[System]
Username: POOHEAD189
Race/Species: Human (From the Kingdom of Harek)

Gender: M

Age: 26

Career/Class: Mercenary/Armsman/Amateur Swordmage

Weapons:

* Bastard Sword
* Kite Shield

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): A lean, fit, but refined man with dark hair and eyes, with a navy blue tunic over chainmail (covering leather) and loose fitting dark brown trousers. He has a fair face, albeit with a scar at the left of his chin and running down his jawline. His hair is wavy, loose and tousled. Not entirely groomed as he was raised, he still looks more or less presentable, and perhaps charming when he feels the need to present himself as such. He has the look of a youth that has been refined like silver through various trials by fire.

Armor:

* Chainmail hauberk
* Leather armor over it.
* Leather bracers/pauldrons

Equipment/Other

* Sword sharpening/cleaning kit
* Water Jug
* Herbal remedy to halt light bleeding
* 3 pounds of beef jerky

Mental Description/Personality: Markus is a strong willed and adventurous young man, having left his moderately home to seek his fortunes to the east. He enjoys learning, his rebellious attitude having dimmed somewhat from his training by his Elvish master. He has a good mind about him when it comes to common sense, though he can be a bit rash if he lets his anger get the better of him. Generally he has a friendly, if wary demeanor. He will sometimes spout wisdom he has learned on his travels. In truth he has more general knowledge than spell knowledge, for he is only a fledgling spell caster. Still, he'll always be interested in learning more of the arcane arts. He has a curiosity about him that he sometimes can't help. Ironically, he'll chastise others for taking risks he might take as well.

Goals: Markus' goals are to seek his own fame and fortune, through his own skill. He wants to live as a free man, outside of the pointless bickering of the lords.

Background/History:
The bastard nephew of a lord, Markus had always been more focused on exploration in the surrounding forests and his various interests rather than his duties as a vassal. He used his standing not to further his family's fortunes, but to further his own. Not out of selfishness, mind. He'd often seen children who were less fortunate to be encouraged by their parents to do well for themselves. All he had ever heard from his family was what he could do for them.

One day his older brother was killed in a raid, which lead Markus and his father to argue and break off their relationship through a fit of anger. Markus escaped the next day, taking a modest sum of money as well as some equipment and traveling east, taking up arms with a few mercenary companies. He found despite his individuality, he was not a bad leader to smaller groups of companions, at least as long as they were after the same prize and had shared goals.

Before long he culminated enough funds to find an Elvish tutor in magic and swordplay. He lived there for 3 years, learning from the Elf in a forested tower before he was hired onto a fine expedition to explore the surrounding mountains. The adventure came into disaster, rock trolls making the group split up. Markus survived the mountains and found himself on the other side of them, next to a great body of water called the Sunlight Sea. He spent a year on the Cutlass coast, taking small, boring jobs on various ships as a guard before he found himself in HighMast.

[User]
Markus had his hands on his sword belt, looking very much the ragtag young mercenary that he was with his jagged but shallow wounds and dirt stains marring his fine features. His hair was unkempt and disheveled, though that wouldn't usually be out of the ordinary unless you count the bits of blood lightly dripping off his bangs from the forehead cut. His body was turned towards the group, but his dark eyes gazed into the forest as Eloryen spoke. He was used to the Elf's matter of fact manner of speech now. He only gave a small exhale of air to show his amusement at the comment.

He was quite glad Valerie was alright (and himself, but who's counting?), and he chose not to look at her to save her from a bit of embarrassment. It was an odd thing to him, to see so much of himself and how he first started out in this young woman. It was confusing for him to say the least, and he had to mentally tell himself that apart of that was also that they had seemed to hit it off quite well. That, and the fact you very nearly died there. That might mess your thoughts up a bit. His lips curved into an inward smile as the thoughts drifted through his head. He never failed to be a smart ass, even to himself. He was quite glad it was just a quirk, and not a representation of his morals.

As he listened to Eloryan begin to speak on how he had felled a beast twice his size, Markus still seemed to be in another world and lost in thought. Most would think he had a stoic quality to him that came natural. It did, in a way. After surviving a few encounters. It made men a tad more rugged in their visage. Women too, he had noticed. He wasn't about to brag about that Ogre, at least not without the Dwarf present to get some credit. They would need to help the wounded.

He blinked, broken out of his reverie by Valerie thanking him. Just for a moment as his thoughts switched back to reality, he looked a few years younger at the simple fact he was not so deep in thought as he often was. "Oh," he replied. "You would have done the same for me. And don't worry, that was more brave than anything. Maybe in a larger battle, formations would count more. But you went and did your best. That's all any can hope for." His smile was genuine and full of camradery.

"Let's get these Wagons going." Tobias sighed, gathering his wits about him. One of the peddlars that had driven the wagon behind him was tying his wound up in bandages. Behind them, workers began packing up the spilled contents of various wagons. There were still cries of pain as well. Woeful moans of those near death, or clinging to life. "I am going to need a drink after this. Hopefully the bartender will allow me free drinks for a song or two." the Elf half jested, and gave Valerie a wink. "You know I'm always needing a lovely assistant."

That did have Markus snorting a bit to hold back a chuckle. Just the way Eloryen was. He shook his head, and gave Valarie another smile. "I think after we get the wounded on the Caravan, you might want to take that wagon ride I offered earlier." he said. "I know I will."

[Assistant]
Valerie half-heartedly smiled back at Eloryen, but the aftermath of the battle left her not in the mood to be flirted with. She understood it was just his way, though, and so refrained from getting any more annoyed with it. Perhaps it was just how he forced some sense of normalcy back into the scene. She didn't feel particularly lovely at the moment, either, what with the blood spattered on her (none of it her own, thankfully) now beginning to dry, bits of dirt in her hair from when she'd hit the ground twice, and the sheen of sweat worked up from the fight.

"Probably a good idea," she replied to Markus, when he suggested the wagon ride again. It definitely felt more inviting now. There was work to do first, though, and they soon set out finding injured that were not beyond saving, and carefully transporting them back to the caravan. Valerie regretted that she didn't have any sort of trained skills in healing, leaving her unable to help them any further. There appeared to be a few among the mercenaries with some medical knowledge, mundane or otherwise, and most of the wounded they pulled in appeared to have a pretty good chance of pulling through.

Still, there were others that had already passed on, and there was nothing to be done for them but to recover the bodies, and to see that their final wishes in the event of their deaths were fulfilled. Hopefully they could at least be transported back to family, or given their desired rites. As for the slain orcs, the bodies were left behind. If the other orcs wished to reclaim them, they could return later and do so at their will.

Once they were back on their wagon and moving again, Valerie took the opportunity to untie her breastplate and set it aside, carefully checking over her sternum and ribs for any fracture. It was tender to the touch, but as far as she could tell she was still entirely intact.

"Why did they attack?" she asked Markus, taking up her armor again and beginning to secure it. There was still a chance of danger, of course. "Doesn't seem like orcs would care much for spices and sea stone. Are they just that eager for our blood?"

[User]
Markus might have been used to it by now, but it still effected him. The savagery of the Orcs would stick in his mind far longer than he'd enjoy. He saw good men that had been merrily drinking the other day now butchered like so much cattle. Hell, not an hour ago the day was bright and sunny, and these men and women were looking forward to getting their pay at the end of the day. Now...
He grunted as he hauled the last wounded man on the wagon. He was a burly ex-soldier with a bit of cloth wrapped about his head now. Markus himself could relate. He had to tie a bit of cloth to his head for the wound, though merely for pressure. It looked very much like a headband to him, his thick hair hanging over it.

He pulled himself up into the Wagon next to Valerie, aching all over and stinging from his wounds. He made sure not to look at her as she checked herself for her own wounds. The bumping of the wagon caused their bodies and heads to sway back and forth lightly as they set off, and he suddenly felt very much in need for a night in a secure location with plenty of ale.

His arms were crossed and resting on the crest of the wagon's side, Markus' chin atop his arms as he surveyed the forest that slowly became more and more sparse as their altitude rose. Valerie's question caught his ears. "I'm no expert, but I've heard stories." he breathed. "Orcs favor strength. Some tribes send out war parties to test their mettle against whatever they can find, to show they are worth something to their tribe. Sometimes they go out, and try to grab human prisoners to...-" He let that thought slide. "Other times, I believe they're looking for weapons. They can't forged steel well, but we can."

Another bump in the road, larger than most, brought Markus' attention for him to lift his head and gaze forward. He saw the gates of Hillglen over the treeline. Only another mile, it seemed. He allowed himself a small smile. He'd always liked the town. It was a frontier outpost, and a place where daring miners and adventurous hunters found refuge for a small bit. A few Knights of to slay great beasts also found the place to be a good starting point for rumors of such things.

