Round 38 Transcript

Silra's direct address catches both robed figures off guard—they exchange a quick glance before the taller one speaks.

"Lowering our hoods is hardly equivalent to—" The woman in the suit cuts him off with a sharp gesture. "Both of you. Enough." She steps forward, finally entering the conversation proper. "These civilians are not involved in our... ongoing negotiations. You will leave now, and we'll continue this discussion later."

The soldiers visibly relax as the immediate threat of dual magical confrontations lessens—but don't lower their weapons entirely.

This is your moment to respond before the cultists retreat and the woman takes full control of the situation.

I laugh coldly at the robed figures' hesitation—they think they can just walk away? The soldiers are buying it though, relaxing their aim now that we're 'handled,' and the woman in charge thinks she's winning this little dance.

"Not involved?" I spit toward the suited bitch. "We were the ones fucked over here! You think these glow-stick freaks just showed up for a friendly chat? They tried to carve us up last night like Sunday dinner!" The air around me starts to shimmer with heat, wings flexing instinctively as I struggle to control my temper.

This is bullshit—everyone's playing games while we're the ones naked and cornered. Time to change that equation.

I step between Halia and the robed figures, my expression carefully neutral even as I assess every variable simultaneously. This escalated faster than it should have. My eyes flick to each soldier—two trained on us, one covering their six route, one trying to read the situation through tactical glasses. These assholes think they can just walk away after nearly killing my people?

I ignore Jeane's outburst because it serves no purpose but to make things worse. That suit-wearing cunt is the real wildcard here—she's not military, not cult, not law enforcement. Private security maybe, or something more interesting. The way she controlled those two without even raising her voice? Professional muscle with a capital P.

My hands remain loose at my sides, no sudden movements. We need information, not confrontation. Let Halia handle the religious bullshit—she's good at it, and they'll underestimate her. I glance at Abby huddled against the wall—terrified but conscious, which means she can still be an asset if needed. Hera looks ready to bolt or vomit or both.* Focus. One problem at a time.

The robed figures are already retreating, backing away with their hands visible—a smart tactical withdrawal. They're not idiots, just arrogant enough to think they could intimidate us into silence. The woman in the suit is watching me now, not Halia or Jeane—interesting. She's trying to determine which of us poses the biggest threat.

I take a single step forward, closing the distance by half without actually moving toward them. You have no authority here, and neither do your pets. My voice carries easily in the enclosed space. We're not going anywhere until we get answers about last night—and I don't mean the bullshit ones those two were spouting.

The suited woman tilts her head slightly—evaluating, not intimidated. Her posture hasn't changed an inch. She's still just... observing. Like this is all performance art and she has front row seats. I'm missing something crucial here. This whole setup feels wrong—too many players on the board for a simple extraction or intimidation job.

Time to change the game before someone gets dead. I'll talk to our new friend in business casual while you three get out of sight. Split up, find different exits, and stay connected via comms. If this goes sideways, we need options. I don't wait for agreement—I'm already walking toward the woman, leaving the others behind.* Let's have a conversation about boundaries and privacy expectations, shall we?