STREETS OF CENTRAL; NPCs and REBECCA

[Nyx]

So... So that was... That was it... Hild was dead... But... But no... Hild... She couldn't be dead, and yet... She... She was... That explained it. It explained everything, all of it. The reason Hild hadn't been seen by Nyx since that day with Mr. Coral, who was also nowhere to be seen. No... No wait, it was the day at lunch... Or was it? It... It'd been so long... She'd... Forgotten...

And now? Now Aurel was going to join Hild. Aurel and Hild... Hild's death had crippled Nyx's sole, her heart, and her psyche... But... Aurel too? No... No... It... It couldn't...

Nyx was about to chase after him, had to stop him. She stepped forward, but as she did so, it was then that she saw the intruder.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pahiXLh4WOA

Instinctively, as the woman prepared to do something, both of her wings moved to shield her upper body and head, as she moved to the side. The first set of rounds she narrowly dodged, though on the second, a bullet cleanly pierced her left wing, scraping against her shoulder, lightly grazing it. It hurt, but now it didn't matter. Also of the second burst, a bullet caught the left wing again, and burst into shrapnel against it, rendering it POTENTIALLY harmful, but in this case, harmless. Nyx moved behind the flaming limo now, for a vantage point and cover.

What was going through Nyx's head now... It wasn't normal. Normally, Nyx had a manner of grace, a politeness; always greeting her opponents directly, when attacked or attacking someone one on one. Never without a bit of regret. But now? Nyx had lost Hild, and now she was going to lose Aurel.At first, it was grief, depression, confusion, and a lonely void within her heart. Now, she'd filled that void; this woman had come from nowhere to kill her, for what? Aurel's plans... They'd live on. If he was to die, his plans wouldn't. And that means this woman was trying to kill Nyx, to kill Aurel's plans. Nyx was furious. Enraged. This woman had come onto the wrong scene at the wrong time; she wasn't property of this world for much longer.

Hemera was drawn quickly, as Nyx stood on the limo's roof, shrouded in smoke, and not bothered by the blisters and small burns on her feet. She had become the warrior angel of the battlefield, shifting from the innocence Aurel had just spoken to, into something new. Something primal. A machine, and an animal, at once. A single arrow from the quiver touched the string, and it was pulled back with rapid speed and precision, shot like a bullet, not AT Rebecca, but BEHIND Rebecca. As it whizzed by her head, she'd likely feel the breeze from it as it blew. And it was about a meter or two behind her when it burst, exploding into a fireball, the likes of which could envelop a car. However, it seemed she'd escaped the blast. A pity...

As Rebecca moved out of the blast, wherever she moved to, Nyx had already moved to a new position, firing more exploding arrows as she moved, three remote-detonated balls of fiery death, and as she reached her new vantage point, she prepared to unleash more complete and utter havoc on her foe...

[Lust]

It wasn't hard to see that Central City had been evacuated, leaving only soldiers of Amestris and the empty homes and offices of the city like discarded hermit crab shells on a pristine beach that would soon rumble and turn over completely with an angry red tide as Drachman and RIOTE soldiers would crash against them. The day was almost perfect in its beauty that would be washed over completely with the crimson stain of blood. Their limosine was burning and hurrying down the hill to spread the flames, and everyone was scattering. Vanity would attend to Lord Dietrich, leaving one simple objective: crush Central's sad attempts to stave off the inevitable. From what she knew, RIOTE was still holding Fort Briggs. London was in flames. Xi'an was backed into a corner. Even if there was some god that favoured Central City enough to help them today, Tanandra had watched the news enough to know that RIOTE would not be the only ones to try and topple the cesspool that was Amestris. Even if one failed, another would try. Such was what happened with the large beasts of the Black Forest that grew large; it was only a matter of time before another, larger beast came to claim you in the dark. Or, as it was, the lovely day in what was the persistent reincarnation of a bustling metropolis.

Tanandra moved away quickly from where they had all exited the limo, hurrying down the street of Central that only a lifetime of moving about in heels could bring. Soldiers clad in blue quickly emerged, it not taking long before the first devastating blow hit, taking an apartment building out with a resonating force that shook the air itself. Dress clinging to dark thighs, Tand slipped into a narrow alley between buildings, collecting herself. The spray of her own blood was gone from her skin, absorbed back into her body and wiped clean with a wet wipe on the way, and only lingering traces were left that clung to the green and black sequins that covered the bodice of her dress. Gunshots and shouting were already beginning to swarm the grid of the city, but the actress tuned them out, leaning against the cold bricks at her back. She needed to think.

Just as it had in Creta, angry shouts turned to horrified screams before they fell to silence. They might have been Central's soldiers. They might have been Drachma's. Did it matter? Really, did it? Life was a temporary state that was cured very quickly as they would all meet their fate, if not here, then later. No matter who won, that victory's praise would eventually be forgotten by time, and life would go on without them, uncaring of their achievements. They would all become dust. And Tanandra.... wouldn't. That stone was everything Aurel had promised: eternal life and beauty that the touch of time or man could not mar. But being told that and truly coming to understand it were entirely different, and a lesson only having bullets rip through her heart could teach. She'd died, plain and simple. Tanandra felt her own heart stop beating and watched as her own blood spilled, only to be sucked back into her body and feel the prickling as her flesh knitted itself and ejected the bullet. Granted, the look on that man's face was utterly priceless, but that didn't mean she wasn't having to push aside what she was feeling and needing to process in order to cope and move on with the situation.

"You there!" Amestrian words barked out behind her, followed by the sound of hands on a large gun. The soldier looked Tanandra up and down, noting that the woman hiding in the alley was both unarmed and not dressed for a battle. She was a civilian. But she'd been left behind? The soldier stepped closer, gun still raised. "All civilians have been evacuated from the city! What are you still doing here?" Tanda turned around slowly, golden eyes shimmering with tears that spoke leagues about her fear of the moment, the sounds of gunfire around them filling the air. Her hands raised, thick red lips quivered a bit.

"Please do not shoot," Tanda replied, fluid and flowery Rouen weighing heavily on the harsh sounds of Amestrian. Guh, such an ugly language. The gun lowered slowly as the soldier stepped closer, deciding the lone woman was no threat, recognizing the celebrity trapped in the midst of a war. "I was here to have a meeting but did not evacuate in time. I hid and now the roads are closed." Ignoring the weapon, Tanandra rushed forward, arms reaching out to wrap around the soldier's torso. "Please, where can I go to get out?" The soldier sighed, nodding as he lowered his gun to reach for his radio.

"This is Corporal Heimlich. I've found a civilian straggler needing a way out. Where can I escort her to?" The radio crackled as he pushed himself and Tanda further into the alley, away from the battle that seemed to be devouring the city's blocks. Szzzcht "The Cretan soldiers have arrived. I'll send you their coordinates- you can take any civilians you find to them to take a side road out!" The gears shifted, gold eyes burned, the wolf within gearing up for the gorging that would come from her darling rabbit leading her to the warren. He'd take her to where a nest of Amestris' allies were coming in from. That... could be handy. Aurel's objective ran through Tanda's mind, and she reminded herself that Central would fall. The location beeped in, young Mr. Heimlich gripping his gun and running ahead to lead the way with Tanandra following behind him. He would protect her from all enemies, the beautiful damsel and the soldier. How sweet. They rushed along in silence, taking sneaky back ways that only a resident would know as they moved between blocks and cut through emptied, fenced yards, far away from the fray, Tanda constantly being assurred they were almost there and she'd be helped to flee the city safely.

Part of her was tempted to take the escort and just leave. This wasn't her fight. This wasn't her war. And deep inside, even though she knew that these men could not harm her, Tanandra was afraid. Was this what her mother's family had gone through, just barely surviving enough to escape and run to Esparia as refugees? She couldn't see them, but people around her were dying, and before the day was done, many, many more would die as well. At last, she saw them- the jeeps of Cretans that were still speeding in, radioing everywhere, and pouring out into Central toward the business district. The corporal trotted ahead, waving someone down, and pointing toward Tanda as she looked away, trying to avoid having her face be seen directly as a dark thought pricked the back of her mind: if they saw her, they would ruin her. Too slowly for anyone to notice, laquered nails began to harden and extend as the wolf slipped closer, fangs priming for the first bite. She was immeditately recognized for her face, but not for her involvement at the White House. Yet. Her name and Aurel's objective needed to take the same path, and these Cretan soldiers would have to die. "Hey, you're Tanandra!!"

All she did was put her hand on his back, the touch warm and lacking all sinister motive, even as her nails shot into him and up, piercing the corporal's sweet heart in five beautiful places. There was a look of shock that fell as the man just so suddenly died, bleeding, before he was suddenly pulled in front of Tanandra as a shield, absorbing the onslaught of bullets. The ravaged corpse was hurled forward onto two Cretans, claws extending from both hands to stab and rip through. Guns, vests, flesh, and bone; they made no difference and didn't deter Tanandra in the slightest. Even the bullets that had time to fire and knock her back weren't enough to stay her hands, blood running from her nails down to her elbows, her face and body sprayed heavily. Her blood and theirs mingled, but only theirs would stain. Not like she wasn't already stained with blood; her whole family was dead because of her. But this was different. She hadn't actually been the one to kill them personally. Tanda wasn't there in their last moments to see any remorse or regret dabbing her mother's eyes. Louise wasn't the one to hear the last gurgled breaths of her sister's voice as she died in the ambulance, alone and surrounded by strangers struggling to save any of that family.

Ragged, spent, and panting, the beast within her growled and lapped at the blood, the ouroboros at the center of her breast showing through makeup that had been eaten away by sweat and the layers of blood caked on like paint. They were all dead. The Ametrian corporal who'd led her here, the Cretan that was going to escort Tanda somewhere safe, all his coworkers... All of them. It took a moment for Tanandra to realize that she was shaking, a mix of adrenaline rushing, and something cold and unfamiliar gnawing at her gut. Guilt. She could no longer tell herself she wasn't directly involved, because now, she was, and the cost of her immortality was red and dripping from her body, pooling with her name and reputation at her feet. The cost of immortality left her with a choice of ruin her career or leave the day bathed in the blood of her own fans. Nails retracting as the bullets dislodged themselves, Tanda couldn't bear to look at the bodies that littered the jeeps, guns scattered, radios calling to people who wouldn't answer as the sounds of the battle drifted over the air like a demonic pit orchestra warming up. Her head was swimming. She needed something to ground her, something-- her cell phone slipped down through her dress and onto her shoe, blinking that she'd missed a call.

She picked up the phone, shocked to see that Reaver's number was flashing, the broken voicemail from Barry coming through. The lines were down, now, and couldn't call back. But that meant Reaver was here, somewhere. Tanda walked away briskly, toward where those poor soldiers would have gone if left to their orders. The blood that smeared her body no longer mattered, the homunculus hurrying up through the bigger streets, looking for the only person at the moment who could help her make any sense of what was nameless but wrong within her. "Oh, Reaver, where are you?!"

[Spade Aeries]

Spade let out a shrill whistle, tapping his foot in the manner of the cliché catchphrase, 'that was too close for comfort.' Instead of voicing his concerns, he said something more Spade-like for measure: "...glad that wasn't my car." as it screeched across the pavement, leaving streaks of burning rubber in its wake. The rumpled frame squealed vacant cries, showering the street with bits of metal and a mechanic's nightmare. Yep, junkyard that one. Spade had to look away from witnessing the death of a perfectly decent ride; however, he forced his eyes back into the shroud of gasping smoke, squinting through the haze of Jeep's blood and into the void of a recalcitrant beast. He kept his grip tight, watching cautiously it clutch its head. Like following a fuse, the pain finally hit, eyes widening to vestpools of realization. The jagged fragment of rock sliced itself out of his flesh, the wire slack and useless. Spade cut it free, dropping it as his eyes scanned the rorschach of blood for any clues hinting that he was in any way still human. Rattlings of gunfire rumbled in the background, his men backing away from the agonizing roars of the chimera to fire upon the other RIOTE soldiers. Spade checked his phone. No new messages? Really? He was being attacked by a rabid mishmash of animals and no one was texting him to see if he was alive?! Given, it was true that he didn't reply to Shu and she would probably be the only one sending him anything now, but still...

When Spade looked up, the scenery was a lot more red than he remembered it, and it reeked. He covered his nose and waved the air. What was his blood made out of, curdled milk? He gagged, wishing he hadn't had cardboard coffee because now the taste was back, making him really wonder if this was a delayed hangover. Which would suck since he was sort of trying to save his country right now and win a war they had lost previously even with Briggs fighting alongside them. "Damn, we're really screwed," he muttered under his breath, eyeing the gallons of wasted fuel spilling out of the wrangled Jeep. Hmm...