The town's wall wasn't very tall. Only a head taller than an Ogre, but they were strong. The walls made of mountain stone, with some sea stone for good effect on the parapets, and the buildings within were a mixture of stone and hardy timber. Inside, a small barracks would be to the left, and further in would be the Tavern dubbed the Orc Ire and Dragonfire for the adventurers and travelers that flocked there. The Inn would be across the town three streets over. He wasn't entirely certain where these wagons would be heading, however. To see the Marshall perhaps, but he'd not met her before. He believed he recalled it being a her, though.

[Assistant]
An attempt to prove their worth... Valerie wasn't fond of casting judgement on those she wasn't familiar with, but everything Markus told her left her with the impression that the orcs had a very backward culture, savage even. The attack they'd just survived had no other purpose than to slay them and take their weapons from their corpses. Valerie doubted an orc would even find much use for a sword like hers. It was a colossal waste on both sides, but there likely wasn't any way to persuade them into stopping. Which left them with the unfortunate ultimatum of killing or being killed.

The bumps in the road gave Valerie small jarring pains, but she imagined her discomfort was nothing compared to those who had received more grievous injuries in the fight. She turned to see the sight of Hillglen approaching, with walls of stone and timber protecting the little outpost. As they approached, Valerie noticed a great deal of wear on the walls. Splits in the wood where arrows had once struck it, or even gashes left from an axe, evidence of an orc or some other creature trying to literally tear the defenses down.

"It looks like this outpost deals with these attacks often," she pointed out. One nearby section of wall had signs of recent repairs, with the stones in place there looking significantly less weathered than those surrounding it. "I wonder if anything can be done." Likely they just didn't have the manpower to do anything more than weather the assaults, but Valerie found herself curious if they even knew where the orcs were coming from beyond a general direction.


[System]
Username: Demon Shinobi
Age: 15
Gender: Female
Country of Origin: Japan (Though she is half Japanese and Half Italian)
Role: Storm Guardian Candidate
Flame: Storm

Weapon/Fighting Style: Asuka utilizes a whip coupled with fluid, quick movements in battle. IN truth this was a weapon she was taught to use by her father, who used a chain sword.
Box weapons:
1) Catena Frusta di Tempesta (Chain Whip of the Storm) - With a grip resembling that of a sword and a 2 yard long chain topped with a kunai like blade at the end, this is the perfect weapon to accentuate her skill with a whip. This chain whip channels and can be engulfed in the Storm Flame at the user's will.
2) Volpe a Nove Code di Tempesta (Nine-Tailed Fox of the Storm) - A small black nine tailed fox, with white tipped tails matching it's white paws. It is incredibly fast. It can fire small balls from its tails made of condensed storm flames. It can coat it's paws in storm flames while running. And it can coat it's fangs and saliva in the flames when biting. All at the beck and call of it's master.
Appearance:
As she stands now, Asuka is a fairly well developed young girl. She stands at about 5'4" with lovely skin and a lovelier figure for her age.

In ten years not much has changed. She has grown taller, standing at about 5'8" and has grown more in the bust and hip areas, though no male (or occasional female) would care about that right? Overall, she had some what larger more accentuated curves than she had as a child.

Personality: Asuke is typically level headed and easy to get along with. Ever intelligent and kind, one might think Asuka is picture of perfection. She does not feel this way. She works hard and strives to be better when necessary. However, she is not oblivious to her looks, and figure and uses it to her advantage when possible. She can be manipulative, a bit of a flirt and somewhat teasing. But that is more so because she finds it fun and humorous. She can be a bit odd and random in her behavior, but she picks her moments. There is a time to play, a time to be serious, a time to fight, etc. etc. Still even with her confidence and somewhat flirty attitude, she is quite innocent can be made to blush if she isn't the one teasing, but the one being teased. Asuka is simply Asuka.

History: Asuka's mother was Japanese and her father Italian. How did they meet? Well her mother was the mayor of Namimori at one point. She was beautiful, responsible, fearless, and much more. She was practically leading the charge against the local thugs and yakuza. Of course, this lead to many wanting her dead. She thought it didn't matter, but others weren't so reckless.

Thus, her father was hired. A bodyguard for hire at the time, his strength was renowned. Even to those yakuza he was not only recognized, but respected for his skill and ability. This was no small feat. His presence brought along much more peace of mind. Even to her mother, though it wouldn't be admitted, at first. Still, as time went on and the two spent more time together, they would eventually fall in love. That love would blossom into the birth of a child.

After that, Asuka's mother resigned. With a baby on the way she couldn't afford to risk her life. And neither could her father. They settled in Namimori since he hadn't had a permanent of his own due to his constant travelling. Without her continuing her work there was no need to further pursue harming her or her future child. Besides nobody wished to cause more problems with Asuka's father.

She grew up normally. Of course, up until she was ten. Then he father began to make her exercise, work a bit a bit more and train so she could be able to defend herself in the case that he wasn't around. He gave her a weapon similar to his. A whip. It could suffice. She learned fairly quickly. Now she'd 15. Her parents are off travelling with full confidence that she can handle herself. She can too. Though not many know, she can fight fairly well. She can take care of herself and does quite well in school. She strive to maintain a good position like her mother did, and still does.

Other: The following are added information.

Hobbies: Asuka's hobbies include reading Manga, watching anime, studying, training, and cooking. She also enjoys the occasional online game and the very rare eroge. But that's a secret.

Likes: Asuka likes having fun, hanging out, making new friends and occasionally a good brawl if it can add a little excitement to her life. However, more than anything, she likes cute things, even if she denies it.

Dislikes: Asuka dislikes jerks and rude people, though can put up with them if she is close to them. She also dislikes killjoys and boredom. She isn't one to take well to being teased, as hypocritical as that sounds. And she doesn't like people messing with or insulting the things or people she cares about.

[User]
Not long after Hideaki had locked the archery dojo doors and set off homewards, Aloise Akane, the ace of the kendo club, had suddenly chosen to address him. She completely unmatched in her art, if the rumors held fast, and Hideaki could respect that. She was also foreign but that was not too unusual, the archer supposed. It wasn't an unusual sight; Namimori was practically full of foreginers these days, after all. Her query was in regards to his preparations for the festivals, something that the bespectacled bowman thought was distinctly None Of Her Business. He'd let it pass though, give her the benefit of the doubt that this budding conversation wouldn't be the droll exchanging of pleasantries he'd been so accustomed to.

"Hmm? Good afternoon, Aloise-san," the boy cheerfully greeted the younger girl, sending a curt wave and a practiced, imperceptively insincere smile her way. It was a sequence of actions practically seared permanently into his being. Though mostly extraneous social formalities like these weren't something he particularly enjoyed having to do over and over again, he'd play his part well, just like he always did. First impressions counted for a lot, after all. "Ara, that's right. I do have to prepare for the festival. Guess I lost track of time," he agreed, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head, "But it's fine, I've got my outfit ready and everything. So all I have to do is go home, dress up, and maybe help out the class pres with her booth, ne?"

"What about you, Aloise-san?" the two-faced archer asked politely with feigned concern, "Don't you have to prepare for the festivities yourself?"

[Assistant]
She did notice the pretense of a cheery attitude the archer had on. The insincere smile, the false front and deceitful facade. It had the air that it seemed as if he'd been already accustomed to it, however. That much she knew, for socialization was an everyday thing the kendoka was exposed to, and also a rather vital part of her role in her family. Akane shrugged off the observation. To each his own, she thought.

"Good afternoon, Minase-senpai. I do have my outfit ready at home too, but am rather lost as to what I may do to help with at the festival. I hadn't any plans, after all. So I thought I'd approach you on this. If it doesn't bother you, would you mind suggesting some things?" the girl replied with a smile, preparing herself for whatever answer she'd receive. What she said was... partly true, though. Seeing as Minase was the first person she spotted, Akane thought of inquiring him about that. She knew she should've done things like this earlier, but procrastination had gotten the better of her. Typical.

The archer did mention of himself helping with the student council president's booths. That was an option too. Any thing to help, as she wasn't going to wander around aimlessly without a cause.

[User]
As Yuki and Asuka continued their conversation there was an underlying calculating tone as they spoke that made Luca rather nervous. It wasn't that the president's compliments and praises weren't genuine, it was just that she usually had some kind of goal when she spoke. Things were set inn motion as she answered their whether or not she was attending the festival. "But it won't be all fun an games. Due to some circumstances I'll be managing a booth all by myself. I don't even know if I'll be able to handle that much work alone. Since you're going..." There it was. Luca could do nothing to stop it. Between the presidents well laid traps, which no matter how many times he's been caught in them he never realizes it before it's too late, and Yuki's infatuation with him he was doomed from the start. Luca couldn't argue since Asuka had rescued him from numerous detentions, extra homework, double cleanup duty and the like. Not to mention those puppy dog eyes, practiced to perfection and strengthening her already impressive mastery of the art off persuasion. "Yup, no problem. You could of just asked though..." He said with a defeated sigh. Not only did she snare him but by exaggerating his injuries she gave Yuki a perfect extruse to stay close to him and also help with the stand.

