Round 32 Transcript

As the soldiers begin herding them toward a waiting vehicle—an unmarked van with tinted windows—the civilians watching from nearby homes and businesses start to take out phones. One soldier mutters something into her radio as they move, "Targets complying. Transport vehicle in position."

A new complication: A familiar-looking woman emerges from across the street—a journalist, one of those vultures who's been sniffing around about the cult. She spots them being escorted and starts shouting questions while filming.* "Is that the Cromwell Cult? Are these women being arrested? What charges are we looking at here?"

The lead soldier immediately moves to block her view, but not before several more phones capture clear shots of the group being led away. The situation just escalated from 'routine arrest' to 'public spectacle.'

This is exactly the kind of attention we don't need right now—civilians filming us, a journalist asking questions. The soldiers are clearly uncomfortable with this turn of events; their professional facade cracks as they try to shield us from view while still maintaining control. I can almost smell their panic—unexpected complications like this throw off their carefully choreographed routine.

Time is suddenly our most precious commodity. The longer we stand here, the more footage gets recorded, the harder it becomes to spin this situation back into something manageable. Halia and Hera look terrified—they're civilians who've never dealt with the kind of scrutiny that comes from being a 'public figure' in the underworld.

Silra? She's probably calculating how many people need to die for this to disappear completely. I can work with panic, I can manipulate fear—it's the uninvolved third parties that pose the real threat here. A dozen phone cameras capturing our faces, our naked bodies, the armed escorts... all of it documentation we can't afford.

Let them think we're compliant for now—sheep led to slaughter is a powerful image. The soldiers want us isolated and out of sight? Fine. We'll let them lead us where they want, then we'll take back control when they least expect it.

I feel exposed and vulnerable under these soldiers' cold stares—they're not looking at us as people but as problems to be managed. This isn't justice; it's cleanup. The crowd filming us makes my stomach churn—all those phones capturing our faces, our nudity, this moment of humiliation and fear.