"YOU WILL MAKE ME PAY FOR BLEEDING, AMESTRIAN." Did he look Amestrian? Aside from the uniform. Well, that kind of gave off the impression, didn't it. He probably would still be called an Amestrian in Xing even with his civilian clothes on. It seemed that anything that was ever Xing about him was long dispersed after he came to this country from Creta. Yeah, it made sense, he guessed. It wasn't worth correcting in this case considering that the thing's words sounded like Batman with a head cold. "BUT FIRST, KNOW THAT YOU ARE THE FIRST WITH AN OUNCE OF WORTH OR TENACITY IN YOUR BLOOD TO FACE ME HEAD ON." That was gasoline? No, Diesel. It looked like it at least from where he was standing. Hell, it smelled like it because now it was like he was suffocating. "MY NAME IS BALTHAZAR. AND WHILST YOU ARE TENACIOUS, AND DEFINITELY POWERFUL, LEADER..." Spade took another puff of his cancer stick. Mm more smoke. Ah yes, who needed to breathe? And what a wonderful mix it would be. The air itself seemed to shudder at the thought. It was a good thing they hadn't switched to BioDiesel yet or it would be a really boring end to this poor sucker's plight. "THIS WILL NOT SAVE YOU FROM YOUR INEVITABLE DEATH!" Wait, was he talking to him? Spade pointed at himself, blinking over his sunglasses at the chimera. "YOUR PEOPLE ARE THE SCUM OF THIS WORLD." Maybe not. "YOU ARE A SHAME TO THE HUMAN RACE. DRACHMANS ARE THE ELITE, AND YOU WOULD DARE ATTEMPT TO BESMIRCH THIS WITH YOUR PETTY ATTEMPTS TO DEFEND YOUR CITY?" Attempt? HAH, this was an attempt? The mislead monster was actually trying to communicate with him? What was the goal of this malformed meandering, talking sense into him? Okay, I'll run away now to safety so you can have my city without a fight or anything. Go ahead, take it. I'm a shame to the human race despite actually being human.

"Rhino, snake, primate or some shit, what does that leave you, one-percent human?" Because hell if a fucking human could bench press an axle, seriously. And they could have salvaged those tires too... Spade frowned and took another drag.

"YOUR PATHETIC ATTEMPTS TO WREST US FREE OF THIS PLACE ARE FUTILE." 'Petty attempts', 'pathetic attempts'... this guy was not creative. Instead, he was swinging around the weighted thing like he was the wallflower in the major league for most of his childhood, batting his lips more than the damn ball. Spade had long stopped listening--wasn't even sure if he had ever been listening. He kinda sorta only gathered that the chimera had two names: Tart, the dungeon, and Balthazar, a name presumed to have originated from cracked out scientists. Either/or they were both fucked up, and he felt sorry for the guy. Must be hard catching dates with names like that and only sappy blonde sympathy in your ledger. "...OR I WILL TEAR YOUR PATHETIC BODY APART, AND STRING YOUR HEAD FROM MY NECK LIKE A TROPHY OF WAR. MAKE YOUR CHOICE, AMESTRIAN."

"Both sound like easy deaths to me," Spade replied in a breath of Lucky Seven smoke. "See you in hell." He flicked the butt, the small thing sailing the distance to an ashtray of diesel, immediately igniting into a raging fire. A rupture of mechanical sounds ground inside the blaze, hissing like fucking pissed snapping turtles. Rain on rusted cans. Needles dropping onto linoleum. It was only a matter of--BOOM! The remains of the vehicles were thrust at the sky, a plume of fire shooting like a mushroom up and out. Spade felt the heat, holding a hand in front of his face to shield the momentous intensity despite wearing shades. "Wrest in pieces."

[Guest]

"Rhino, snake, primate or some shit, what does that leave you, one-percent human?" Balthazar snarled from in front of the car, pulling his lips back into a feral grin. The Amestrian was taking the humanity angle, when he would so quickly deprive Drachma and RIOTE in tandem of a world they deserved to enslave? It was pitiful.

"NO." He responded. "ONE-HUNDRED PERCENT ELITE." Snarling, he looked down to the ground. What was that slow dripping noise? The glugging, the trickling, the liquid soaking his feet... Balthazar's head pivoted downwards and he took a long, solid draw of the air through the small, scrunched sensory organ he could no longer really call a nose. If that chimeric face could have displayed horrific revelation, it would have. Diesel. The cigarette in Spade's hand. He put two and two together.

"Both sound like easy deaths to me," The General lowered the cigarette and exhaled a mouthful. "See you in hell." Flicking the butt along the ground, it slowly scattered along the tarmac and into a substantial pool of the liquid. A quick foom, and Balthazar went up in a gigantic wall of flames. "Wrest in pieces."

Only silence erupted from behind the flickering of tendrils of stark orange heat lapping at Balthazar's body. Sweat and blood over his armour sizzled as if they'd just been poured into a hot pan, and his innards slowly heated. It stung at his eyes and the rubber tyres liquefied, the metal heating to the point where it would burn a regular human's hands too much so to be gripped - but it had already been established. This black-armoured monster was no human.

"YOU FORGET," Came a deep, booming, throaty voice from beyond the wall of flames, followed by a growling low chuckle. "YOUR HELL IS A HUMAN CONCEPT." The pavement cracked as an obscenely large blackened foot stomped out of the flames. "A CONCEPT OF AN AFTERLIFE WHICH REQUIRES ONE TO DIE." A grin flickered behind the monstrous inferno. Another foot slammed against the pavement. Balthazar's lumbering form came forth, set aflame, holding the axle, wheels blackened and contorted. "YOU ARE OVERLOOKING ONE FACT." A snarl sounded out; tension welled in the chimera's ankles for a moment before he propelled himself into the air. A giant, flaming, twisted interpretation of a human launched itself upwards a good forty feet, before finally landing barely ten feet from the General in perfect synchronisation with the car slamming back against the ground, the raging inferno behind Balthazar sweeping around.

Flames caught to the blond spines along his neck and back; they lapped and singed the keratin, but no more. The blackened remains of the backpack gave way; the orb fell through, and Balthazar rose a single hand to tear away the singed fabric and toss it aside. The bronzed cylinder clattered along the ground and out of the pair's reach as the chimera fastened both hands upon the Jeep's axle once more, the flames that had wrapped the behemoth's monstrosity of a form all but extinguished now. "I AM IMMORTAL." A bold claim from the deluded chimera; but one that hadn't been disproved yet. He had taken an impressive battering; falling, flames, and bullets... but within, his muscles and organs ached. The chimera was on the brink of exhaustion; and once someone made the last push and sent him scrabbling down the cliff, all that would remain would be a scowling Balthazar with only his weapons and his alchemy - but very much human.

The chimera was growing weary. His pants were long and haggard, his breathing sagging, and the fire, as much as he tried to defy it, had made him feel greatly uncomfortable. He wouldn't concede ground to Spade yet; but before long, he wouldn't have much of a choice. If Balthazar was to remain in this colossus of a form for much longer, he required energy, sustenance, adrenaline... anything, just so long as it would keep him going along, wreaking havoc and genocide as he ploughed through the city of Central.

Wayward full-black eyes fell upon the orb. For now, it was unscathed. The Amestrian would be probably unable to operate it, unless he was familiar with the design; but Balthazar wasn't ready to give him a chance. At best, it would serve as a distraction. At worst, it could get scorched. The chimera didn't mind, either way, as exhaustion sapped at his muscles. Another growl stemmed from his throat. The fact that he knew he couldn't stand like this for much longer was starting to work into his mind. He had to kill this little bastard. QUICK.

"YOUR ATTEMPTS AND EFFORTS ARE RESPECTED, LEADER. YOU ARE WORTHY. PERHAPS I WILL NOT MUTILATE YOUR BODY BEYOND ALL RECOGNITION." Twin black orbs blinked, those same lids beneath sliding down and clicking in a remarkably insectoid manner, before he looked to the end of the axle and unleashed a guttural howl of a laugh. "BUT PERHAPS... I WILL." Raising the axle above his head, Balthazar launched a single foot forwards to stabilise himself, before finally bringing the great, lumbering titanic metal piece of the Jeep's shell down towards Spade.

((Aki, next post, Balthazar will revert into his human form. If you want to have Spade use his memory breaking to find that block from when he was made a chimera, now would probably be a good time))

[Tsuboi Ryūji]

Note to self....next time war breaks out don't wear heels.

Yes this was the most awkward of situations as she ran down the torn up roads. Stumbling from improper foot wear the leather bag slapping against her leg with each stride. The clunky fan on her wrist rubbing against the bone too causing great discomfort but to her that was the least that mattered. With the threat of gun fire she had managed to slink past the main brawl and focused on trying to get people to the train station. She was already on what felt like the 30th trip back to find people who were lost and confused. She just prayed Elliot would be safe. After all....Jet.....

For a brief moment she taught back to the pistol Elliot had placed in her hands. A stern order to carry it and not hesitate to shoot before he departed to a snipers nest. But even now the taught of holding such weapon had made her sick to the core. The weapon and its spare ammo had been left in her office sitting on the desk abandoned.

A sharp cry drew her back to reality s she stopped and turned into the small cul-de-sac of houses. A small boy was crying in the street for his mother. "Help me miss...I got lost from my mum....I think she’s gone to the trains without me.." He buried his face into her skirt as she comforted him. The child could of been no older then eight. " Here here...I’ll take you too her...I'm sure the two of us can find her together." Taking the boys hand in hers she started the walk back to the train station. She prayed that they would make it there safe and undetected.

[Anyone who feels like attacking feel free....just don't kill her :3 )

[Hans L. Reinhardt]

Brigitte was nervous. Hans had mentioned some kind of protocol and then had gotten off the phone. She knew that war was serious business but she would have preferred a little more elaboration. But she would have to take what she could get. She looked over at the two security guards who had remained behind, Lukas and Georg. “He said you would know who was coming. We have to get ready to leave.” Both burly men nodded. She tried to ignore the noises they made as they prepared their weapons. Shuddering, she went up to her bedroom to grab a few small things. Primarily, she grabbed an old pocket watch with their family portrait inside and the small pistol Hans had bought her when he became Chancellor. The watch went into the front pocket of her jeans, the pistol (safety on, of course), tucked into the small of her back. She threw on the bulletproof vest, another safety gift, before pulling an over-sized sweater over it. She was back downstairs shortly, where Lukas and Georg stood on either side of a large window. She moved to stand beside Lukas who gave her a small smile. “And now we wait.”

---------------------------------

Hans was pissed. Pissed the fuck off. Even as he read these secret files he had finally been deemed worthy to read, he was fuming. That Stuka had a serious respect problem. And he would pay for it. Insubordination wasn't enough for a discharge but a suspension with pay might help. Maybe a demotion, depending on how Hans was feeling after all this was over. And he swore that if Stuka went through with his damned scheme, he would lose everything. His stars, his position and his life as a free man. It would be a nice prison cell for the rest of his pathetic life.

Hans rested his head back against the headrest momentarily, taking a deep breath. The driver glanced back at him. “All right, sir?” Hans managed a small chuckle. “Oh, you know. Always busy.” The driver and the two other men in the vehicle laughed even as the convoy began its steady journey towards South City. He could hear Furor's tank rumbling behind them, watching both the front and back at the same time. From what he saw, the other armored truck was in front of his, a few motorcycles in front of that. They weren't exactly a subtle group, unfortunately. But surprisingly, the road leading south through the city was quiet. The RIOTE-bastards had come in from the east and likely from the west. They had no countries to hop through in the south, which benefited Amestris this time. They could come through the north, Hans knew, but he prayed that Briggs was holding them back.