"Well, I think it is for the best. After all Luca is hurt so staying out of harms way would be better." When did I become sine kind of burn victim...=_= To Luca's surprise Yuki didn't leave things at that and inquired about compensation with a smile similar to the president's when she negotiated. These women really were scary. He had no idea where the snowy haired girl was going with this but decided to offer anything he could when she looked at him. "Um yeah...well, working at the booth won't leave us much time to find a place to watch the fireworks so..." It was quite obvious he wasn't used to this as his voice shook slightly. "You think you could use that presidential charm of yours to secure us a good spot? If it's not too much trouble..." He added quickly.

[Assistant]
"Assemble an adequate number of our men to scout the premises beforehand..." An order was dictated by the young Kanesada heir, who was now dressed in a jet black yukata with his dark, mid-length hair tied up neatly. The old butler, to which the order was directed to, bowed to acknowledge the command and off he left in a haste back to the traditional Japanese mansion. Ren was left to his own thoughts while he awaited in the limousine situated in front of his mansion's gates.

Compared to the majority of the attendees of the upcoming festival tonight, Ren did not choose to participate in it for merry making or cash earning, no. As an ally of the Vongola family and a newly scouted Varia member, he was obliged to protect the future Vongola XI candidate who was to be attending the said festival. While he has yet to be acquainted with the candidate, a photo was sent to him by the current captain of the assassination squad to "keep an eye on him". Just to be on the safe side, a tanto (a short type of Japanese sword) was well hidden in the secret compartment of his yukata, in case anything should go wrong.

A sigh of boredom escaped his lips as he absentmindedly stared out of the window until a soft meow was heard. As if on instinct, the azure eyed male averted his gaze towards the origin of the sound. A little black cat stood a couple of meters away from the vehicle Ren was in, licking its tiny paw to rub it onto its face in a grooming manner. Being the cat enthusiast he is, the temptation was too great for the fearsome yakuza heir to stay put on his seat, therefore leaving the vehicle and approaching the sighted feline. His arm reached out to slowly pet the cat to see its approval to be touched, then the little feline reacted with a delighted purr while rubbing its head against the male's hand. Taking it as a positive response, Ren gently placed his arms around the cat and lifted it up, cradling it in his arms as he continued to pet it.

"Young master, we are ready for departure." An old voice called out to the raven haired male, Ren was slightly irritated internally at how much of a bad timing he had. A pair of circular, sparkling eyes stared up at him as he released another sigh before replying to his butler.

"............. Leave me be, ...at least for a minute before departure."


[System]
With platinum hair messily cut below her ears, Cider is a sight for sore eyes for contractors. Despite her age, her skin shows very little in the way of wrinkles or scars. Her eyes are a vivid orange - an unusual color for anyone who doesn't wear contacts. Standing at 5'6", her body is lithe. There is not a single bit of athleticism that can be seen from her. Her features lack any sort of scar, blemish, muscle, or callous that one would gain from any rigorous activity. While traits of old nationalities can be gleamed from her appearance, they are too inconsistent to mark her race to only a few words.

Often jokingly called a babysitter, Cider is the liaison for many contractors. While often playful and coy, she acts overbearing and protective with alarming frequency. Her veteran experience working for Ultralight often acts as a double-edged sword. While she often is able to give out sagely advice to newcomers, she often forces distance between herself and contractors. Moments of respite only act as time to reflect on those whose faces Cider can never see again. Despite the stress she often faces from sending those around her to danger, she still chooses to greet every single one with a smile.

With boyish looks and a young, athletic physique, it's not uncommon for one to mistake Magpie's gender. Standing at 5'10", Magpie is exceptionally tall for a woman. Her blonde hair is tied into a thick braid that, when placed at her front, easily reaches her breast. The sides are loosely cut at her shoulders. While Magpie's young face is relatively unblemished, her arms and legs tell a different story. Dense callouses cover her knuckles and her fingers often seem misaligned, at least compared to her large hands. The occasional scar reveals itself upon her arms, but they remain nothing extraordinary. Her legs - jokingly called tree-trunks due to the sheer amount of muscles in them - tell a different story; thick scars show themselves at every possible moment. Magpie wears them like a badge of honor, wearing shorts instead of actual gear that would mitigate damage to her legs.

Often called an ass, Magpie isn't a very good people person. She's often sardonic and mocking of others. This has resulted in her working alone for as long as anyone could remember. She is the oldest surviving contractor that still works with Cider. As a result, she has become a bit of a cult icon within their cell. This isn't because she's an interesting person or is obscenely powerful, however. It's because of all of the antics she manages to get herself in. Occasionally appearing in the safe house completely shit-faced - only drink more, appearing covered in viscera, dragging 130lb "requisitioned" boxes back to camp, all adds to the strange mythos surrounding who Magpie is. Though, to most people, she's just an asshole.

No more than a child, Ana is a pallid and strange girl. Of diminutive stature, she is only 4'7" and has a sickly build. Her brown hair is long, but styled with bows and ribbons. Her large black eyes often feel empty, as if she is unaware of things that go on around her. She often looks lost in a dream, unresponsive to the outside world.

Taken care of by Cider, Ana is an odd sight for the safe-house. The only person she pays any mind to is Cider. Others are either ignored or pushed away. She is almost always alone in the corner, drawing esoteric pictures with pastels. Her child-like drawings, while most are meaningless scrawls, foretell the future. However, Ana's mind can only see flickerings of events foretold. She is unable to accurately foresee any event until just before it happens. Ana is generally left alone by contractors. The reason is two-fold; her manic drawings often alienate those around her, and she brutally bit the last contractor who tried to play with her.

A cloaked figure and associate of Cider.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Tetsu Foundry, 9th Industrial

---

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

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

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

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

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


[System]
Appearance:

Well built, tall and musclebound with lightly tanned skin and brown hair, styled in a short mohawk with a small braid, with an overall unshaven look.
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Personality: Gruff, no nonsense and something of an agnostic atheist, more often relying on his own experiences than the words of others. He's the kind of guy to cite his 2 greatest loves as cooking and fighting. To Tony respect is earned mutually, and those who break that respect are amongst his greatest enemies. He does his job to the end and doesn't often deviate from that path himself but will follow the team wherever they go. Usually isn't particularly confrontational unless it's about wasting food and isn't often stubborn but when he is there's no moving him. As such he's a mainly defensive fighter, willing to stay back and protect their more important members but ready to go into the fray and dice up his enemies.
Allignment: Lawful Neutral
Class: Soldier
Combat equipment:
* Steel Waraxe
* Hide armour (with 1 iron shoulder plate)
* Steel round shield

Non-combat equipment:
* Cooking utensils
* Cooking pots
* Bowls and plates
* Various spices
* Flask of oil (made from animal fat)
* Bottle of olive oil
* Water flask
* Flour
* Flint and tinder
* Cleaning rags (for pots and equipment)
* Camping equipment (including metal poles for a portable spit)

History: The illusive Tony Sauf'cok, a man of honor and sense, named for his legendary tendercrisp chicken recipe (and a few other unrelated things), Tony Sauf'cok remains a humble man of humble beginnings. His life opens with Tony living as an orphan in a war torn land, its resources ravaged by constant conflicts, whether they be between the demons, other nations or themselves. The orphanage struggled, as any organisation running on goodwill (which much didn't exist) and luck would. He learned not to waste food from a young age as they would be lucky if there were even rats to eat. He was recruited by the country's military after a time, the army having a habit of recruiting orphans for the front lines. Tony Sauf'cok quickly made a name for himself for precisely 2 things, surviving and cooking. Even in the orphanage where food was scarce they'd managed to make something of it. Army food matched the worst they'd had and then some, considering the fact that when they were in the orphanage they'd managed to get small windfalls of luck. Soldiers sometimes had down time and he decided to hunt down animals and pick herbs to suppliment their diets, a common practise back in his orphanage. He also used the time to practise his cooking, spending his meagre wages on spices to liven up the lives of his fellow soldiers. The soldiers around him were those like him lucky enough to survive and they used the extra nutrients given by Tony's meals to grow further. Soon their merry regiment were one of the with members from its conception, and a fair few at that. There were a few reasons for this, including a competent commander and a lot of luck, but some go so far as to say that Tony's cooking helped motivate them to survive for so long. Regardless his cooking skill was recognised and all in the regiment knew the name Tony Sauf'cok. Tony never really cared about it though, all he wanted to do was cook for his brothers in arms and perfect his craft. Soon his regiment was sent out for more dangerous but less frequent missions and Tony found that he had more time to perfect his craft. When the hero hit the world, Tony's country was one of the first casualties. Scraps of the country survived and Tony's regiment came out of it slightly better than others, meaning decimated but not as much. With their general dead and their numbers ravaged Tony Sauf'cok decided it was time to go on a solo adventure and set off to find people willing to risk their lives to end the hero's rampage (and also become the greatest chef known to man).

