needed to grab. He picked up the backpack by one of its straps, as he was about to walk out of the door, he realised he'd nearly forgotten his dice. He grabbed a handful of six sided dice, around five, all that were purple and slightly transparent. With that he left for school, he had about a twenty minute run in front of him, but he loved to run anyway and he'd be early today.


[System]
Age: 37

Gender: Male

Nationality: Brazilian

Appearance: Carvalho is an Afro-Brazilian with a dark complexion and expressive face. He is short (180 cm) and thick-bodied with a barrel chest. He keeps his head shaven.

Occupation: Major, 12 Infantry Brigade, Brazilian Army

Field of Expertise: Carvalho specializes in rapid reaction- a military unit that is able to quickly leap into action with or without support from other units. Improvisation, making use of minimal resources, and snap decisions are his forte.

Languages Spoken: Brazilian Portuguese, Spanish, French, English

Personal History: Not many people would have expected João Carvalho to join the Army. Many Brazilians- especially in the upper middle class he grew up in- saw the military as a refuge for the desperate and the impoverished. Growing up in a well-off family and doing exceptionally well in school, most people expected him to follow his father into the world of business.

However, João Carvalho was not a man who was content to sit behind a desk. Excitable and active, he craved the kind of adventure he would never find in his boring gated community in Belo Horizonte. And so he entered a military school, finding the life there to his liking and performing well. Once granted his first command, he proved to be a popular and competent officer with his men and managed to claw up through the ranks to Major.

Carvalho served two tours as a UN Peacekeeper in Haiti, a post that led him into more than one shootout with local gangs. He distinguished himself well enough for the United Nations to specifically request him as a military liaison for UNKEO. Eager for a new and exciting challenge, Carvalho accepted without reservation.

Name: Chaim Abergil

Age: 41

Gender: Male

Nationality: Israeli

Appearance: Olive-skinned with hazel eyes, Abergil is especially thin. His left arm is mottled with burn scars that cover his hand and forearm.

Occupation: Senior Lieutenant, Israel Fire and Rescue Service

Field of Expertise: As an experienced firefighter, Chaim Abergil knows how to save life and property from a variety of emergencies- structural fires, wildfires, building collapses, chemical spills, vehicle crashes, and even arson and terrorist attacks.

Languages Spoken: Hebrew, Arabic, English

Personal History: Chaim Abergil, the descendant of Moroccan Jews, never planned to become a firefighter. A cynical youth, he merely accepted the offer of a friend to join after his mandatory IDF service. As it turned out, Abergil had a talent for the job. Serving in the countryside of Israel and dealing with genuine accidents, the once cynical man had begun to feel a little more optimism.

However, after five years of firefighting out in the sticks, Chaim's elderly grandmother took ill. Concerned, he put in for a transfer to Haifa in order to be near her. It was urban firefighting that soured Chaim's general outlook. Having to solve problems caused by negligence, stupidity, or outright malevolence wore on the man over time. His arm was badly burned in an arson incident, a fire he later learned was started over a petty debt of a hundred shekels. And yet he kept rushing into burning buildings to save people from their own stupidity.

With the death of his ailing grandmother, Chaim is finding himself bothered by how cynical and world-weary his attitude has become. And so, he has volunteered to serve with UNKEO, hoping to find some meaning in his work yet again.

[User] Lorenzo sighed loudly as his plan for rigging some trucks with explosives was shot down however his plan for floodlights was agreed on with everyone so that was something that he could work with. He made sure to put on his seat belt as he braced for the landing and once he landed with the others he saw the man in charge as he explained what they had to work with. Since the others would be working on their own issues Lorenzo needed to set up the floodlights in case they have a chance to simply scare the creature like any other animal would with blinding headlights. Lorenzo saluted as he was trained to do the Brigadier Sir, I need you to get whatever men you can spare and have them get as many floodlights or whatever can give a huge flash to help set up around the perimeter near where we expect the beast to show up. I am setting up for a non violent way of deterring the beast without wasting lives or destroy anything in the city if it works then we will figure out a crucial weakness in the beast." Lorenzo said as he put his hand back down and went toward his own ride and ordered the man to take him to where they expect the beast to show up. Lorenzo had to figure out the best pattern to set up their lights...

[Assistant]
"I was unable to find whether or not your toxin would affect an insect quite as well as a mammal. I'll trust you have that knowledge covered."

Huan smiled as the German posed his question. Huan spoke: "Thanks for your query, and I am glad to say that the toxin will work fine on the insect just as well on mammal. We can see this by looking at our cricket friend here." Huan held up the small plastic box. The cricket was frozen in a struggle, as the spider enjoyed its meal.

When the plane began to descend, Huan fastened his seatbelt and prepared for landing. He was insanely nervous, despite his confident demeanor. He watched out of the small plane window over the beautiful countryside. Huan felt angry that something so ugly, so horrible, was destroying such an amazing thing. Huan would do his best to stop all the kaijus, he vowed that long ago.

The plane landed and Huan got out to stretch his legs. He greeted Brigadier Mahon when he saw him. Huan was exhausted, and he already had everything he really needed. Maybe he could work on the delivery system tomorrow. Right now, he just wanted to rest. He got in one of the cars, and asked to go to the Radisson.