Hans looked back down at the folder in his lap. Homunculus, eh? The embodiment of sin, brought about by Father. Fantastic. He delved more into the files, trying to absorb as much information as possible, especially about Alena... or should he just call her Vanity? This idea of these people holding the power of sins unsettled him. The fact that some were still unaccounted for did nothing to help him feel any better. He had a lot of questions and frankly, he needed more ans-

An explosion shook the truck, cutting off Hans' train of thought. The driver slammed on the brakes as the building in front of them crumbled, blocking the front half of the convoy. A second explosion sounded, and the building behind them also crumbled down. His vehicle was now utterly alone. He heard the driver begin to radio the others in the convoy, but gunshot sounded on the other end. An ambush and a damned trap. His detail was now thoroughly engaged in saving their own lives. All he had was three soldiers and his own gun. He didn't know what was out there, but he doubted they had very good odds. “Chancellor, stay in the truck!” He wanted to argue, but chose to merely nod his head. Those people outside wanted him, though he wasn't sure if it was dead or alive. But these men were entrusted to protect him and he wasn't going to make their job any harder by going straight into the line of fire. The three men got out of the car, and Hans listened and watched in grim silence as the man who had been sitting at his right was immediately torn down. The other two didn't last much longer. Muttering a few choice expletives aloud, Hans dropped the file, kicking it under the seat. He then reached for his gun. As the door to the truck opened, he shot. He was rewarded with a scream in pain as one RIOTE bastard dropped down. More filled the open space and he kept firing until his gun was empty. “Come on, you bastards! I could kill you all day!”

Hans knew that he was without another gun, but they didn't know that. He moved closer to the door, ready to go down fighting. He kicked viciously at another person that had come close and made to climb out of the truck and go after another. He was stopped as he gasped in pain as a bullet emerged from a gun and entered into his stomach. He looked at the person who shot him, who was some distance from the truck. The pain was spreading to his back as well. Great, a through and through. He wanted to keep going, but DAMNIT. He was in pain! He focused to stay conscious, still struggling to get out of the car and fight. He heard the RIOTE-bastards start to speak, but his Drachman was rusty and he only understood two parts of the conversation that ensued. “He's HUGE.” “Shut up, we have to take him to Aphrodite!” Hans had a bad feeling about where he was being taken, but the darkness had started to creep into his vision. “Bastards!” He managed to growl out before he lost consciousness.

[Guest]

"Yes, bring him to me. Take your time though, I'm expecting company." Her voice was meek as she speaks to the solider who captured Hans. The plan was all coming together piece by piece, and she would stand in the middle of it all with the man whom she loves.

The air was cold as she stood lingering over the window in her apartment. Her hand rests against the glass as she awaits patiently for what was going to happen. She was staring out the window when a soft moan escapes the rulers lips, snapping her from the daydream. She took a deep breath and walks over to him once again. Leaning forward over his face, her lips tickle the tip of his. She pulls him into another deathly kiss, knocking him further from reality. "Stay strong, Dietrich." Her lips quiver as she pulls away and walks out of the apartment. She locks the door with a key attached to a necklace around her neck and heads down the stairs.

The descent felt like an eternity as she takes it by step by step towards the lobby. A table was already set in place, with a single revolver placed in the center of it. She pulls out the chair and sits down waiting for her guest to arrive. Candles illuminated the grand entrance way, which set the mood as the sun was settling in the distance. It wouldn't be that much longer, after all, these men had to be smarter than she was giving them credit for, right?

----------

All went silent as the clicking of the door nob turned with hesitation. A grin lingers on her lips as she stares awaiting her guest. They were here and the fun would begin.

"Come in my loves, I've been waiting for you. Please have a seat and join me in my little game if you wish to have your leader back alive." Vanity speaks casually as she sits at the table placed for three in the lobby way of the high class apartment complex.

[Jay Furor]

As Angelika took the lead, and Jay took the rear, it all went swimmingly. At first... Soon after, though, explosions were heard. Staring out the triple bullet-proofed windows of the tank, little more than slits, she saw dust clouds ahead, and also a bad sight; RIOTE troops gunning down Hans' escort team! Oh snap. Naw, that wasn't happening on Jay's turf! "MR. LEADER-MAN!" Turning to see a RIOTE vehicle approach, possibly reinforcements, or an escape van for the men on foot, Jay turned the cannon and without a second thought, chugged out a massive blast, hitting the truck with a loud foomp and ripping the vehicle into a large fireball. She then slammed on the brakes, jolting her two companions forward rather roughly.

Jay proceeded to stand in a crouch, pulling Betty into the driver's seat. "Shine on you crazy diamond! Godspeed, you manbearpig-chow! Cocoa, I bid thee adieu." Betty, of course, grabbed Jay by the arm, and she turned to her assistant. "Colonel, with all due respe-" And a backhand to the face. "SIIIIIIIILEEEEENCE! I have a chancellor to rescue."

And Jay lifted the hatch, minigun to the sky, and stood on top of her beast of a machine, and gave a mighty onslaught of laughter to the wind, gleeful and heart-piercing in its intense joyousness; she was having fun. Scanning the horizon, she saw a bleeding hans with a RIOTE goon or two, and lifted her minigun to him, prepared to make a slightly over-kill, and dangerous to Hans, kill shot, when a thump to her left told her to drop. And with good timing; the mortar hit ground on the opposite side of the tank from her, rocking the metal wargod, but causing no severe damage, though Jay would have been launched as if from a cannon by the force of the blast. Betty, good girl she was, turned her cannons to face the attackers, obliterating them with quick precision, as Jay stood. And there was Hans, in the midst of the mayhem, being taken away.

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANSSSSS!!" Standing, she ran towards him, meeting a RIOTE soldier as she moved, who she quickly dispatched with a minigun smack to the face, breaking his neck and sending him down fast, and nearly making it to Hans. Aaaaaand then...

Well, long story short, Jay was glad it came from the right, where most of her body was automail; she damaged the jeep more than it did her. It was driven by a RIOTE goon and his buddy, in the passenger suit. The driver was killed dead when the jeep slammed into Jay's automail, colliding roughly with what was roughly an immovable force, shoving the engine inwards, straight into his stomach, as the airbag slammed into the other's face. Jay, on the other hand, was sent flying to her left, with some pretty nasty injuries to her ribs and a broken left arm. "Eengh... SonuvaslutnamedGeorge, that was painful..." She attempted to stand, finding her efforts pretty much futile; her ribs were definitely smashed up pretty bad. Noticing the guy nearby, she reached into her pocket and produced a TC Encore, cracking off a powerful shot, leaving the back of his skull a massive exit wound. Gritting her teeth, she flipped her radio to the proper channel and spoke. "Attention, anyone who can hear me. Evacuation of Chancellor Reinhardt was compromised; we were ambushed. I repeat, the evacuation of Hans to South City was a failure, and we've been compromised. The chancellor is in the hands of the enemy now. The convoy was split apart and has taken casualties. Mission failed." Flipping over to a separate, more private channel, she spoke again, directing her voice at one Csilla Angelis, a Major, doing something somewhere, but whom Jay knew of. "Major Angelis, if you're still kickin', mind letting me hitch a ride? I'm down by a busted RIOTE jeep near the location of the convoy when Hans was captured. Not lookin' too hot, either; At least two broken ribs, some internal bleeding, I'd bet money on it, and my left arm's got a fracture or six."

And thusly, the Colonel lie there, minigun recovered after an agonizing stint of crawling, and was now clutched in her arms, like a child's security blanket, as she struggled to sit up. "Mmmph... Ain't been in this pitiful shape since Certa." And now to play the waiting game, and hope some compassionate soul could save her.

[Elastor Ito]

"Sekretar Bitchface" was certainly one of the better nicknames Ela had heard all month. Colorful titles, curses, and hand-picked labels were strewn about the lips of the Cretan Militants like wildfire. Most of them were wince-worthy bad, but he was surprised to find out that moldy-haired Zen Howler had a decent one hidden up his sleeve. His only problem with it was that it acknowledged her power, which she certainly had, yet...boosting her already inflated ego was bound to make the balloon pop. And not her balloon; his balloon...in a metaphorical sense. Even so, any form of balloon popping was an automatic trigger for Ken's tears, making it something avoidable at all costs. In conclusion, although that nickname was by far the most intriguing he had heard, it still did not pass inspection, resulting in a dosage of death glare directed in the stand-zone of his companion he still refused to think of as his companion. "Style's incarnation has a name..." Elastor turned and blinked, his thoughts clearly interrupted by the apparent incarnation of style crouched like a stunt double on crack behind a rack of suit jackets, flashy as can be...unsurprisingly so. "ZEN HOWLER" a name he wished he could forget. Said man stepped out like a parade display, hands on his hips and eyes on the sky. "COMING TO BATTLEFIELDS NEAR YOU THIS AUGUST."

"Preferably without the bow-tie," the redhead muttered under his breath on his way out. But just as his attention shifted, Zen did something Ela would have never expected: he led the way. Howler, the fool, obtained a direction via intellect of some sort. With a cock of his head, he turned and began heading in a direction as if he knew precisely where Sekretar Bitchface resided and/or was keeping Lord Dietrich. His teeth hit together, a lost, neglected look whimpering through his eyes as his feet hesitated for just a few seconds. He could have taken the guy seriously if not for the various ties hanging out from under his jacket's inner pockets. Thief! He had stolen more than they had intended to. That made him just a petty crook. There was no justification in taking what wasn't needed--what wasn't essential to their cause. What was that?! He remained silent, swallowing it and following after the fancy dress shoes slapping against the sidewalks. Ela hadn't taken shoes; he didn't need them. Vanity didn't say anything about shoes, so he had kept his boots on. There was no sense stealing anything more... The ties pissed him off. He had half a mind to yank them out and bring them right back if they weren't pressed for time. Each moment, the knife blade could be drawing closer to Dietrich's throat. A handful of ties hardly had precedence here. Left. Why left?

"Well, it was simple," came the reply that answered his thoughts. Zen had turned around with a sly look. "I triangulated tha' signal comin' from the call usin' my long-range signal capacitor, then quickly scrolled through tha' list of radio towers in this district of tha' city, then made an estimate based on price range and-" Bullshit. Ela sighed, running a hand through his bangs, nearly pulling out the strands from his scalp wherein under it was screaming for some reconciliation from this. Any at all. Without stopping, the guy turned fully around, walking backwards. At least this way he'd see if there were shooters coming up behind them, he thought bitterly. Still, that grin...such a give-away. Taro would be better at tricking people than this sad excuse for a-- "I'm shittin' ya. I read it in OK! a few months ago."

"Then why are we going left?" Ela spat with a glare of extreme magnitude. Then it hit him like that wall springing up from nowhere, conjured by Aurelius: it was an entrance to an apartment complex overlooking the street they had walked down when his phone rang as well as Central Head Quarters bustling with activity. It was the perfect location for spying. This was it by some sheer chance of luck; it had been just a short stride from the tuxedo shop, left. Left. He shook his head, giving a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me-this-is-impossible look to Howler before heading down the street the rest of the way. Inching around the side, he peered in, concealed by a ritzy pillar. Finding nothing out of the ordinary and no traps seemingly set up, he walked right through the front door, new katana out and ready to combat with the immortal. The glass, fingerprintless door whacked open with a kick of his boot, icy eyes surveying the inside further. In his direct line of sight, Vanity was casually perusing over to a chair to sit, voice crawling out like a long-awaited drill of a funeral.

"Come in my loves, I've been waiting for you. Please have a seat and join me in my little game if you wish to have your leader back alive." Game? He exchanged looks with Zen again, slightly taken aback but the entire ordeal. What was the point of all this--the catch? She wouldn't hand their leader back to them without a fight unless she was looking to get something else out of this... Silently, he took a seat, hardly sitting. His sword was 1/23rd drawn at all times, his eyes glued to her every movement, breath held at random intervals to avoid further poisoning. Surely she knew. She had to be aware what exactly she had done to him after he had tripped her. And she would die. For all of this, Elastor was only feet away from slitting her throat as many times needed to finally end her eternally. He was going to exact another revenge.

"2,534.68 cenz you owe the store."

[Guest]

"Then why are we going left?"

"DON'T QUESTION MY DIRECTIONAL SKILLS." Zen looked swiftly from left to right. "Where are we?" The epitome of tomfoolery, the detective quickly let Ela grasp him by the scruff of his indubitably silky and bowtie-clad neck, or something to that manner, and before long, the pair were off. Finally, the Royal Guard deathglared at him in a manner he hadn't seen before, and the officer looked up to the apartment complex.

Elastor turned on his heel and made his way for the apartment's opening, a touch flustered. That must have been code for the "are you fucking kidding me how are you right" that the man's face totally spelled out. Zen grinned his traditional grin, and bounded after the Royal Guard, chiding in a singsong voice. "I was riiiight, Ela was wroooong~" He kept the melody going, despite having run out of lyrics. "Somethin' somethin', Zen has a big doooong~" Anticipating the intense glowering and snap of "WHY CAN YOU NEVER BE SERIOUS", Zen winced automatically and simmered off into what was more or less silence.