[User]
Alexis heard the rumor of someone that could defeat the Tyrant. She knew that the one that spread the rumor probably was bluffing, no one could kill the Tyrant. No one alone that is. She had to see this with their own eyes. The shadow said that they shouldn't go, but unfortunately for the shadow...Alexis was in command.

She was, as always, waking towards the village in what most would think be her Sunday dress, only black as the night. No weapons could be seen on her, not even a knife. A mad grin appeared on her face as she saw zombies moving around as if they were still alive. She started to laugh as she saw that zombies almost acted as if they were alive, moving around and doing nothing. " The classic life of a peasant " said Alexis in-between laughs.

A zombie eventually came towards her trying to attack her, she smiled and then ran towards the center of the village, where others could be seen. Humans and non-humans.  Perfect  she thought. As she approached the group, the zombie was following her , she started crying and yelled " Help, help. The undead have risen again. ".
She let a few tears go on her cheek and now, she looked perfectly harmless to anyone.

[Assistant]
Astiroth didn't find the effortless strikes it took to kill the shambling undead. "Better to simply be put in the ground to be a shambling husk of what was former a person.

Astiroth moved from rooftop to rooftop watching as others moved to the center of the town as well. A varied group of misfits seemed to be forming. A demon or two could also be spotted. This might be an issue. In his human form, they won't be able to recognize, but if he unsheathed his sword around them then it would certainly raise suspicion. For now he would stay in human form and hope he would hot have to unsheathe his blade.

Astiroth made it to the center of town and listened as Feon talked about starting a rumor. Astiroth went to turn around and walk away in disbelief that he had fallen for a rumor until she mentioned it was truth. When the woman asked for names Astiroth had no intention of giving his real name. "My name is Jason Mythious. I heard of a rumor that this town held a key in defeating the tyrant. I figured I would come check it out. Not much hope left anyway."

[User]
"I see..." Leila answered, sounding a little dejected.

Their conversation was cut short with a lizard man suddenly leaping down from the roof, taking down a couple of zombies with his attack. Then, he loudly called for anyone who was there hiding to come out.

Leila never thought of that possibility. Her mind was entirely focused on the destruction of the village that she neglected the possibility that others might come to check out things too.

The rumor? She had known about it before she came here. It was yet another reason why she went here, though she had already fully expected the possibility that it was just a hoax, or even worse, a trap.

So this woman was responsible for the rumor, huh? She just wanted to gather strong people to bring down the Hero.

If it came to that, then she would be ready to fight.

...Wait, did she hear that right? Did she say the name of the Demon Lord, Remus? She said she could communicate with him.

Fishy. That was definitely fishy.

"Hey, what do you mean that you can communicate with Remus? Isn't he dead already? Are you one of his minions?" Leila said with a raised voice, her hand readied at her blade.

Her alarm bells rang even harder when a literal demon suddenly came out of nowhere and walked towards them. She just ignored her as she addressed the lizard man.

And then another person showed up. Thankfully, he seemed to be human from what she could tell. He walked towards the brawler and introduced himself.

"Careful! This girl apparently had some connections to the demon lord!" she warned him.

Now she had no idea what to do. Should she strike right away at the demoness? She didn't look to be hostile, and she herself wasn't sure that she could take her on. And then there was still the matter of the suspicious brawler.

Could it be that she just stumbled upon a gathering for the remains of the demon lord's army?

She shook her head. She had to stay calm in a situation like this. She concluded she would adopt the wait and see approach for now. With her blade's grip still in her hand, she waited for the brawler's explanation.

[Assistant]
Slightly confused, Vreskrr assessed the situation. Random crying woman, check. Oblivious zealot, check. Shady figure trying to blend in...Concluding she had found herself in some silly soap opera, Vreskrr decided to 'handle' the situation. Pulling her spear from her zombie-meatshield, Vreskrr charged the spear, aimed it and shot a beam past the crying woman, barely passing next to the woman's cheek and hitting a zombie behind her.

Vreskrr turned towards the 'zealot'. "I wouldn't suggest picking a fight here girly, with the undead and all. So remove that hand from there will you?" She spoke in a voice that was clearly not human before adjusting to a more serious tone. "--If you don't, I'll have to." Laughing in a manner befitting her demonic voice, Vreskrr turned to perhaps the most interesting person around. "I don't know much about this rumor, but Remus? I thought he'd perished. Well, not that I care all that much, I've been feeling better than ever since I quit his army."

After a moment of uninterrupted silence Vreskrr sighed. "Geez, enthusiastic much? Fine, I'll play by your game then." Vreskrr took a step forward, unimpressed by Leila who was visibly on guard against her. "Call me Vreskrr. I might not know much about this rumor of yours or your plan, but I'll play along for now."

[User] Leila's face turned into a frown at the demon woman's attitude. She was clearly irked by how arrogant she was. She did not respond to her taunt. Instead, she sent her sword away, though she still eyed the demon with a gaze that might just drill through the skull of an ordinary person. She reasoned that the demon seemed to come in peace for the moment, but you could never trust a demon. So even though she had summoned her sword away, she still would be ready to summon it in a split second if the demon decided to suddenly turn hostile. She was quite proud of her quick draw, having already caught many opponents off guard with her suddenly pressing her sword on their throat even though she was unarmed just a second ago. She thought this would also make the demon lower her guard, even if just for a little.

[Assistant]
The fist fighter's announcement didn't move Tony, it only made him more suspicious. The only thing more suspect than a nutjob was a magic nutjob. Not that the girl (If he could say that; magic always made things weird) was necessarily insane or magical, but talking about dead people and demons tended to point towards insanity, and there was a good chance that magic was also involved. But he could accept that she might believe that she could hear the voice of the dead demon lord, he'd met plenty of people say that they could hear dead people, so that didn't bother him. If she was telling the truth, that would be bother him a lot, but that remained to be seen.

There was still something that bothered him, however, and that was his prospective teammates. One of the problems was that he could count the humans on one hand, and even then he wasn't sure they really were human. There was the fist fighter, the young knight, the man that introduced himself as Jason, and the crying girl. But with the presence of the spear wielding demon, that opened the situation up for all sorts of trouble. Any or all of the humans he'd counted could be demons, crafty lot as they were. The only one he could actually count on not being a demon was a lizard man, but that wasn't saying much.

Many people had an immense hatred of demons, and although Tony was not amongst those numbers, he'd lost a fair few friends fighting the demonic hordes. This gave him a slightly negative disposition to them, but that wasn't the main problem. The main problem with the group were that they were just eating this up! For all the things the demons had done to his fellow soldiers he at least believed they were realistic or cynical enough to not just believe some random possibly insane stranger who claims that they're talking to their dead leader. Tony himself wasn't exactly one to mind either but half his regiment didn't give their lives so humanity's last hope could follow the first random guy (or girl) who claimed to have a way to beat the tyrant. He wasn't against the idea, he too didn't have any options, but he was starting to get annoyed that no one pointed out the absurdity of this situation.

Tony stepped out of the shadows to where the group had begun congregating.
"Well look at the sorry lot we have gathered here." He said, walking confidently forward.
He took a moment to look around at the misfits gathered together. A demon that fired beams and various assorted persons of varying degrees of scruffiness. This was the group of misfits he expected. Well, he wasn't quite expecting demons but he hadn't been planning for any worse.
"I'm all for following a random stranger on an adventure and off a cliff or wherever it is you're supposed to go," He announced. "But I'm not biting the hook just yet."
He began slowly walking towards the monk girl, taking long, measured strides.
"I don't know about the rest of you," He continued, eyeing everyone in the group. "But when some nutjob starts telling me she can see the spirit of a dead schlub, I start turning the other way."
He stopped just in front of the girl and crosses his arms, staring resolutely into her eyes.
"So you're telling me that you're channeling the spirit of a dead man." He began. "When the only dead men I see are these god forsaken rotting abominations."
He gestured at the shuffling zombies pointedly and recrossed his arms.
"So I'm going to have to ask you to tell me again; why exactly should we trust what you're saying?" He continued. "Because from where I'm standing, you don't have any qualifications to call the shots around here."


[System]
Gender: M

Age: 26

Career/Class:Soldier / Ex-Soldier

Weapons:
* Basket Hilted Broadsword
* Imperial Dagger
* Norscan round Shield (Took from his first felled enemy)
* Aged Pistol

Physical Description Cyrdic is tall and lean, but solidly built, standing an inch over 6 feet in height. His eyes are reminiscent of shaped wrought iron. His face is ruddy and echoes a youthful appearance, though battles and training had roughed him into the look of a mature soldier. He has quite the rugged quality about him. Two scars mar his face. One parallel to the bottom of his left eye, and another scraping across his right jawline. His legs are long and his his facial hair is only a coarse, 5'oclock shadow thanks to his knife. He's clad in fine and tough leather over a chainmail hauberk, with sturdy traveling shoes and a worn belt.

