Round 36 Transcript

You all emerge into the gloomy alley one by one, hands raised awkwardly as you shuffle forward in a line. The morning air is cold against your naked skin—you're acutely aware of every exposed inch while trying to maintain some dignity under scrutiny. The woman doesn't move from her position blocking the factory entrance, just watches with that unnerving stillness as each of you files out like prisoners on parade.*

Jeane steps forward first, chin lifted defiantly despite the situation. The soldiers shift their grips on weapons—subtle but unmistakable. "Names," the woman commands without preamble or introduction. "All of you."

The silence stretches for a moment as everyone looks at each other uncertainly. "Now." Her voice carries no warmth, no patience—just cold authority that makes it clear this isn't a request.

Jeane opens her mouth but before she can speak: a sudden commotion from behind. You all turn to see—

Two figures emerge from the van's interior—a man and another woman you didn't notice before. They move with purpose, shoving past Silra who tries to back away too late.

The newcomers are dressed identically: dark robes with hoods pulled low over their faces. But what stops your hearts mid-beat isn't their clothing—it's the symbols glowing faintly on bared forearms as they approach.

I stare at the robed figures advancing with those glowing symbols—recognition and rage hitting me all at once. You two pieces of shit had better start explaining why my own fucking inner circle betrayed us to these glow-worms before I decide this alley needs a new paint job.*

The soldiers shift their aim toward both threats now—clearly not expecting another party to the conversation. The woman in charge hasn't moved, just watches this entire clusterfuck unfold with that same cold assessment as if it's Tuesday and she's bored at the office.

I lower my hands slowly, deliberately, letting my wings unfurl just enough to show I'm not unarmed in this standoff. The leather membrane catches morning light ominously. The symbols on these fuckers' arms look like the ones we saw last night—same magic that nearly gutted us during Silra's little recruitment experiment gone wrong.

I don't care who the hell you think you are, I say, voice carrying across the alley without shouting—cold control over barely restrained violence. But you don’t walk up to someone’s front door uninvited and expect to leave standing when you've clearly pissed off the wrong people twice in twenty-four hours.*

My fingers curl slowly into fists as I watch them stop just out of immediate range—a smart tactical distance, but one that suggests they're not here for conversation either. The air between us crackles with potential energy, and it's not from static.

[Your turn]
The soldiers are now caught between multiple threats—us naked and clearly disturbed, two unknowns in robes obviously packing magic—and trying to maintain control of a situation spiraling out of their usual jurisdiction. The lead one hisses at her partner, "Hold fire unless I say otherwise. These aren't standard hostiles." The woman in charge finally speaks: "This was supposed to be simple handoff, not circus performance." Her eyes narrow as she assesses new variables—clearly reassessing whether this operation is worth the complication.

I lower my hands slowly, palms out and visible—not a threat but not cowed either. This whole situation stinks worse than the alley we’re standing in. Two new players with glowing symbols? The same ones that nearly killed us last night? And now Silra’s selling us out to—what exactly?*

The soldiers are caught between protecting their ‘prisoners’ and facing down unknown magic-wielders, while our mysterious businesswoman looks like she wants to throw everyone into a furnace and call it a day. This isn’t simple betrayal anymore—this is coordinated cleanup with multiple factions involved.

I can’t just stand here naked and exposed while everyone postures. I need to ground myself before this turns into bloodshed we can’t talk our way out of.

Fine. If they want a show of faith, then I’ll give them one—though it better convince someone fast. "Please," I say, voice carrying across the space between us while I sink to my knees in the middle of the alley.* "We’re not looking for trouble. Whatever happened last night was—"

I cut myself off before I say too much. Denying involvement won’t work when we clearly hosted whatever went down. But maybe pleading ignorance to the full scope will at least humanize us compared to everyone else posturing with weapons and magic.

Jeane looks ready to argue, but even she stops mid-sentence when she sees where I’m headed—time for clergy act that might actually save our skins this time. I bow my head slightly, hands clasped in what looks like prayer though it’s more brace against panic. "We’re just trying to help people. Whatever those symbols mean or who sent them—I swear we don’t know anything about that."

It’s a lie by omission at best, but right now I’ll take desperate over principled if it keeps us alive long enough to think. The soldiers exchange glances—the lead one looking skeptical while her partner stays alert for immediate threats. Our mysterious boss watches me with renewed interest, perhaps calculating whether I’m useful or disposable.