Round 50

The woman in the suit descends like a predator stalking prey, her voice echoing unnaturally in the confined space of the alley. Two hooded figures emerge from a van—identical robes, symbols glowing on their forearms. The same kind that nearly gutted me last night.

I lean against the cold brick wall, wings tucked close, trying to project calm when everything inside is screaming. This situation has gone from bad to catastrophic in seconds—naked in an industrial hellhole with soldiers aiming guns at us and new players arriving who make those cultist fuckers from last night look like amateurs. The tall woman in the tactical suit descends like she owns the place, voice echoing unnaturally.

I watch Silra approach her with calculated casualness—like this is just another business negotiation instead of being caught naked between armed soldiers and those glowing cultists again. Fine. If everyone wants a show of cooperation while I assess threats—

The woman stops mid-sentence, head snapping toward Hera with predatory focus. "Silence," she commands, voice echoing unnaturally in the confined space. "You are not addressed." Her attention shifts back to Silra, symbols on her suit pulsing brighter as she advances another step closer.

I snap at the robed figures, "Lower your hoods and explain what the fuck is going on here!"