Mental Description/Personality: Cyrdic isn't a fool. He spent a year apprenticed to a Quartermaster (as punishment for recklessness) and learned how to read and write (to a degree). The best way to describe him would be a hardened, rough soldier at the brink of his youth. He'll use what he can in his disposal to win, though half the time it turns out he'll need to fuck someone up anyway. His fierce independence and rough nature can only be matched by his determination to survive. He's not tactically intelligent, but he has a sense of how battlefields shift and can command smaller troops with his powerful voice. He tends to have a take-no-shit (unless it's from a superior officer) lookout on life. He's amiable to certain people however, and will have a dry wit around those he enjoys (or to people he wishes he could be more honest with). While fighting and killing and marching has been his entire life, he's not particularly fond of being thrust into impossible situations and doesn't lack a healthy sense of self preservation. He's gotten quite tired of working for corrupt officers. He's a devout Sigmarite thanks to his upbringing, and has a hammer chained necklace upon his breast to signify this.

[User]
The nearest volcano belched forth, spewing magma and ashes into the air. It was horrifying, and yet almost mesmerizing to watch, and it took Skaldi barking at them in Khazalid to get the companions moving again and out of harms way. Konrad tripped over some rock, and Dietrichia fell from the shaking ground, but Ivan and Yantz caught them and set their feet steady, the group moving as quickly as they dared over the uneven ground.

"Where's the closest temple!?" Cyrdic yelled over the tumult of the raging earth. He seemed to be talking to Skaldi. The Dwarf scowled at that. "Why would I know where the next blasted Temple would be!? I don't come here on vacation!" They vaulted over a stone that jutted out of the ground, and it reminded Cyrdic of the ever moving earth within the Chaos wastes, something he desperately wanted to forget.

However, Skaldi spoke up moments later. "Uzkulak!" He spat, as if the very word left a foul taste in his mouth. The volcano roared as well in seemingly mock distaste. "North of us is a dark port the Dawi Zharr use called Uzkulak. It's the only place I could think of. Me kin in the North have to deal with their machinations!"

"Let's hope that there's a temple outside of the city itself," Cyrdic muttered.

"I long for za clear vind of Kislev on my face! And a horse underneath me!" Ivan lamented, clearly growing tired of having to be away from his native land. "Ve should have never taken the sword vith Nordland." Boris said. "I vanted to gain saum loot, not visit all thrice poxed lands within a pair of months!"

"Vear not, ve are almost there." Ivan said, giving a jovial wink even as they passed through a thick cloud of ash. The roars continued however, in a strange, jumping sort of sound. It took Cyrdic a moment to realize those were not noises made by the mountains of fire. He...felt an instinctual connection to them. "Wolves?" He said aloud, only for Skaldi to glance his way, and then curse. "Hobgoblin riders!"

"By Ranalt, look!" Camilla called, pointing down a small valley that lay beneath them. A small ziggarut rose from the earth, the color of the stonework even redder than the earth it rested upon. However, it looked well hidden. "You have fine eyes, indeed." Konrad said to the woman. They merely needed to traverse a few crags and not be caught upon the sabers of their pursuers. Cyrdic also had a distinct feeling even if they made it inside, it would not be a matter of simply walking in...

[Assistant]
The howls of the wolves were a continual irritation as they moved along the line of craggy hills. The near perptual darkness made the task easier as they wormed their way across the ash shot wasteland. Camilla was trembling with weakness as hunger gnawed at her belly. THey were all hungry of course but she had almost no reserves of body fat and had undergone the rdeal f kidnapping before this latest misery. She tried to keep it to herself although she occasionally caught Cydric looking at her with concern. It wouldn't be fair to admit to weakness when they were all here because of her. In any case, either they would be out of here soon or it would cease to be of real concern.

"They will catch us certain sure," Konrad moaned as they took cover amidst an obsidian outcropping. Below them a column of wolves ridden by ragged fur clad goblins padded past, snapping and snarling as their masters hauled at the reins. Camilla pressed herself against the rock and tried think small thoughts but there seemed no immediate danger. THe wolf pack passed them by heading towards the ziggurat. After perhaps a day of walking the red structure was much closer. Large watch towers of black iron rose at its corners and strange geometric designs ringed its walls. It hurt Camilla's eyes to look at them too long. The column passed through its grim gates at a gentle lope.

"I think… that so long as we move closer to the city we are safer," Camilla ventured. A slight smile fought its way through her hunger fogged brain.

"After all, who would be stupid enough to try to get in there?" Ivan snorted a laugh at that, blowing ash from his mustache as he did so. Camila felt filthy, her skin covered with ash and grime. They had all suffered on the trek and she was beginning to regret not turning back, mysterious prophecy be damned.

"Ha! I see vat you did there," Ivan said with a rumbling laugh.

"Speaking of idiots trying to get in," Yantz put in as he peered over the outcropping to look down at the city.

"Does anyone have any idea of how we get into this place?" the Imperial asked.

"Oh aye," Skaldi grumbled. The dwarf had been unusually silent and foreboding since they had entered these dark ash stained land. Camilla could only guess at what was going in the dwarfs mind as he went over ancient grudges with these apparently dark dwarves. Camilla hoped he was going to be able to keep a handle on it. Looking down she saw her hand was clasping and unclasping the hilt of her sword. Irritable she pulled it away.

"I don't suppose you'd like to share that information with the group?" she asked acidly. If Skaldi noticed her tone he didn't remark it, but merely pointed to an irregular pile of rocks a quater of a mile off.

"The Dawi-zharr might be chaos loving scum, but they still need to breathe. A ventalation shaft like that will serve to get us in, though I've heard they often have guards," he grumbled. Camilla looked skeptically at the pile of rocks. It looked no different to a hundred they had passed to her, but experience had taught her that when a dwarf told you a thing about mines or caves, you could take it to the treasury.

"So what are we waiting for?" Konrad puffed.

"We should rest," Dietricha put in, the first words she had spoken since her conversation about propecy. Camilla's stomach grumbled in protest but it was an open question as to whether exhaustion or hunger were bigger problems right now. After a brief discussion the bedded down amongst the great spike of obsidian. She snuggled close to Cydric, her hands trembled slightly from fatigue and weakness.

"I'm afraid," she whispered to the Ostlander, unable to find the emotional energy to amplify the statement further than that.


[System]
Age: 20

Gender: Male

Appearance: Short swept hair, and a tall, firm frame keep this man solid in a consistent stance. His shoulders aren't too broad, nor his legs too thick. His pride is apparent on his stance, but he isn't one to let it become apparent. He likes tighter t-shirts and jeans, and bright colours are definitely his style. In fact, a few layers of his hair are coloured in a vibrant pink

 Personality: Austin is confident, but it comes in twofold. On one side he's willing to admit he's wrong and allow other people to take the lead because he's confident in his own skills. On the other side, his pride can often get the best of him, especially when it relates to his talents. Otherwise he has a soft bravado with a quiet presence, as if denying the brightness, he tries to bring to his appearance.

 He isn't afraid of who he is. You either love him or hate him, trust him or deny him, but either way he doesn't care. He trusts that he can handle whatever situation that's thrown at him. If he can't, then someone he knows should be able to figure it out.

 At least until things get dangerous. His confidence takes a serious downfall if in the face of danger. Like his flirting style, any confidence behind his words stumble and fade away when challenged by someone else. He won't run away, per se, but he can find the whole situation to be overwhelming pretty quickly and crack under the pressure.

 Also he's a pretty serious flirt.

Backstory: Being a Psych major with a serious passion for his field, Austin grew up spending a lot of his time understanding people. He'd read up almost any book he could find on the subject, or books based on romance and friendships. Novels were something he'd spend every free hour consuming until he started becoming friends with people.

 His priorities were always pretty straight. First focus on becoming a therapist, then on relationships, then reading. It was around high school age that romantic relationships entered that cycle. He'd end up with many relationships with many different people, but end up breaking them off a month or two later. He searched for the "perfect" relationship, believing that somewhere in all of his empathy and research he would be able to find it.
 That has not been achieved quite yet.

 Currently in the throes of his third year of school, romantic relationships needed to take a backseat for the work he was doing, involving plenty of extra credit doing research for numerous psychology professors. He was going to be one of the best therapists, and that meant he needed to do as much work as possible.

 It was some research into old case files at a ghostly asylum that he remembered reading last.