The dynamic duo quickly made their way into the complex and towards the homunculus' apartment. Zen shivered as they entered, his Internal Affairs sense tingling. Something didn't feel right. Well, to be honest, something never felt right when a few hours ago you'd watched the woman you'd supposed to be killing reject bullets and let the mushroomed projectiles clatter on the floor. "Ela," The detective said a touch sternly. "How are we supposed ta' fight somethin' that doesn't die?" For once, the man had made a half-decent point. She'd seemed to be invulnerable. And she'd incapacitated Dietrich in a single move. Two versus one was good odds, but when the one could spit up shotgun pellets like a hairball, it didn't seem like the best of ideas.

Zen shuddered from his encounter with Lust. That had left him with a temporary fear of sharp objects, though that came with the territory of having no real established common sense. Regardless, he cradled the shotgun and gulped. Elastor, ever Mr. Cool, simply continued down the winding corridors with the eerie silence broken only by the chatter of ambient gunfire outside. It was a war zone; a dead war zone. It was a more-than-adequate setup for a horror movie, and even being as genre savvy as he was, the man had let his comrade walk them right into a probable deathtrap. Then again...

The detective looked down to his shotgun, and smiled, confident enough that if he hit her hard enough with the fucker, it'd take her a little longer than half a second and a snarky response to draw all of her bits of brain back up off the wall. Zen chuckled. "I s'pose we just keep shootin' an' slashin'," Growling, he lowered to a James Howlett voice. "WE'RE THA' BEST AT WHAT WE DO, BUT WHAT WE DO AIN'T VERY NICE." Silence. "...Wolverine?" More silence. "Forget about it."

Zen cocked the shotgun cradled in his hands and grumbled. How did Elastor even get through life being this grumpy? Goddammit, it was like the guy found joy in absolutely nothing. For a moment, Zen wondered about how exciting the man's sex life was, then shuddered when he realised that all the swords and shit were probably an attempt to make up for a physical inadequacy in the size department downstairs. Either that, or a leaning towards sociopathy.

Elastor inched open the door, sweeping through, hand on the hilt of his katana. Similarly, Zen swept up his own to cup the shotgun's pump, the stock unfolded and jutting less-than-comfortably into his shoulder. The Cretan voice laced with pure poison hissed through - there she was, direct line of site, picking over chairs. "Come in my loves, I've been waiting for you. Please have a seat and join me in my little game if you wish to have your leader back alive." The duo exchanged telepathic bro-looks once more.

Somehow, Zen knew that a Drachman terrorist regime leader's idea of a good "game" wasn't going to be a touch of Twister or a few rounds of Monopoly. He pumped the shotgun and sneered as best he could down towards the woman, more out of confusion and attempting to match Elastor more than anything else. "2,534.68 cenz you owe the store."

"And that ain't countin' the tip, bitch."

[Guest]

The beautiful creation gracefully approaches the table set for three as the two men entered into the grand lobby. The marble floor reflects the light from the candles, twinkling the room with rays of hope. The same hope that these two men were banking on to retrieve their grand master. Hope is a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen, and also a archaic feeling of trust. The antonym to hope is pessimism, and right now Vanity's intoxicating gloom was stronger than the hope within the two men. Her lips part into a malicious smile both men rattle on with a catchy phrase before they plan to launch their attack upon her immortal body.

"2,534.68 cenz you owe the store." The red head muttered under his breath. Even dressed in his formal attire, Vanity could see behind the vail and tell he was struggling to even stand. The toxic was killing him from the inside out, and it wouldn't be that much longer until he took his final breath. Blood stained his cheek as he stood with boldness before the conceited homunculus.

"And that ain't countin' the tip, bitch." The cocky son of a gun with the cigarette spoke rudely at her. He hadn't a clue how she addressed matters, because of his encounter with the lustful one was a little more aggressive. She raises her brow at them both before sighing a breath of air and finger waves them both over.

"Snap it disco head." Vanity spats at the man with the puffy hair who reeked of smoke. Her eyes darted to the man whom she poisoned hours ago. "I see the poison is taking affect on that beautiful body of yours. . . If you play this little game of mine, and win, I'll heal you of the intoxicating fumes in your system; as well as hand over Dietrich." Her eyes locked onto Ela as she nods in agreement, meaning fully what she had just said. She then looks back over to the arrogant loud mouth and eyes him up and down as he pumps the shotgun. "Now set down that shotgun of yours. It's not needed, especially since if you kill me, they both die." She grins as she refers to the poison in Ela and Dietrich body. "You might think you'll have enough time to make it to the hospital, but you're wrong. That blood that he is coughing up means he has less than twenty minutes to live, and without my help Dietrich will never regain consciousness.

She picks up the revolver sitting on the elegant table and twirls it around her index finger once. "Let me tell you a short story as you both drop your guns and join me at this table." She drops her hands to both seats and gestures for them to sit and accompany her. "Back in 1937 a little game was invented with a revolver and a single shinny bullet. A single bullet is placed in the revolver and then spun around in the cylinder." As she explains, Vanity places the bullet in the gun and a clicking sound hums as she spins the cylinder around and around before locking it in place. "One at a time you take this gun and place the muzzle against your head, and pull the trigger. A little game you might know as Drachma Roulette." Another sinister grin tugs at the edges of her lips. Alena places the gun on the table and points to the Elastor. "You first my love."

[Spade Aeries]

There were things that irked him and there were things that really fucking pissed him off. One of them involved people that were so far mislead that they were impossible to communicate with. Usually those people liked listening to themselves talk, and Spade could just let that roll off his shoulders and stand there like a fucking white-washed wall, but in the middle of a war? No. People were dying. And this guy was running his mouth like stalling '67. "NO," the croaking batman voice had boomed from across the war zone. Darkness surrounded them under the searing morning sun, words exchanged from one mouth that the other wanted to utter instead. No. Spade braced himself in the moment, letting it pass like any other in unnoticed surrender. "ONE-HUNDRED PERCENT ELITE." The beast clearly couldn't count, but the revelation of putting two and two together was like watching a predictable Hollywood film unfold into a literal blaze. Yeah buddy, you're about to be lit on fire. In the oven of festering flames, came a burst of silence he would have never guessed would transcend. With how grueling this mishmash of chimera was, Spade would have put money on the number that he'd be screeching all the way up to high heaven. Dude, he was on fire for pete's sake the fuck was he being quiet about? Seriously, if he was going to die, he'd definitely go out with a bang. So if it involved screaming himself hoarse, at least he wouldn't have to worry about it in the morning because he'd be fucking dead. And while he had let that other chimera live in Drachma, the sunglasses-bearing detective wasn't playing games this round, which consisted of a Die motherfucka! movie quote invading his thought processes along with visibly enjoying the sight of his enemy roasting on an open flame. No one was taking Central on his watch. ...Even though it already happened. Twice.

"YOU FORGET..." OH SHIT. He'd forgotten to lock his front door again! Effing looters were probably stealing his shit. Great. Just wonderful. That, and now the enemy was coming out rare. What a day. Made him kind of want to flip lady luck off, but he loved her too much. Spade was lucky; this was only a prelude. "YOUR HELL IS A HUMAN CONCEPT."

"Hypocrite," he muttered.

"A CONCEPT OF AN AFTERLIFE WHICH REQUIRES ONE TO DIE." This guy had no clue. Spade found himself chuckling with a crooked smile. He clearly hadn't experienced hell on earth. Welcome to my life. He had the best of both realms, involving too something called heaven on earth. One he was engaged to and the other he was standing in right now. The dualism hurt, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Better that he lived, but at the same time, it dragged the battle out. So much for the coffee break, though he could do with some booze. Seeing a guy make it out of a blaze like that without being a charred hunk of steaming flesh kind of required a shot of tequila. The sandpaper voice continued to drone onward, Spade's attention drawn completely to the Jeep axle in his grip. The tires had melted off into puddles, making the General wonder just what the chimera's organs looked like beyond that hardy shell of his. But before the mental configuration of an image could construct itself in his brain, Tart launched himself into the air a good forty feet and three inches off the ground like a fucking flying squirrel on speed. Jesus. The chimera landed; Spade didn't blink, but he wanted to clap and hand him a gold medal because hell if he knew that he could totally win the Olympics with a leap like that. Bouquet-worthy even. Congrats now you're only nine feet and ten inches from me. Now what? Was he going to throw that thing at him or stand there flapping his lips some more? "I AM IMMORTAL."

"And I have a gun." Ego couldn't kill, but a bullet sure could. The ragged pants of the animal were so long Spade could lounge about on a lawn chair waiting for the next breath. He was only his last legs. It almost wasn't worth it to push him over the edge. Just call it a day, man. Go home. Find an owner. His jade eyes communicated it, but he'd never put it to voice. Spade was done here; he wasn't going for the joy ride anymore. A troop of his men were dead now because of this blood-sucking bastard. He hissed under his breath, alkahestry licking at his mind almost to coerce him into giving into the pulse. Impulse though it may be, the clock was ticking, the midday moans were about to kick in, and Spade had already just smoked his last cig. Dog tags jiggling like bells on Christmas, he had a great deal of presents for this guy. Whipping out the wires wasn't enough; it was time to go Xingese on his ass. While the hunk of Jeep came down right for him. Spade shut his eyes. It looked idiotic in all honestly, but his focus wafted off him in waves of pure energy. Royal blood of the ages singed through his veins, the Dragon's pulse rearing its massive head in a laugh that slowed down the Chimera's perception. Spade was behind him before the weighted weapon came anywhere near the ground. Time sped up, a clanking impact rocking the ground beneath them. Time slowed again and Spade was in front of him before he could absorb the impact of his own attack. Looking him straight in the beady eyes, he raised a finger and touched the chimera's forehead for just a moment long enough for the world to open to him. In the thing's mind, Spade was already prepared for ruin, yet what he found was a blockade much like a dog kennel for memories. Inside was the good stuff, but perhaps this time around, the kennel was what would unleash what humanity the animal hid. In this case, it was the humanity--the frail, vile humanity that stripped away the concept of immortality and made fire burn. This was what Spade broke in the few seconds he was connected.

Shattered like glass, the bars fell away at their feet, Spade's vision spiking into a blur as he swayed to the side out of harm's way. Using two abilities at once was like trying to drink tequila mixed with beer. Just no. Wiping the sweat from his brow, the circle's glow around his belly button faded to a simmer, giving Spade only seconds of reaction time. Who knew what would happen? This was just another experiment.

[Guest]

A dull feeling hit the chimera's mind as the Amestrian flitted from his view. He couldn't bring himself to speak; only snarl. For a moment, the world's time turned from its usual flowing river into droplets of water dribbling slowly from a showerhead, and somehow, the man was responsible. He didn't know how or why it was possible in the slightest, but it felt as if he'd just been standing in an active wind tunnel for a few moments before being blasted with a weak breeze. "WHAT..." The words came, slow and lurching, from his mouth. Unnatural and disjointed. "WHAT IS THIS?" That seemed to be a question only the General could answer.

The vortex of speed hit him next, and his arms moved faster than he could control with jagged momentum that he hadn't possessed a moment ago. His snarls and pants faster than ever. Funnelling more energy into his arms, the curved, bent, and heated metallic end of the axle smashed into the ground and bounded straight back up into the air, Balthazar's confusion forcing him to lose his grip with a snarl. The ridged pole flew straight off into the distance, landing with a crash and clattering away into the distance, nothing more than a metallic flickering, as insignificant now as the fire behind him.

"STOP USING YOUR TRICKS AND FIGHT LIKE A MAN, YOU AMESTRIAN COWARD!" The chimera bellowed as best he could in the last few seconds he had of regular time before his voice slowed to a slow, comical growl. The last of the heat slowly faded from his body and sore burns - even within the armour - racked against him. He was tired. He was pained. And he was confused. The General reappeared, and before his lumbering hands could so much as reach forward to grapple for Spade, he leapt forwards and simply pressed against his head.

Nothing happened for a moment. Then everything shattered all at once.

Tendrils of invasive pain lanced through his mind and time returned to normal. Lumbering black hands reached straight for throbbing black temples and drew thick lines into the thinner armour padding his face. "NO." The defiant, cracked howl rocked through as the titanic chimera's legs gave way and he fell to his knees, inclining his head downwards and scratching with yellowed claws, trying to hack the pain out of his own head. It shot through like an arrow, coursing through every avenue of his mind. In this form, the chimera's memories were even more separated than when he retained the minor essence of humanity he still had. But the Amestrian General's alkahestry wasn't finished yet. It was looking for something. "WHAT IS..." Balthazar stopped himself as the Dragon's Pulse shooting through his cerebellum ground to a halt and smashed with all its might into something he himself hadn't known was there.

A blockade within that had served only as a dam to stem the tide of ancient memories within from before the Drachman had become a chimera. From when he had become Balthazar. And the alkahestry smashed it entirely to pieces. Ancient history came rushing to the surface and in the brief moment of revelation he had, Balthazar's solid black eyes widened further than they had ever done before in this form. A guttural howl from the bottom of his throat grew and grew until finally breaching the threshold of his mouth and it all flooded back into his mind like too much water poured into a funnel.

But these memories had never been his own. No; the blockade Spade had shattered served not to enlighten Balthazar as to the man he had once been, Rou Kamarov. Instead, in came the flushing memories of an array of separate beings, one chained within a cage, rattling at them and howling with a primate's agitated laugh. Flashing images of a thinner body slithering through the dry yellow grass, before men in protective suits leapt forwards and brought a net down upon him. A hulking, heavy beast in the African savannah charging towards bipedal assailants, ready to gore them upon its horn until a pinprick in its side stopped it in its track and toppled it onto its side. A wide, long body coursing through salt water, the king all other seafaring fauna bowed to, before a diver in a cage tempted it, bound it, and thrust it into a net like some pathetic trophy. And the fluttering sounds of beating wings and total darkness, but a contentment with only squeaks and echoes, a curtain of murky blackness descended entirely upon the memory's vision.

And then he knew. All vague pretense of confusion shattered like a mirror before a gunshot, a spider's web of a rippled crack lancing out through the impact. These were no random animals. These were the animals... these were the animals that were a part of him.

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

The mutations rippling through his body had no more energy to thrive upon. The exhaustion had been slowly surging upwards and this immense mental pain had been the last push he'd needed to truly send him spiralling over the edge. Black eased back into white and the armour thinned back into skin. Teeth retracted into their jaws, turning from yellow fangs into white, tapered canines. The sickening ripping and squelching as muscles slowly shrunk back into themselves and everything minimised, the blonde spines formed only of keratin ridging his back slowly surging back up along his neck and onto his scalp, reforming a head of dishevelled blonde hair. And last of all, the solid black orbs he'd called eyes flickered with white, pools of the purest light invading back inwards, bloodshot sclera restraining and chaining the black within to become only a pupil once more. The chimera shut his eyes and let out panting breaths - human breaths. The monster was gone. Only the man behind it remained.

Slowly the eyes flickered back open with the thinnest irises of pale grey he could muster spinning back into place as the world slowly came back to him. A nude torso with a criss-cross of shallow cuts and singed, sore flesh was all that was remained. The remnants of ripped suit trousers turned into pitiful black shorts. Human hands. Human arms. Human legs. Human feet. Human face. Human body. "Inconceivable," He spat in native Drachman.

Beads of sweat and blood intermingling at his forehead dripped down onto the floor as the raking crimson lines against his temples slowly drew to a halt. Trembling nails stopped altogether, and Balthazar let his hands fall flat at his side, his face coated with the gritty war paint of bruises, rubble, and the deep red lifeblood of his body and others, fresh cuts and old scars. And slowly, a haggard chuckle rose from his throat and a maniac's smile stretched against his face. "Happy now, Amestrian?" He snarled in the most human of tones yet, his voice heavy-set with a lurching Drachman accent. "You were right," A desperate grin carved into that stained white skin of the terrorist's face. "I'm no more human than the animals that remain a part of me to this day."

His feet bent and his ankles swelled with tension as he curved upwards onto them, swaying from side to side gently. His balance had left, and his body was exhausted; but enough adrenaline still coursed through his body. Whilst that tumultuous array of memories had sent him spinning from his larger, more powerful form, it had evoked a pool of energy within that he'd never known before, one of pure, primal rage, true savagery. It was just fate's cruel irony that he wouldn't be deemed to use it in his form of true power. "Are you fucking happy?!" He howled, throwing his hands out to his side in some grandiose performance, slowly sidling to the right, the fires behind him flickering in the bronze of the orb. He scooped it up with waiting hands and held it up, admiring it with a gentle smile, something dangerous flickering in the grey of his irises.

The baroque styling of the number five glimmered in a mixture of pale sunlight and orange flame. The arrow above was aligned directly with it, the button just sitting there, primed and ready to go. Tension flickered in his hands and his eyes narrowed. It wasn't over yet. "If you are," He snarled, pressing downwards on the small, rounded circle at the top, the embrace of cold metal so beautiful against his fingertips. "You'd better savour it," The orb clattered to the floor and rolled away. From his very core, the alchemical discharge of pure red electricity surged through and jumped straight into the orb. Light flickered and Balthazar watched with glee as the alchemy carved a wide, circular, and almost perfect crater into the ground, barely three feet wide, the orb rolling into the middle. The smell of smoke filled the air and pain shot through the chimera's body; he didn't even bat an eyelid or wince. Slowly, the use of this alchemy was killing him. But the terrorist figured that he didn't have much longer around anyway. Self-destructive motives shot through his mind in the flash of a blade as two new shapes forged solely of white-brushed stone upon the ground clattered into the crater, and the man stepped forwards, gazing upon them with a smile.

Red discharge crackled at his hand before fading away. The grin upon his face wider than ever before, Balthazar stepped forwards and knelt at the miniature crater's edge, leaving the orb, leaning in and grasping the two fresh shapes from within. The orb had used the only source material at its disposal, stone; so they were heavy. But in its own way, ways still that mystified the chimera, the blades were brushed with a glinting white, and black tendrils coursed through them as if they'd been burnt in with a brand strong and hot enough simultaneously to sear granite itself. Burnt in with alchemy. Markings almost tribal and biblical in nature. He smiled and rose them. Rapiers. Heavy for any normal human; but the strength of a rhinoceros empowered now by its memories, even passive in this smaller form, flashed through him and he smiled, flourishing both, one in each wrist, before holding them up and pointing both towards Spade. "Because you don't have much of a life left to!"

[Guest]

An explosion rocked the bike as she swooped down that alleyway. So the little angel had explosive arrows. Well wasn't that bloody peachy eh? What else did she have in her arsenal she had to wonder. Explosive rounds were nothing, just another obstacle to overcome between her and whatever was going on in that apartment above. She revved as more arrows were fired off, sending shockwaves through the air as the bike carried its driver in an arc near the firestorm of a limo. While those arrows threatened fiery doom near her, she fired right back with machine pistol rounds, holstering it as her tires screeched across the pavement to a stop at the other end of the block. "Not bad li'le one!" She shouted as she lifted her right arm, the little crossbow extending from her wrist as it loaded in an arrow of her own. "Time ta test this beau'y ou'." She murmured to herself as she fired off the little bolt, slipping off of her bike in a duck and roll as it went soaring towards her target. It was aimed at the limo beneath the white winged child, exploding with the force of a grenade into the already flaming vehicle.

She didn't stop even as she rolled onto her feet, breaking into a run for cover in the form of the corner of the building. As her back hit the brick, she heard another explosion go off where she had been standing moments before, grimacing as she switched which ammo was in her new gadget. She took a deep breath as she looked at the calculations that shot across her screen in an attempt to guess where Nyx may have jumped to once the explosion hit. As she exhaled slowly, she leaned around the corner and fired off two bolts that exploded into a gas which would hopefully knock the girl out though who knew what other tricks she might have packed into that body of hers. She was a dog of RIOTE after all, and she knew that it meant she probably had some extra things aside from those pretty wings.

She drew out a grenade and tossed one around the corner as she bolted out of her cover, knowing that movement would be one of her greatest allies at this particular moment. Explosive rounds meant that the brick would probably not hold and she would be left exposed. So she ran, her crossbow already reloaded and ready to fire. She didn't hesitate and lifted her arm again, looking for a flash of white before firing in the general direction, knowing that the gas would spread in the air. She found cover behind a low wall lining a house on the opposite side of the street from where she had stopped before, drawing out her machine pistol with another slow exhale of breath.

[Guest]

Shokolat was ignored as she perched precariously inside that tank, wondering truly whether this was wise of her or not. Dust floated in through those thin slits causing her to cough a little as fear began to grip at the pit of her stomach. This wasn't her. She wasn't a field operative. Why had she decided to do this? What had she hoped to accomplish? "Diversion and pin..." She murmured before letting out a yelp at the sound of the cannon booming Jay's rage at the enemy. "MR. LEADER-MAN!" Oh no, Hans! Something had to be done. Something had to be done! Though the little Head of Intelligence didn't really get to think too long upon it as the tank suddenly lurched, the heat of flames greeting her just before the brakes sent her flying. Uh-Oh. She hadn't thought about this.

Her wings spread as a natural reaction to her hitting the air, her shoulder slamming into one of the wall with the force of the brakes and the weight of her whole body (as light as it was). She gasped in pain as her bones broke, not even sure what exactly was damaged. In truth, her arm was effectively shattered via fourteen breaks, her ribs fracturing as her spine hit the metal in a sickening CRACK. Her wings bent at odd angles that couldn't be healthy, a few feathers flying into the air before fluttering away. Her head whamed hard into the side, moisture immediately staining her white hair. Tears immediately leaped into her eyes, as she tried to find the will to breathe. She could hear that Jay was speaking, but she couldn't clearly hear the words. Everything had become muffled as lights grew too bright, only able to choppily pull breath into her broken body. "SIIIIIIIILEEEEENCE!" It was the only thing that she could hear clearly as the world swam into silence.

She was drifting somewhere, further and further down to a place that she didn't know. Her body rolled onto her stomach as she went limp, her mouth opened in the slightest as her eyes stared without seeing at the floor that she laid upon. She was an angel falling ever downward into that darkness until she touched down upon snow. The flakes fell silently from the black sky, the horizon a very familiar sight to her. It was the house where she had grown up in with her father so far from any village. It stood there with warm light spilling from the windows, the door hanging open with smells of freshly made bread greeting her. "Papa?" She called, her voice sounding so small in that wide space. No voice greeted her even as she walked into that house, sudden shards of memory stabbing down into her very soul. She was laying on her bed, bound as her father stood over her working. She blinked at the memory, shaking her head as she did not understand where that image had come from. She was standing in the living room now, looking around as she saw the meal that sat there on the carved table.

"Papa?" She called again, but silence was the only other person there. She imagined her father fashioning her into the pretty doll that she was, connecting the different pieces to form her before casting the spell that brought her to life. Another shard stabbed downward, another odd series of images. She had been sitting on her bed reading when her father came in to greet her. She saw him cover her mouth with a cloth, knocking her out moments later. He stared at her and murmured to himself, "Forgive me daughter for this deception. You must reach up to the Lord for me, tell me what the angels sing." ... What? She was wandering upstairs to her room now where all her childhood things were, but what she saw.... She couldn't accept. It wasn't a work bench for a doll. There weren't other pieces there that he hadn't used. There was just an albino girl laying upon the bed staring up at the ceiling with her father beside her.

"Papa!" She cried, but they did not turn even as she ran forward to hug him. As her arms were about to wrap about him, his hand reached out and grabbed her by the front of her dress and pulled her forward, his face now inches from her own. "This happened to you. I experimented on you. I blamed you for my failures and threw you out. You've always known, but could not accept." The tears rose in her eyes as she shook her head, stumbling backwards as he turned slowly back to the girl that she knew to be herself on the bed. And as she slipped further into her coma, she knew that he spoke the truth.

All she had thought she'd known... Had been a lie.

[EXIT THREAD. Shokolat now enters her coma and is an NPC until further notice]

[Robyn]

He kept coolly walking. Every now and then a warning shot from his pistol would be fired t anyone who considered attacking him. He had a mission. He would rescue her from the mistake she had made and pull her from the grasp of Aurel. This was no place for her. She shouldn't be a pawn of war games after all surrounded by bodies was not a place for a woman of her grace.

His mind wondered as he kept his stride confident and forward going. Why was he risking so much for lust. Heck why was he willing to risk the same for Vanity and Xan. These were people he refused to lose. He would give a lot to be able to just sit with them and enjoy fine wine. And Reaver being the man that he was would always get what he wanted.

The pounding of wrath's eternal screams was making his skull ache. As he watched where he stepped as he saw bodies littering the floor. But stopping for a moment to inspect them....from a distance. Looking over them he noticed the long stab wounds before tutting softly. "My my...." following the trail he spotted her. "My Dear...blood is not suiting on you..." He said his lip curling into a classic smile.