Talents: Austin is a master of empathy, and he's very good at judging current emotions or sanity levels in other people just by looking at them or sharing a short conversation. He can read and speak in most languages, although he sticks to English mostly (thanks to a lot of time spent wanting to understand books of various different languages). Austin's an expert in language and logic-based puzzles as long as he's given time to figure it out, though he cracks under pressure.

Other: He tends to keep people in his head on various scales. A mental, physical, and emotional chart from 1-10 so he can keep track of how people are doing. Usually he also keeps notes on this, but he can usually keep a decent mental map if he needs to.

Also not really important but Austin's pan so romantic relationships can be with practically anyone.

[User]
"What...what the fuck?" Justin stared blankly at the contents of the box, his hands gripping on the edges so hard that his knuckles turned white. But after awhile one of his wrists started to hurt, and that was when he noticed that it was bandaged. He blinked several times, slowly letting go of the box and turning his hand over, and rotated it gingerly. He winced at how stiff it was, and released an anxious, shaky sigh.

How did he get hurt? Hell, more importantly, where in the world is he and how did he get here? It had only been mere minutes after he had woken up in a panicked stupor, flinging himself out of bed in a stance that was ready to defend himself. But he had woken up to an eerie silence, and the only thing in the room with him was a lonely box that sat in the middle of the room. Unfortunately, after looking through the contents, he was just as confused as ever, if not more.

Slowly, Justin got up and took in a deep breath. When his nerves calmed from a violent trembling to a nervous shake, he slowly spun on his heels and did a 360 degree turn to get his bearings. Of course, he had no fucking clue where he was. But it seemed like he was trapped in a room, surrounded by grim concrete that seemed to have a claustrophobic effect on him even though it was quite spacious. It was also quite dirty, and despite being scared out of his mind, he found a way to be grateful that he had awoken on a relatively...'cleaner' mattress. The room was pretty much bare, save for a door that stood at the opposite side of the wall.

When there was not much else to see around dull room, Justin began to inspect himself instead. First, he patted himself down to check if there were any other injuries that were not accounted for. Secondly, he focused on the clothing that he was wearing. Thankfully, he recognized the attire that he was wearing: a simple navy-blue long-sleeve, charcoal-colored jeans, and white sneakers. Thank God he was not molested when he was knocked out and ended up here. Or if he did...well, he didn't feel particularly violated so he hoped it to be a positive indicator that he wasn't. When everything checked out, he turned his attention to the box on the floor.

Justin hesitated for a moment, but groaned at his own cowardice before clenching his fist and knelt before the strange package. Looking through it once more, he made note of what was inside the box:

Two canned soups, heavy with unspoiled broth, it seemed. A litre of water, tightly sealed an unopened.

Well, this was a good sign - at least he wouldn't have to starve anytime soon. Luckily, he did not feel hungry nor thirsty, and he knew his body to a point where he was certain he could ration the food to last him at least a full day or two. But it was the second, small box that unnerved him the most: a box with a syringe, followed by seven small jars of what seemed to be drugs that could fill it up. Even to someone without extensive medical knowledge like his, they could guess the contents of the jars just by looking at the symbols etched on them: two poisons, two medicines, two soporific drugs and...and the last one, he had know clue. "You Monster"? The hell if he knew what that meant. Lips pursed and jaws clenched, he rummaged the contents of his box one more time before sealing it close. With a sigh he stood back up with the small, peculiar phone in his hand.

He looked at the text once more, then at the skull charm that hung from it. Pocketing it, Justin proceeded towards the door, box tucked firmly under an arm. When he tried the doorknob, he found it to be unlocked - so with determination, he swung it forward with force. He gulped as he peered out:

A door was a few feet in front of him. His room seemed have have been situated in a hallway, across from another room.

Before he could even react to his new surrounding, Kevin could hear a sound coming from down the hallway to his right - was that another door opening? Kevin gulped, his body beginning to shake again as fear crept up his spine and finally he realized how fucked up his situation was. Where in the hell was he? What the fuck was going on? Kevin closed his eyes, groaned to himself, and steeled his body into rigidness.

There was no use standing here and pissing his pants. After all, he had a "mission" to accomplish. Make a friend, huh? Let's damn well hope that the noise he heard was from a kind stranger such as he. He walked out into the hallway, closed the door behind him, and made his way right.

(Justin is heading towards Room 9.)

[Assistant]
The first thing Tim was aware of was a dull ache in his wrist. Then it was the smell. A salty, putrid smell. It didn't smell anything like his heavily Windexed room at home, and so Tim shut his eyes tighter, hoping to escape this dream for another one soon. But instead of slipping back into unconsciousness, the dream continued to flesh itself out as Tim became aware of a stiffness in his joints and the distinct feeling of a toilet seat under his ass. The ache in his wrist turned into a dull pounding, then into a throbbing pain, strong enough to make Tim force his eyes open.
Tim looked down at his hands and shoes, at first not recognizing them in this new context. Yes, those were his knobby, boney pale hands in his lap and, yes those were his plain black work shoes, slightly worn, planted in the ground. But there were no accounting papers in his hands, no office rug under his feet. Instead, he was in a toilet stall. A curiously red, smelly toilet stall. How funny to fall asleep here. Maybe not a story to share on a first date with someone, but it was more interesting then his normal routine.
Tim shifted to stand up and some of the red flaked off of the toilet seat. Tim leaned forward, inspecting the paint. It was uneven and spattered about, somewhat like a Pollock painting. Tim scratched at a bit of it on the stall wall, sniffed it. What strange smelling paint, he thought.
Not paint, replied some working part of his brain. The ache at his wrist continued, but suddenly Tim was more concerned about getting home for a shower. That was when he opened the stall door and noticed the body. What an intricate dummy of a corpse stabbed by a pipe, thought Tim and not a dummy, replied the voice in Tim's head.
There was a phone on the corpse, and as Tim slowly stepped out of the bathroom stall, it rang. Twice. What a familiar sound, thought Tim, though he wasn't sure why. On the third ring, a text message appeared, "Welcome back. Make this unhappy man beside you happy."
 Welcome back. Welcome back? Forget whatever the message said. He could figure that out later. Tim stood up, the phone still in his hand and pressed his weight against the bathroom exit.


[System]
Age: 22

Gender: Female

Disposition: Incisive, Guarded, Stoic, Pensive

Ryder was never one to be called outgoing. Throughout her short mercenary career, she has made little to no friends. No one has really discovered Ryder's driving force. Some have speculated she's got some family ties in the mercenary business, while others think she is in it solely for the money. She never cared to tell anyone. Ryder is a very guarded and cautious person, not opening up to anyone, but she has been known to show a little more respect and emotion around her commanders. Ryder focuses on her job and little to nothing else.

Around her fellow mercenaries in the Preying Panthers, she finds herself taking risks quite often, almost to the point of compromising missions for the sake of saving her teammates. Hannah has always put herself in harms way to protect another's life. That is one of her defining features that got her known around the mercenary community.

Ryder has been known to have quite radical political beliefs, but she is not one to vocalize them, so it is usually a mere rumor. She was raised with a belief that there would be a utopia had the Emarran Council remained the same before the conflict.

Background:

Originally from the Emarran Council, Ryder found herself in the midst of a small rebellious cell or cult as some called it, attempting to rise up against the newly reformed government. She was brought up to be one of them, training often with the simple military skills with the according anarchist beliefs. That was how she was raised for many years under the Emarran Council's reformed government. Her true parents were never known as the cell never really worried about that. It was all about "You are part of the cause," but Ryder knew the commander cared for her much more than the other children in the cell. She was treated well, given the best training, given the best food, and accommodations. It was as if Ryder was more special to the group as a whole and particularly the commander, who had the followers of the cell in his pocket. At the age of 17, Ryder found herself working in the cell to carry out menial sabotage missions at the side of her commander. This part of her life went on and on for the next two years. She never really questioned her superiors, it was her upbringing after all. That was until the 'Big Job' as her commander called it.

Ryder and her cell were to go after one of the Emarran Council's major military tech manufacturers. Inside their target was a large cache of military grade equipment of all varieties as well as the tech required to create it. The goal of the group was to cease any gear and tech that they could, damage the rest, and escape while causing as much havoc as possible along the way. For some odd reason, Ryder found herself paired with the commander, Edward, he called himself. The two of them went solo into a warehouse while numerous explosions rang around the compound as distractions by the others. The two of them rejoiced as they looked over the numerous vehicles, arms, and armors. Edward found himself an old ACS-3G Zaruga FRAME. It took him a while to get it working for him while Ryder stood watch, but soon enough he was ready to go. Of course, after the two of them had loaded all the stolen equipment up, the warehouse main doors flew open. One of the rebels was caught and gave the Military Police their plan. Thoughts of running were immediately crushed as the Military Police were gaining on them. Fighting was the only option in the panicked head of Ryder. Her commander skated off in his suit, leaving her for dead. The fight was short, ending with Ryder on the ground, an arm mangled behind her back and her body bruised and beaten from being deterred by the machine-clad enforcers.