[Guest]

Villetta sighed lightly as her blonde hair flowed in the rushing air of Amestris. The scent of gun powder, blood, and fuel stained the air. A once nice city was now a war zone filled to the brim with carnage. She looked about and smoke bellowed from one street the next, but it was all part of the plan. What was she even doing here? Oh right, she had joined RIOTE this time. She had previously teamed up with Xing to help them, but the city fell into Aerugese hands. Not only that, she had lost all the information she had gathered about this so-called Garden. Perhaps, it was not meant to be. She shifted her weight, and crossed her legs. She glanced over the edge, looking down upon the scene below. That Balthazar was a reckless fellow. Needlessly destroying things to show off his brute strength. She would have felt bad for the Amestrian, but her priority was aiding RIOTE. She needed to get her hands on that country. She rose from her seat, and kicked the bodies to the floor. She had spent the last twenty minutes ridding the buildings of snipers and positioned infantry. Nothing worse than gunfire from four stories up. She looked over her shoulder at the few RIOTE men, she was allowed to take with her. A few suffered from gun shot wounds, but alive nonetheless. She touched her ribcage, and winced. It was taking quite sometime to heal this wound. True the bullet did not penetrate far into her body, but the damage was an unusual one to her body nonetheless.

The loud explosion of fuel being ignited, peaked her attention once more. Balthazar went up in flames, and she smirked. Well now, that Amestrian is not to bad. But I doubt...ah there he is. She probably should go and aid him, but then again it would be easier to kill the Amestrian if he was tired from fighting Balthazar. She would continue her perch and when the time came, she would finish what was left undone. Then it came, she felt the reach of an Alkahestrist. So he could tap into the Dragon's Pulse...how amusing. She figured everyone in Amestris was an Alchemist. She watched a bit closer, to see what his Alkahestry was. They both looked faint, in the brief exchange. But she could not place the technique. Then the bellow cleared up her brief confusion, well at least he was able to give her a better idea of what the man had up his sleeve. Mental Stimulation. To what level, she was unsure, but still impressive that he knew that branch of Alkahestry out of all. He then reverted back to his human form. So he was able to knock him out of his form with a mental strike. "Now I'm jealous"

With this she knew the battle was decided, but it was a matter of time before they did. She looked to her group. "Moving to the next building, collect your things, and let's go." She spoke in Drachman her Rouenian accent flourishing beautifully over the disgusting language. She moved to the rooftop edge, and peered between the buildings. She could make it, but her people wouldn't. She turned and moved down the stairs through the rooftop doorway. She had to keep this place under control, lest they be over run by chance. She could at least, act like she was trying her hardest to win. For now, this was simply killing time. How much longer could this conflict continue?

[Lust]

All her life, Tanandra had never really cared about Rouen. It was the place her mother and family were from, where they'd escaped as their cities burned and their countrymen died at the hands of Esparia. Rouen's lush flowers sang in her black blood, but so dod Esparia, and Esparia had been all Tanandra had ever known. And yet, it was never regarded as home, meals often bringing up hushed talk of how someday they would rise up and retake Rouen, and their beautiful country would burst from its own ashes like a phoenix. It was the same stories and sentiments, over and over, alwayswhere dinner conversations would lead to for anyone old enough to remember their home. It was almost made to sound like some utopian paradise the way it was idealized between them; a land where all was wonderful and beautiful, and wine flowed like rivers and love and beauty were always in the air; it was just the damned Espairians that ruined it all.

As long, high-heeled legs walked through the screaming streets of central, Tanandra was lost. Not within the city, but within herself. She moved seamlessly, somewhere between hunting and wanting to leave, the blood that spattered across her chest, dress, and legs drying in the marred light of Amestris. The smell of buildings and vehicles burning were carried on the wind with the scents of the blood and carnage, RIOTE soldiers fighting with Amestrians head-on. She was here only for Aurel's sake, the blood of those who knew and might have adored her beginning to flake from her nails as one resounding thought echoed in her mind: this was not her war. Echoes from the past rang in Louise's ears, every dinnertime conversation replaying at once from beyond the grave.

Was this what happened to Paris? Even though all the citizens of Central had been evacuated to safety, the heavy feet of their enemies would trample Amestris' capital and bring it to its knees as had happened before. After Central was vanquished, what was next? Would they pursue the citizens and slaughter them en masse, leaving the country widely vacant and with no choice but to surrender entirely? This must have been what happened to Paris, all those years ago; history was repeating tiself, and though Tanandra was helping to create history and change for the world, as she looked around her and saw the body of another young woman crumble to the ground, she wasn't sure anymore about anything. She needed...

"My my." Tanandra stopped dead in her tracks, looking for Reaver as she heard his voice, the tap of his cane approaching her slowly. Reaver was truly a marvelous predator, like a barracuda with a voice so silken you'd beg him to bite you. Reaver was a most dangerous man in every sense of being, and being one like her- breatheren to her, even- made him that much more dangerous to be around. Today Tanandra she really couldn't die, but if anyone could kill her, her money would be on Wrath. "My Dear...blood is not suiting on you..." Forgetting the graces of society for just a moment, she reached a hand up to try and wipe away the crimson stain from her face but only managed to smear it against her skin more. Molten gold eyes locked onto Reaver, shimmering, unable to hide her confusion. Did she belong here with RIOTE, slaying the crude soldiers of Amestris that would taint the world? Or were they no different than the Esparians who'd destroyed the home that she was a survivor of? She was not above killing for what she wanted to take care of herself, but were these her ideals, or was she merely acting the part in this lonely, bloody show without knowing the ending of the script?

Reaver seemed almost amused, casually walking through the carnage and tutting softly about the mess she'd left and the mess that soiled her beautiful image. "Reaver." Tanda's voice trembled, her words edging on a shuddering sigh as her eyes shed with a tidal wave of unshed emotions and passions that rolled into a golden storm. Her heels clicked against the asphalt as she hurried toward him and stopped short, not daring to embrace him and ruin his clothes with sin that clung to her body. He understood, surely. He could see it in her. Her distress and confusion, and moreover how oddly vulnerable and truly naked she felt. "I am so relieved you found me." The edges of her lips tried to smile, more happy she'd been found by someone she actually was happy to see, the back of her mind slowly registering that if he was here, then he was here for a reason. He wasn't with Drachma or RIOTE. What wa he doing here? "Reaver, how did you know how to find me?"

[Elastor Ito]

He didn't trust her. Not in any way, shape, or form. His eyes were stationed on her every movement: the twitch of muscles in her lips as she spoke, each fiber of her being cheating death, the breath of condensation left behind by her fingers on the table... Elastor's heart was racing in his throat, a strange feeling taking grip over his physical form, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Why did I come? His King was befit only the throne, guarded supremely by the best and only such. He was one of those persons, eternally glued to a role he must fulfill or fail. Right now, he was here, standing before an immortal with hate-filled eyes and the desire to purge her from the world in which she did not belong. Along with her impossibility to die came a never-ending onslaught of questions he'd never put to voice. Instead, they hovered about him, clinging listlessly to his suave clothing like invisible particles of dust: the ash of the mind. Still, he ventured to think as he held his breath to avoid choking on the very air he inhaled. The best way to learn of Dietrich's location would be to dance lightly around the subject. Get her mad--emotional. Get her to slip up. She'd reveal it without realizing it. All they had to do was knock her out, grab him and run. Immortals could lose consciousness, yes? He hoped, for if not, they were royally fucked.

"And that ain't countin' the tip, bitch," Howler ruefully added, albeit it not making sense. Tips were usually not given at clothing stores, well, at least not in Creta. Plus, he doubted that she would pay the store; she was a criminal--part of RIOTE: the organization that brought about the Men in White. Takatori was borne from this woman's venom. How many lives had she indirectly ruined? His teeth snapped together, eyes not leaving Vanity even to give his tag-along the are-you-kidding-me look. The woman replied at the moldy-cotton-candy head, causing Ela to tense defensively until her eyes dragged to meet his own. He looked away and to the side, hiding the slew of feelings coursing through him along with the--

"I see the poison is taking affect on that beautiful body of yours..." His eyes shot back into crystal blue, lost, horrified, silenced. "If you play this little game of mine, and win, I'll heal you of the intoxicating fumes in your system; as well as hand over Dietrich." Ruse, it was a trick! Icy blue narrowed in suspicion, trying to gather the angle she was trying to play. Whatever this game may be, if they played it, there had to be something in store for her as well. To hand over her trump card so easily was something he was not willing to readily accept; he wasn't stupid. He sat up straighter, holding everything back on the edge of falling, ready aimlessly to throw it all over like casting out a line. Only when he was sure, would he reel in the catch. She was nodding at him then looking at Howler again with a disgusted intensity. "Now set down that shotgun of yours. It's not needed, especially since if you kill me, they both die." Both die? He didn't react, staring straight ahead as if her were having a staring contest with the opposing wall. Who constituted the word 'both'? Dietrich...and? "You might think you'll have enough time to make it to the hospital, but you're wrong. That blood that he is coughing up means he has less than twenty minutes to live, and without my help Dietrich will never regain consciousness." His blood ran cold, chills bristling up and down his spine like torrents of rainwater. Fervently, he blinked a few times, breath hitching in his lungs almost on cue. A sort of desperation came over him, air so thin he was drowning in nothing. Twenty minutes...? H-he only had twenty minutes to live? Something strange, indescribable took him over. It was a play--a mind trick; he was falling into a trap. Don't believe it. Don't believe it. He didn't...he wouldn't. But in a slow digression until now, he didn't have to. Ela felt it in each breath--felt it this very moment while pulling in another breath became something he had to work for. No, the hospital wouldn't save him. He knew that as he gazed at the waves and when he was told there was no cure, but he had a duty to fulfill. If he died, it would be while slitting her throat.

"You first my love." He had gone pale, feeling his lungs clench, nearly collapsing in on themselves. Blurily, he looked on the revolver, having barely registered her words. Was she trying to get him to kill himself? He looked up from it and met her eyes with a vicious smirk, eyes alight with an inhuman glint. With his right hand, he lifted the heavy murder weapon off the table, slamming the barrel into his temple. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger with a faulty intake of breath. Click. No, fate was too cruel to let him die. Ela already knew this. He'd suffer until the very end. And with his grave would come Nu's tears like rain on a sunny day.

[Guest]

"Snap it disco head."

Zen blinked. Well, that was just rude. "Oh shaddap, ya blue-haired whore." The detective's typically 'gentlemanly' nature gave way to a rather casually-voiced and thoroughly derogatory insult. Silence filled the room. "Oh, what, so mass murdah's all cool, but tha' moment I call her a whore, I get fukken' daggers? What has this world come to?"

The pair sidled down as Alena explained the situation that the trio found themselves in. "I see the poison is taking affect on that beautiful body of yours... if you play this little game of mine, and win, I'll heal you of the intoxicating fumes in your system; as well as hand over Dietrich." Zen growled on instinct. Hammy puppet-leaders with a fondness for plans somehow inspired by David Xanatos himself... whenever they included "games", things tended not to go so well. "Now set down that shotgun of yours. It's not needed, especially since if you kill me, they both die."

[INITIATE THEME]

"Who tha' fuck do ya' think I am, some kinda' moron a' somethin'?!" Wait. Don't answer that. Suddenly facts collided with one another in Zenith Howler's brain and he reached a conclusion like the screeching of tyres on the tarmac before the thud of a hit-and-run. Elastor was dying. Dietrich he could deal with. Monarchs could come and go, and he had no obligation to Dietrich. Guy was a bit of an asshole, anyway. But Ela?

Ela, Zen knew. He knew of his sister, his car, his katana, his penchant for the little things and the memories of their first bust of the meth lab on Kensington Street, or as the pair had since dubbed it, "The Donut Incident". Since then, even if it was begrudgingly on the auburn-haired guardsman's part, the pair had been friends, willing or not. The detective growled once more, his brow furrowing. He really didn't like this. "Point taken." Zen removed the shotgun from his shoulder slowly enough.

"Let me tell you a short story as you both drop your guns and join me at this table." Slowly, Elastor joined her, shaking and paled, his breath slower and his eyes affixed. This was the first time he'd ever seen the man truly shaken; he could see it in that piercing, lavender stare. Eager enough to help a man he considered one of his closest friends, Zen vaulted over the kitchen counter holding the shotgun's stock in his hand and sidled down at the table, setting Rebecca down at his side with a snarl. "One at a time you take this gun and place the muzzle against your head, and pull the trigger. A little game you might know as Drachma Roulette." Snap.

Drachman Roulette had been immortalised in cinema and literature ever since its conception. Less-than-scrupulous parties looking over POWs in various skirmishes had looked to it for entertainment, violating a great deal of conventions, but outside of the battlefield, some still looked to it for fun. A rush that nothing else could provide. "You first my love." Zen looked to Elastor as the revolver slid across the table and he slowly reached for it, the detective's deep brown pools widening.

Elastor... Ela was even considering it?! Was there no way out? Slowly, he ran over the facts again. Impending doom. Regenerating arch-nemesis. Toxin in blood... wait, that was it. Slowly, one by one, the rungs upon the ladder of facts slid together and a plan took shape. And Zenith Howler did the only thing that dwelling drunkenly in casinos had ever taught him to do. He kept his poker face.

There was no way to signal for his comrade to pass the gun, and as much as Zen hated it, in the momentary eternity that came through as the hammer trembled beneath the trigger's pressure and the cold metal of the barrel rubbed against his best friend's temple, he did naught but simply sit and squint to himself, hoping to whatever deity dwelt above them that the man could be spared just for one time. Click. A breath of relief. A stumbling exhalation. Tension in the air dissolving almost immediately. And the first step of his plan coming to fruition.

The revolver ground across the table with a screech as Ela passed it swiftly over to him. Fingers interlocked over his suit-clad lap, Zen laid back in his chair and stared for what felt like quite a while at the pistol as machinations and mechanisms of this contingency he'd formulated ran through his head. Slowly, a steady hand outstretched, and for but a moment, Lieutenant Colonel Howler actually looked... slick.

He grasped the revolver with a smile and rose it up to the pale Amestrian sunlight. "Y'know," Zen began, rolling out the cylinder once more, as was custom when it came to playing Drachman Roulette, and wincing as he saw the round now rolled into the chamber. Elastor was one tiny centimetre gap away from being dragged out of here with an exit wound for a face. Fuck, if Ela died, Alena didn't have her fun, so Zen was pretty much fucked anyway. "Drachman Roulette's a pretty cool game... but," And was it ever a big but.

"In Creta, we play it a lil' diff'rently," Zen grinned like he always did. Blissful. Ignorant. Moronic. Yet, here, he held all the chips. "'Specially in my hometown." The lies flowed forth like a river as Zen unclipped Calamity's holster. Rebecca was too far out of reach. Below table height, slowly, and as subtly as he could, the man's fingers slipped into the holster as dexterously and silently as was possible, drawing the Beretta slowly onto his lap with a grin. "Ya' play with a full semi-auto," The detective smiled. "Ya' point it at whoeva's tryna' fuck ya' over, and ya' pull the trigger til they fall down dead." The smirk. Here he was. Home strait, with his own little spiel. Now it was his turn to bore the fuck out of the opposition. "I call it Brooklyn Roulette." Click. Calamity Jane would strike again, the hammer thumbed back and the metallic sound signalling the engagement of the pistol's full system, prime, locked, loaded. Safety off. "Cause, Alena, ya' forgot one thing."

Leaping from his seat with his face tense and paling, Zen shot upwards and drew his leg, snagging it intentionally upon the underside of the table. In an instant, he'd overturned it, the simple, yet elegant, round table smashing and toppling over as the revolver clattered and skidded away. With his arm by his side, the brown-haired man twisted forwards and thrust the Px4 out like an extension of his own body, pulling the trigger. Crack. Crack. Crack. Precision didn't matter at this range. It didn't have to. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Zen wasn't looking for signs of life or anything. He knew this bitch could recover from point blank shots. His aim was just to put as many as he could in her before she got back up, aiming up, down, right, left; wherever she dodged or fell, his gun was there, aiming, ready, waiting. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. He'd lost count of how many times he'd pulled the trigger, how many times the gunshot had racked through his wrist and the slide cracked backwards only to re-align itself. Crack. Crack. Crack. No mercy. Crack. Crack. Crack. Only hazel fires blazed inferno in those tumultuous vortexes the investigator called eyes. Crack. Crack. Click.

Masses of gunsmoke trailed upwards as the gunshots' echoed slowly faded from the air. He couldn't see. Clammy sweat engulfed his body. He could hardly believe he'd just done it, but at the back of his mind, tendrils of thoughts lanced outwards affirming the fact that he'd just emptied an entire twenty-round clip in the direction of the Sekretar of Drachma. The pistol stayed an extension at the end of his arm for but a moment as his pants grew louder and louder, more and more hoarse, haggard more with every waking breath. The sound of metal scraping against leather, handgun holstered. A dry swallow. Grimy fingers raking at his face and dabbing away beads of sweat. The cry of a blackbird outside. Then, silence.

"I'm O-negative, bitch."

[Guest]

The beautiful sin sat there in an elegant fashion, waiting patiently for the man to pick up the gun and point it to his head. The moment was intense and the room was silent as they all sat around the table waiting for the moment. Her eyes were dimly narrowed as she watches from her side of the table. Both hands were laying down softly in her lap as she watches with intensity, as he takes one final breath before pulling the trigger.


Click.

He was saved. It was his lucky day after all, and it looks like fate still hand plans for Elastor Ito. The woman nods her head and smiles faintly at the boy who she despised. Elastor hands the gun over to his partner in crime, Zen, and it was to be determined if fate was on his side as well.

"Y'know," Zen was over confident with his grin on his face and the pathetic excuse of a poker face. "Drachman Roulette's a pretty cool game... but," he pauses for a moment to collect his train of thoughts, or so it seemed that way. Vanity sat there staring at the man dead in the eye, watching him with a firm gaze. He continues to rattle on about Creta the game is played differently. It didn't really matter of course, because in the end the result would still be the same. "Ya' play with a full semi-auto," He gave off detective smiled. "Ya' point it at whoeva's tryna' fuck ya' over, and ya' pull the trigger til they fall down dead." The smirk gave it all away. Everything about his apparent poker face was lost in the game. Here he was thinking he had the advantage in her game. "I call it Brooklyn Roulette."

Click.

It could be heard in the room that was silent. It wasn't a surprise any longer. He had a gun under the table. Within seconds, the man leaps across the table, turning it upside down with his knee and pulls out a massive gun that was firing bullets at the woman. Bullet after bullet hit her body dead on, one after another after another. Just as soon as the bullets hit her body, they fell out and onto the ground. Blood was oozing out of her skin, dripping down the sides of her body. Red electricity was erupting from the pits of her body and engulfing the woman, as she stands back up after the devastating blow from the Brooklyn native. She flips her hair backwards over her shoulder and grins at them both. The entertainment was over with at this point; her distraction was a success for RIOTE. Dietrich wouldn’t be lasting much longer anyways, and for some reason when Elastor pulled that trigger and fate saved him, it broke her. Today it was time to save him instead of killing him.

“Elastor, take this key…” Her voice was weaken and low as she spoke from the midst of smoke that engulfed the small lobby room. “It unlocks my apartment and Dietrich should be waiting there in the master bedroom.” She walks over towards him and drops it at his feet before disappearing out the front door. The game was now over and it was time for her to do what she had planned to do. After all, Hans was waiting for her.

“I’m on my way right now.” She spoke into the phone to the man whom captured the man. Alena jumps into her little sports car and speeds off into the distance.

[Elastor Ito]

Completely still. It was as if the final shudder of the trigger had never even happened. The soft click melded into the quiet, relief draining out of the sloppy man beside him. Ela didn't know what he was thinking. He couldn't even fathom what the outcome would have been had a bullet carved a hole in his skull just then. He'd be dead. So, what would it matter? He didn't allow his thoughts to venture that far, but it was already too late. Quaking hands lowered the gun, unfazed by the lack of bullet. He slid it roughly on the rustic table towards Howler, barely able to gather that his friend was next in line. Suicide. That was all this was. A game. Laugh about it. Stock still again. His breathing came in small shivers, eyes wild, transfixed upon his faint silhouette trapped in the reflection of the table like dice. They were cast, rolling, tumbling over one another in a hissyfit of disaster. It was the end--a smooth layer of life's deceit, laughing catily. Regret latching across skin like burrs sealed into each tendril of thread, lasting longer than anything else the more he was able to sit without moving, think without feeling, and breathe...just another breath.

"Y'know..." Clarity returned in a huff, however the fog remained deep, growing evermore thicker. He was swimming in it, chained to the chair by his own will, ears pining to hear something that would gather the hope up off the dusty cement and hold it to faint sunlight to see. This was what living was. "Drachman Roulette's a pretty cool game... but..." Hope from cotton candy left under the bed so long it turned a musty shade of green? He was worried now. "In Creta, we play it a lil' diff'rently." Ela's sight trimmed to the holster at Zen's side, knowing that he'd rather aim a barrel at the enemy rather than let himself be talked into jabbing it into his own temple. The redhead had nothing to lose. In eighteen minutes he was going to die anyway. It was no bluff, it was fastened in his chest--the sporadic beating of his heart--the effort it took to speak. He knew it was coming. Howler kept yammering about his made up Roulette, finally flipping the table over to reveal what he had in store for the unsuspecting homunculus just trying to kill time--time he didn't have much of. Instead, she'd lose another one of her stocked lives, however inconceivable it was that someone had a functional body leftover after eating lead. He didn't move from his place, finding it harder and harder to draw out any source of energy to utilize in his muscles. Even mildly taken aback, by the sudden table-flipping, he only narrowed his eyes in focus.

"Cause, Alena, ya' forgot one thing," said the fool, drawing out curiosity from the stoic. But what followed first was a slew of shots, emptying the Beretta of bullets into the flesh of the immortal. Buying time. Ela shot his head to the side, watching Zen through the smoke, wisps of hair disheveled over his face. "I'm O-negative, bitch." Blood transfusion. Wh--how? Ever so slightly, dulled lavender eyes widened in surprise. That man had a brain in his head all this time? A far off bird cooed into the midday heat, a flutter of feathers taking flight outside the swiveling doors. It was like...they were waiting to see her come alive again. He rose to his feet, immediately dizzy. They had to move--to escape. Dietrich was somewhere in the building. They could pry open the door. He swayed into Zen, colliding with him when he was under the impression that he was walking a straight line. A faint curse escaped his lips, a hand raising to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezing closed. Willing it away wasn't working this time.

"I'm sorry," he muttered incoherently, stumbling away with a disturbed glare and an onslaught of coughs. A wall of shimmering ocean current winged up towards the ceiling, falling over honeycomb shoulders with holes one could see though. Healing right before his eyes, Vanity grinned like nothing had taken place. She was...entertained. All about her it leaked, wafting like the red flecks of pure, inhuman power. They weren't getting out of this one.

Her smile turned to him. “Elastor, take this key… It unlocks my apartment and Dietrich should be waiting there in the master bedroom.” Bewildered, he stared at her, a look of shock making a nest on his face. How could she-- All the cards handed over as if she intended it all along. It wasn't a game; it was a cruel, cruel joke. Ela laughed, a cold-hearted, empty laugh that sounded more like he was coughing, icy blue eyes ablaze in anger. The key clinked at his feet, her form retreating in the corner of his eye. A hollow sound. Lost in the smoke. Gone beyond sight. His knees buckled, his hand touched the key, he looked up distantly at Zen, and collapsed over sideways.

[Permission to bunny Ela.]

[EXIT THREAD]

[Guest]

Upon the helo, she sat. There wasn't a thing she could see, but she could stay there and wait for something to affect her. How could someone expect a person to notice her if she were invisible? Even in the waves of war, she was unseen, as if she never truly existed, as if she were never IN the country. Instead, she was at home, sitting and staring out the window. Watching life pass by through a glass and even then, it was nothing of interest. Time went on, she never changed. The woman of a good height simply sat there, somewhat awkwardly. Blue eyes gazing brightly at the world, but through tunnel vision of one eye, it was difficult. Instead of two lines of sight, there was only really one. The other caused a vague pain once in a while, but what kind of girl walked around with a monocle? The wind blew scents of blood and sweat. Where exactly was she at? A sigh, a hoist and she found herself in the helicopter.

Her precision led her to the pilot. Gently tapping his shoulder, she leaned in and spoke in a loud whisper. "Take us around." Though the man gave an odd expression, he nodded once and shouted for her to take her seat. The woman didn't argue and fell into place, snapping the buckle with a 'click'. Her heart beat slow as a drum as the vehicle swept up and moved. Again, the world through a looking glass. A clear barrier that let her see her way out and not a person to look in.

The others.. where were they? Zen, That man... what was his name? Morgana...? Hell, even Pancake(though that thought dispersed nearly as quickly as it formed). She wondered how they fared; if they were okay, if they were even alive. Though, insane as they were, She was concerned. Misplaced worries as they were, they were still her co-workers.. even if all of them hated her guts, likely. Especially her boss. Zen seemed to despise her to the point he even avoided her in most cases. It wasn't like she blamed him.. just that she noticed. Then again, she wasn't exactly happy with him. It wasn't a grudge it was simply.. distrust. A man comes to your rescue and leaves you there almost like torture. It didn't matter she didn't want rescued anyways. Next time, she was sure she'd just die of whatever was going to kill her as opposed to dying of embarrassment.