Her eyes squinted to look upwards at the helmeted faces of the enforcers that leered down at her, weapons pointed every direction. As her eyes blinked in and out of consciousness, her last memory was the explosive yellow light from the roof of the warehouse. After that, Ryder woke up in some sort of hospital. Her arm felt different, her entire body felt different. After a groggy questioning session, she discovered that she was 'an innocent bystander' in the attack and an 'unknown benefactor' paid her bill so she was free to go within a few days. Her nurse led her out to where her belongings were store, and much to her disbelief, her 'belongings' contained the Zaruga FRAME as well as a large fund. She set out with what she had, fleeing the Emmaran Council under the cover of a mercenary for hire. It worked perfectly as a cover up and she made money too.

[User]
A while after the pilots had entered the FRAME bay and gotten themselves situated, Cecilia emerged from the bowels of the landcruiser. Over her black BDUs, she wore her FRAME harness, cradling her helmet in her arm. Immediately, she snuck her way to Bernard's Handou and gave the chassis a few hard thumps with her knuckles.

Clang, clang clang!

"Rise and shine, gramps!" she shouted up to the cockpit. Unlike her interaction with Harold earlier, there was little menace in her voice. In fact, her tone was almost playful.

"Really, Bernard - you're setting a bad example for the newbies," Cecilia hissed. Asides from Richard, Bernard was one of the few Panthers that had the luxury of being spared the sharp end of Cecilia's stick. Part of it was his seniority; Cecilia disciplining a man who was over twice her age seemed a bit silly. However, Cecilia knew the things the old man had been through. He'd seen the worst of the war with the totalitarian Emarran government, even seen the rise of the FRAME as a machine of war when he was a humble infantryman. No, Cecilia certainly respected the veteran, despite his unpredictability... and habit of missing critical briefings.

Cecilia threw a small notepad up to the cockpit, which she'd prepared just after the briefing. It told the old vet everything he'd need to know about the operation. "No sleeping on this one, Bernie." She turned away to head back to her own FRAME, meeting the gazes of several other Panthers and newcomers, who'd been taken aback both by Bernard's napping, and Cecilia's exchange.

"What're you looking at?" she barked. "Suit up! We leave in ten!"

-----

The control panels of Cecilia's FRAME glowed as they sprang to life, bathing her in a green haze. She punched the keypad in front of her, and diagnostics scuttled around the main panel before the cameras adjusted and captured the FRAME bay on-screen. With her helmet on, Cecilia's HUD was superimposed against the camera's images. A quick runthrough affirmed her checklist was in order, and tinkering with the control yokes told her her controls and weapons were functioning properly.

"This is Lang," she said over the radio. "Make any last-minute adjustments to your machines. The mission objectives have been uploaded into your FRAMEs, if you happen to forget what we're doing out there." She said that last bit in a snarky voice, clearly intended for a select few. "Newbies - I want you to find a Panther and stick close to them. Nobody does anything stupid."

The umbilical cables keeping Cecilia's Handou in place detached from the machine with a hiss, and she maneuvered the FRAME from her dock toward the bay's exit ramp.

"Everyone, report in!"

[Assistant]
Well. That was an overly familiar tone if she'd ever heard one, Maia thought. It wasn't actually that surprising, considering he probably had more than a bit of history with the company, and the rest of them were pretty much fresh meat picked up from the grocer. Still. Something to note, if this arrangement became long-term.

"Nothing I shouldn't. Ma'am." With that, Maia turned away, strolling up to Mad Dog. Sterling new machine, even with the bit of wear on it. And her customization. Well... if you could call it customization. Aside from the snarling dog face on the chest piece, there were other eclectic bits and bobs to it. Doodles, put down during a boring day of recon. Motivational sayings from former squadmates she refused to admit were near and dear. A bunch of inane scrawling that crossed down her FRAME with little rhyme nor reason, like she was looking at the walls of some loony in an asylum, defacing the walls of their prison.

"Mad Dog" indeed.

That brief bit of introspection and admiration finished, it was time to actually get to work.

The cockpit wasn't exactly cozy. It was just the stock model, with the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to every nook and cranny. She'd thankfully cleared out all the bottles and cups from earlier, when she decided to enjoy her down time before the briefing. Having a bunch of crap rattling in your cockpit was possibly a safety hazard, and definitely a distraction.

Speaking of distractions, the hangover was kicking back into full gear, pushing back against the aspirin with full, unrelenting force. SHe was never a fan of the whole "hair of the dog" technique, but hey, some things can't be helped.

Maia took a belt from her hip flask, some low-quality rum she couldn't name in a lineup. She was so used to liquor of its caliber she was able to actively suppress her body rebelling against the toxic crap she was pouring into it. With a shake of her head, she surveyed the controls. Gauges were all normal. No overheating, readings were normal, reactor was as fresh as it could be. She remembered loading up with her guns and her rockets before the mission. No need to change, they probably weren't meeting anything heavy enough to need the extra firepower.

"Leventis reporting. Mad Dog online."

[User]
"Gah!"

Maia's sharp surprise woke BFF up a little more completely, and he crumpled his expression in exaggerated irritation as she asked how his nap had gone. He was about to respond with a joke about his arthiritis when Avice interjected. He unfolded like the paper tiger he was, and was about to animatedly explain about his psychic powers, maybe tell the story about the Mantis that his kids used to like when a sharp rap at the side of his Handou distracted him further. To this he began to chuckle to himself-- not the first time he hadn't gotten a chance for a word when it came to the ladies in his life.

"Rise and shine gramps!", oh shit it's the boss lady, "Really, Bernard - you're setting a bad example for the newbies!"

A pad and paper landed in his lap as she stalked off like the angry kitten
Bernard had come to respect her as, hissing all the way at all the other chickadees. He would follow the kitten's orders with his life, the resolve of a diamond dog; Bernard caught that as his cue to start meaning business. With an amicable shrug, he stood and stole an apologetic look at Maia and Avice before he started to batten down the hatches. As he began to pull, he saw-- Elaine.

He gave her a nod. Morgan's girl. Elaine. Smoke and dust had hardened his voice, his face, but she knew that Old Snake could understand what a hard life was. He closed the hatch with a metallic clang, and shook his head. His systems were already up and grumbling of course-- BFF was more like his machine's heartbeat than anything. Yeah, he needed to he there, but the Snake Eater? It was his body. He sat back into his seat, comfy as Satan as he snuffed his cigarette into it's metallic case. He turned on the coms with a link to everyone, turned on his smile. He felt more comfortable talking from here anyhow. His words were for the ones he'd seen so far. Faces that he wanted to see smiling again.

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" Bernard's voice was a jovial rasp, like sandpaper would sound if it liked you and wanted to buy you a drink. "Wish I was this popular when I was a younger man! Don't hesitate rookies! Make sure that when you see your path in front of you, make it yours!"

It seemed he was in good company, and the team grandpa was in fine spirits as he spoke to his family. His smile made comfortable wrinkles in his face like familiar leather, and he addressed each of his teammates with a little laugh in his voice. It would be just as well, maybe he could put some spirits more at ease before they had to pick up their guns. Yeah. That would be enough for him. A crackle of static, and he was online with the kitten.

"Emmerich reporting in, Snake Eater is ready for battle!"

[Assistant]
Ryder gave a quiet "Hmm..." as she watched the exchange between Cecilia and Bernard. That sure was a different side of Cecilia. Perhaps the hardened exterior was something to frighten the newcomers. Ryder shrugged this off and quickly shut the cockpit on her Zaruga with a creaking hiss. If their captain was here it must be time to go. Of course, Ryder had to fix her hair first. With a quick movement, she brushed aside strands of her dyed hair behind either ear and looked at her displays, making one last check to make sure she didn't fall apart the moment the Panthers left.

Ryder strapped herself into the seat of her Zaruga as the screens and systems came alive with a whirring. Ryder glanced about, checking each screen, display and control panel as Theta fired up to life. A smile crept across her face lasting a mere second as her main screen illuminated with a pixelated smile itself. It was just an extra feature Theta had.

With her systems primed and ready, Ryder's gaze fell to her right arm. She flicked the mechanical fingers back and forth as if testing them to make sure they still worked. It's shiny metallic plating glinted in the glow of her displays. She wasn't all used to her new 'features' as the doctors called them. She thought about all the little mechanical pieces inside of her body that were keeping her alive and wondered how they would fair in a taxing FRAME fight, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Her prosthesis reached down for her headset that lay by one of her monitors.

"Ryder and Theta online." She said in a calm, almost dry tone into her headset. It might have even come as a surprise to her fellow pilots. She doubted most of them knew her name, let alone had heard her voice. Of course, Ryder had no thoughts about this. She quickly reached a hand up to hit the mute button on her headset and used her free hand to clear any dust off of her viewing monitors. With hands wrapped around Theta's controls, she was ready to go.