Most of it was Pancake's fault though. That self-centered egotistical bastard who believed he was better than her. Oh how she couldn't STAND him, but hey.. it wouldn't be Creta if he wasn't around anymore. Alas, shit happened. Wasn't that the phrase. If they died.. well then.. it was one more funeral. How was the king though? Lord Dietrich? Her eyes dipped. He was in danger because she was too weak. They all were in danger.

Fingers felt the gentle curve of a radio. A twitch to turn a knob and only make static louder in her ears, like soft crackling pops. Her eyes closed and she sighed. Nothing. Not an inkling of knowledge leaked from the mechanical hunk of junk. Useless! Useless technology. She growled under her breath, then turned her eyes to the world. What should she do? What was there to-

Out of the apartments came a flair of moving blue hair.. something that looked familiar. "Land on that building."

"Ma'am that's not a landing site."

Deity stared at him a moment and then back out the clear glass. Her pilot grumbled and maneuvered it. "Alright, then hold on." She didn't listen until 'turbulence' sat in. "I can't actually land here. The building will collapse, likely." Deity nodded and unsnapped her seat belt. "I suggest you take this." He managed to fumble with one hand, pushing a revolver into her fingers. Wha-why? She didn't argue and nodded, while prepping herself. A rope ladder kicked down and rolled to a dangling position.

Going down was never as fun as climbing up. Deity could barely find a foothold as she stepped down the swinging ladder, only to find herself slipping he last few holds and falling on her ass. The gun skit across the concrete roof a good couple feet away, but not out of her reach. Clumsily, she fumbled for it, getting back up on her awkward heels. Her breath slipping a bit, while she moved herself to the door. There was always one. Trying to simply open it would never work.

Step back, aim and BANG! She shot off the lock and pried the door open. She nearly fell as her body still recovered from her fall. After a few seconds, she was back on her feet, zipping down the stairs to check for any bodies. A gun poised and pointed up, tucked close to her chest. What was going on in this building that THAT woman had fled. She believed it had to be her. The one who had tried to kill Dietrich before. No one else had such hair.... right? Through the stairs and all the way down the building, aiming to chase that blue-haired she-devil. However her heels stopped in their tracks once she hit the lobby and found blood... everywhere.... Wh-what the hell had--? Her eyes shot towards a figure still moving and her gun pointed. Her trigger figure twitching as she unloaded a bullet towards the moving figure. Of course her aim was off, she was blind in that eye and it simply hit the wall, before she blushed. Oh- Shit.. friendly fire.

Calming her panicked nerves, she gave an odd sort of 'well damn' look and turned to survey the scene. "What happened?" Was of course the first thing the woman spoke, before she ran to the body and felt for a pulse. Faintly it beat in her fingers. "We need- A medic- A way- We need..." Okay she couldn't think straight at the moment. Deity wasn't exactly calm under all this chaos. Taking a second to breathe, she looked at Zen for guidance, he WAS her boss, after all. Even if, she didn't believe it at times. Though he seemed to dislike her, he was the leader in this situation. "There's a helicopter on the roof. I think the elevators still work, it would only mean walking one set of steps... What.. what do I do?"

Humbleness, fear and confusion was all mixed in her eyes. She wasn't prepared for these demons. Her head hurt even thinking. Likely he'd just be pissed about the whole almost shooting him thing, but at the moment, she didn't care. Repercussions could come later. She just couldn't. Hold back the tears.. swallow them up. This was all her fault- wasn't it? She had ordered the retreat and now people were going to DIE because she had made a fluke. Oh the terrible feeling of dread sunk in.

[Guest]

"I'm sorry." The mumble didn't faze the detective. He held his stare fast and lowered the pistol to its holster, immediately swapping over for the shotgun. Slowly, a rhapsody of dull clink sounds filled the room as the squashed and misshapen bullets, bloodied and bent, fell back to the floor and flesh sewed itself back together, skin knotting back into sinew, and before long, Alena stood once more, brushing herself down with a sigh. Zen rose the shotgun's sights up to eye-level with a growl. He had all day to play executioner - but Ela didn't. “Elastor, take this key… It unlocks my apartment and Dietrich should be waiting there in the master bedroom.”

The smoke faded and she pushed through, handing a key to the auburn-haired guard. Zen didn't even get a second look. He didn't care, keeping the barrel of the shotgun trained on her all the while as she moved past; obviously not keen to take more rounds to the midsection, she simply made her way through and left. Better things to do. He didn't mind the fact that she was leaving them - after all, even with just Elastor and Dietrich, he had his hands full - but he was damned if they were all buddy-buddy and he wasn't taking precautions. "Well, that was a surprisin' success, eh, Ela?" Click. The door shut once more. The key clattered to the floor. Only silence in response. "Ela?" The guard's knees buckled and he teetered off to the side; immediately, the detective let the Remington clatter against the apartment's floorboards and dove down to ensure his comrade didn't do himself any more damage with a fall like that, grabbing him and letting him down against the floor gently. "Fuck."

Fuck was an understatement. He needed syringes now. Ela's blood was poisoned and he had minutes before he went critical - Zen knew the man wouldn't make the hour without some form of help. He swept up the key with a grunt and looked swiftly from side to side. What would he... what could he... anything!?

CRACK. The first one was muffled, but the second flash came from the hallway as the sound of footsteps heralded it. Gunfire lit up the room and Zen ducked instinctively, the round drilling into the wall just in front of his head; but Alena was long-gone, and in her place stood... Deity Silver. The last person he'd wanted to see. But the first person he needed to. "What happened?"

"TAKE A FUKKEN GUESS!" Zen snarled. A pause. "Get me a medic, bandages, and needles. This fukken' guy ain't gonna last another ten minutes without it, so hurry tha' fuck up!" He pressed fingers against Ela's neck as his eyes lolled back in his head. His pulse was cold, slowing, but still present and vibrant. The faintest sliver of lavender flickered between trembling eyelids.

"We need- A medic- A way- We need..." A growl erupted in Zen's throat as he tore off his tuxedo and tossed it aside, rolling up his sleeves, grabbing the key and beginning to formulate a plan. He pulled his comrade's arm up around his neck, and with his feet dragging against the floor, moved towards Deity. "There's a helicopter on the roof. I think the elevators still work, it would only mean walking one set of steps... What.. what do I do?"

"Ya' shut tha' fuck up and get this man to the chopper, Captain." Zen pushed Elastor onto Deity without thinking twice. Immediately, the detective spun around, swept up his shotgun, and brandished the key like a blade in his right hands. With a grin, he looked back towards her and rose two fingers to his forehead in a swift salute. His face spoke only one word in entirety: moron. "Because I'm gonna go save our King."

He didn't even wait for a reply before diving up the hall and ascending the stairs. Sekretar Whoreface had said that he was in... her apartment. Master bedroom. Zen sped past her and the unconscious Elastor with a nod as he raced past her and up the stairs, moving to the bedroom door and carrying the shotgun in his swaying hand, cursing as he moved. "Fukken Dietrich." A shrug and he looked to the door, jamming the key straight into the lock and wrenching it open. The natural human odour the man gave off - even just from having been in there from hours at the very most - hit the detective like a wall, reinforced further by the warmth. The Cretan grimaced and moved straight to the bed, spattered with blood.

He'd been laid with his hands over his chest in the same attire he'd been kidnapped in. He was comatose, his chest steadily rising and falling, the room filled with that same eerie silence. He still smelt of chaos and gunpowder; he looked as if he'd been readied for death itself. His pallor was pale and colour and heat were swiftly fading from his body. Stunned into silence for a split-second, the investigator swept down and pulled the man's arm around his shoulder, wrenching him up and moving straight for the door.

Deity had a head-start on him, heading for the chopper. Zen grinned with what little might he could muster, looking to the deep blonde hair of the monarch and gritting his teeth. No way was some Captain getting the best of him. He spluttered and felt the singed, wrecked remainders of his lungs tense up in pain, his muscles sore as they'd ever been and his veins burning as they pumped battery acid.

The stairs felt neverending and the quartet walked for what seemed like all eternity as they made their ascension up above. The fresh light was almost blinding, washing over them in a wave as they finally surfaced, the continuous, rhythmic rotating of the chopper blades providing a dull thudding beneath the man's blinking. A grin stretched onto his face. Salvation. For a moment, he just absorbed the splitting walls of air washing over him and slamming into him, as horrid as it made him feel.

Then, suddenly, reality came flooding back; a look of concern as he looked to Elastor once more, paling with every moment. Then back to Dietrich.

Finally, Zen made the biggest and only call he could. He set the monarch down upon the floor. He rolled up his sleeve. He waited for a medic to descend from the helicopter. And he looked down to his friend in his subordinate's arms. Because he'd be fucked if he was saving Dietrich over Elastor, treason or not.

[Guest]

Well the situation was less than smooth. Her boss was clearly not pleased to see her there and lashed out viciously, she supposed she should have expected it. Nevertheless, she'd accept his rather cruel words with a grain of salt, because, well there was a connection between the two that she didn't understand. She probably never would, she wasn't exactly emotionally attached to anything or anyone in the same way. Detached from the world, but duty was what was needed and what would be done. A body was shoved at her. "Ya' shut tha' fuck up and get this man to the chopper, Captain." Bad call. She disagreed with it immediately. Moving a body that was so close to death could possibly hasten it.. when not having the proper equipment. A human body was not the proper equipment. However, it was his call ad she would be damned if she let what she thought overrule the words of a high-ranking officer.

Leaving him there was likely to kill him almost as easily as jostling him, but the real question was- How was he dying? Without that, she didn't have any right to think on her own. The pain sinking in her chest became an anxiety that rolled over her every thought. This man, was going to die if she hesitated. Thoughts racing a thousand miles per hour. She adjusted, trying to shift Ela's body into a more comfortable position. Her gun, she threw it to the side, focusing solely on carrying the man. Her higher-up ran off to 'save the king'. This mission was all over, just terrible. Were others faring better? Who knew? She couldn't think and instead just let instinct and adrenaline power her legs. Her body carried her swiftly up the stairs, though lugging a body was rather difficult (especially in her somewhat-heels). A couple times she could feel her ankle almost breaking. It was not an outfit made for heavy lifting (not saying that Elastor was fat of course, he was simply dense, being a human). As she finally reached the top of the building, then came another conundrum.

Carrying a body up a set of ladders without falling.. seemed almost impossible. The only reason she'd done it before, was the rope ladder was within an easy step away, but now her body felt a bit tired. She had to deal though, not wishing to hear the foul lip of the man once again, she hoisted herself up and shakily managed by a miracle to pull the man up into the copter. Her body nearly collapsed over from fatigue, mainly the mental lapsing of anxiety. This was all so.. ridiculous. She was strained and on the brink of tears. This man.. should he die would be dousing the only ray of light that Deity sincerely had ever seen. A falter in her whole being as she straightened and cleared her throat. Barking orders loudly. "I need medics NOW. Any available in here, move it!" She declared, placing his unconscious body upon one of the medical cots they had ready.

"What's wrong with him?" Someone stammered. Deity didn't know.. She didn't know a THING. Not what was going on, where the king was or even if this man would make it. "Figure it out. Keep him alive!" her voice ordered, demanded. She wouldn't tolerate another loss. It was too much as it was.

"Keeping him alive and keeping him functional two separate things!" A glare shot across the room and the man staggered, racing to pull out medical supplies. Some items spilled upon the floor, scattering everywhere, while Deity grabbed one medic by the shoulder. "You. You need to go help Lieutenant Colonel Howler. Whatever it takes, go. NOW!" The woman said, stoic expressions belying the desperation in her voice. The man scurried to find Zen. Fear was in the air and Deity could do nothing, but watch over the medics. It was depressing, worrisome and all around, she was drained. Her body throbbed, ankles mainly.

Something bothered her, a worrisome feeling that pulled at her heart. Inwardly she was crying, sobbing even. Feelings... she wasn't used to them. She hated them, the way they made her throat feel swollen, her heart hurt. The pain. Would it shut off if he was okay? Something inside her spoke. I'd rather feel pain, if it means you live... Her mind wandered.. was Zen okay? Probably. The man was stubborn as all hell. He may have been sloppy, but he managed to live somehow, this long.

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