She readied herself for Theta's drop. Once Theta was free from the wall, she could finally work his controls a bit and get ready.


[System]
Age: 23
Ability: Remote Possession (Multiple Host Possession, Animal Possession, Non-Contact Possession)

[User]
Louis didn't sleep that night. Or the night after. It was a full three days before he finally found a restful sleep, his dreams once again filled with smoke and fire. The three of them sat around the apartment for as long as they could stand it, ordering pizza and having an Uber bring them groceries. It wasn't long before they couldn't stand it, or afford it. They played around with the idea of training. Their arguments about it always came back to the destructive nature of Louis's power. Eventually, they agreed to leave everything behind and head for a more open area.

 Ryan preferred to drive his bike, lest he ride in the with the others and put the driver to sleep. Louis rode with Isaac in his mid sized truck. It had been an hour of drive time when Louis demanded they pull over at an outdoor super center.

 Ryan swung around and flew into the parking lot, "bathroom break?" Louis shook his head. He stuck his hands in his pocket and shifted on his feet.

 "Listen, we don't know how long we'll be out here and we're low on funds. It may not be the best way to start this training session but if we're going to make it out here, we're going to need to liberate a few things."

[Assistant]
"Liberate. Ok, I get it." Isaac sighed, "I know I've been overbearing."

Isaac walked towards the super center, the dramatic scenery change from the towering skyscrapers to the barren outskirts of the city.

"We all gotta control our abilities. So let's just start."

Isaac focused for a split second and his vision split into a few fractals, allowing his view to see through Louis' and Ryan's eyes. Both looking at Isaac for a bit, then looking at their surroundings.

"I see what you guys see."

Another fractal began to form, this time, it was far more blue. Isaac pointed his head down to get a sense of direction, and the fractal showed an overhead view of the super center. A birds eye view watching over the entire area.

"GUYS. Is there a bird flying above?" He asked with his head pointing straight to the pavement.
"I see the entire roof of the store, the cars. A rabbit in the brus- oh, nope. Not gonna watch the bird eat. Ok." Isaac blinked out.

Isaac could see through people and animal eyes. He had practiced watching through eyes while isolating the three in his apartment, just before bed or when the others were asleep. He had previously seen the few people on the boardwalk near his apartment, watching the sunset through stranger's eyes, or deep diving into the ocean in a scuba suit, but this was a new level.

Wonder if I could control animals too

Controlling people, even a little bit, required a fair bit of concentration. However, it was becoming easier and easier to use his ability. Controlling Louis days prior took barely enough, but now blinking into different views was as simple as a blink. His power was somewhat easy to practice with, but he wanted bigger. He knew he could expand to multiple views, but he wanted to test out his ability to control. Isaac wanted more.

"Well, you guys start. Not many people are here."

[User]
Ryan was unsure where to begin. His ability seemed to be a little more focused on specific targets, and there was only the three of them at the edge of the parking lot. It wouldn't be right for him to use his ability on Issac or Lou, especially when he was still learning to control it.

 He heard a short honk in the distance, someone locking their car in the lot before going in to shop. He saw the headlights flash once, which showed him what vehicle it had come from, and a young woman in a pink sweater throwing her purse over her shoulder as she walked toward the shopping center.

 Well that would just be mean. he told himself.

 As he watched though a man walked toward her, an acoustic guitar across his back. He looked her up and down as he approached, the woman unaware as she stared at her cellphone while she walked. Just as the two passed each other the man turned and pinched her ass, and muttered something Ryan couldn't hear from this distance. The woman shook her head in disgust and and flipped him off, then marched toward the shopping center while the man laughed.

 Sorry Guitar.

 The man continued walking backwards toward his vehicle, admiring the woman's rear end. Ryan directed his focus on him, trying to recreate the feeling he had at school. He imagined the man collapsing, and tried to bend reality to his will.

 Before the man could turn back around there was a loud crash as he fell on top of his guitar and onto the pavement, leaving the guitar in pieces. The man lay still in the parking lot, sound asleep.

 He probably couldn't play anyway.

[Assistant]
Louis sighed. This was a turning point for them. Perhaps this is the path that Curse had referred to and Louis was foolishly following it. It was too late now. They needed this and they had no money.

 Alright, my turn. Louis walked to the front door and lowered his head. This was the important part. Lou dropped his hands to his side. He channeled his power as much as he could, as much as he had learned how, and released the energy. A thick smog billowed from his palms, black clouds enveloped the entry way. Louis focused again and grabbed at the wisps with his mind, pushing the haze further into the building.

 "The smoke is moving towards the cameras. Ryan, sleep the security; Isaac, we need an insider to bring the gear to us."

[User]
Isaac grinned devilishly, "With pleasure."
Isaac leaned up against the wall, next to Louis. He blinked a few times, like switching channels on a tv, he transferred view to view. One was writing a check for a fair amount, another was bagging items, and another cruising around a small aisle with outdoors equipment.

Let's start here

Isaac barely had to think about grabbing items off the shelf before the person he was, for what Isaac could think of as that of a parasite in a host, was grabbing some tent gear, spikes, a lantern, and then realized he couldn't carry it all. Isaac's instinctive actions were being acted out by the host. The man gently placed all the items in a pile on the shelf, and swiftly walked around the aisle and grabbing the nearest shopping cart while another customer had their back turned, and then proceeded back into the outdoor gear. Without missing a beat, the man grabbed the pile of gear and placed it in the cart.

"Do we need a tent?" Isaac asked
"More than likely" Louis replied
"Ok, well, what about..." Isaac began to list of equipment after equipment, Louis nodded or shook his head lightly as to not break concentration. With the cart nearly full of various gear, toiletries, and some clothes, the host moved into the food section and began grabbing bulk after bulk of various non-perishable food and bottles of water.

The host pushed the cart steadily towards the door, but stopped.

Can't make this too obvious

The host reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet, only to see a few crumpled ten dollar bills. Yet while inspecting the wallet, Isaac noticed a shiny card. A debit card. Despite being in the middle of nowhere, a little stroke of luck.

Isaac led the host to the cashier, and as he inserted his card into the chip reader, it asked for a pin number.
Ah hell

"Do you take credit through debit?" Isaac spoke aloud
"Do you t-take cred-d-dit through d-debit?" The host stuttered aloud

"No sir, only debit with debit." The cashier said through a mouth full of chewing gum.

"Shit." Isaac muttered
"What?" Louis quietly asked
"I don't know this guy's pin num-" Isaac was cut off as he saw the host type in four various digits.

Transaction approved.

I didn't tell him to- I don't even know-

"Well, alright." Isaac whispered
"What?" Louis asked somewhat annoyed
"He put the code in by himself."

[Assistant]
A man exited the building entrance, coming through a slight fog designed to obscure any camera that could see their faces. The man brought them a cart chocked full of what appeared to be a jump start for a hardcore camper. Louis looked at the receipt. Glad I'm not that guy. Have fun explaining this to the bank. They wheeled the cart and loaded their ill-gotten supplies into the back of Isaac's truck. "Let's go!"

 Ryan peeled off on his bike as Isaac and Louis followed in suit in the truck. The feeling he had was exhilarating. The excitement made his fingers quake; Louis felt like they could get away with anything they wanted. They drove for a few hours before cutting off the beaten path and taking a winding road to the vast empty desert. Eventually, Ryan's bike bogged down in the sand and he refused to drive it any further or leave it.

 In a rare moment of ingenuity, Louis pulled out one of their new tarps and set it on the ground behind the truck. Then, he rolled Ryan's bike onto the tarp and gently laid it down. "If we go slow enough, it should be alright." Right?"

[User]
Ryan sighed, "It'll still be pretty bad but I've got to replace the plastics from the crash anyways. Just, watch out for rocks?" He groaned. In any other circumstance this would be unacceptable, but they needed to keep moving and he wasn't leaving His bike behind.

 Sorry Grace, he thought as he climbed into the truck, It won't be anything I can't fix.

 He watched as the truck pulled his bike along the sand, leaving plumes of dust as it trudged along. He settled into his seat and started a mental checklist of motorcycle parts and conversions. If this is the way they're going to be living, Grace was going to need a few changes.

 "So where exactly are we going?" He asked, leaning forward between the front seats.

[Assistant]
Louis watched the desert hills aimlessly as they traveled. It would be much drier here than they were used to it being by the sea but they needed an area clear of bystanders to train. It was Ryan that broke the tense silence in the truck. "So where exactly are we going?"

Louis stirred in his seat. He had apparently begun to nod off again, "We're just trying to find the perfect spot to lay low right now. Get some more practice in and figure out our next step." Louis turned to look behind them. "Not to mention, we need to decide if it's smart to keep me around now that there's a manhunt going on."