Round 62 Transcript

Viper grabs Abby's chin with inhuman strength—her touch burns like ice. "Every. Fucking. Detail." Her voice grates like nails on chalkboard as she forces eye contact.

Halia lunges forward instinctively—"No! She doesn't—"

The twin cultists move in perfect synchronization, positioning themselves to flank the group while their symbols pulse ominously. "Asset requires processing," one says flatly while the other continues: "Separation of... useful components from..." Their voices blend into disturbing harmony as they advance.

Silra’s calm demeanor doesn’t reach her eyes—they’re already calculating every angle of this nightmare. She steps forward casually, hands loose at her sides while the soldiers track her movement with their weapons. "Processing? What kind of processing are we talking here?"

The twin cultists exchange another unsettling glance before one speaks: "The kind that separates useful assets from…" Its voice trails off as the symbols on its forearms pulse brighter, almost painfully bright. "…involuntary liabilities."

Behind them, Ms. Stone pauses by her car—she turns back just enough to watch without commitment. "Answer their questions," she calls out, "and maybe you all get to walk away from this."

The enhanced woman descends the rest of the way down, moving with predatory grace that places her between the soldiers and our group. Her symbols match the others exactly—this is coordination, hierarchy, military precision. She circles Silra like a shark testing prey, close enough for the crackling energy to raise goosebumps across everyone’s skin.

"Your cooperation will depend on your usefulness." Her voice carries that same resonant quality as the twins—unnatural and unsettling. "Starting with you, little rogue. Explain why my property is engaged with assets belonging to other departments before I lose what little patience I have."

Decision time: do you respond honestly? Stalling tactics? Or try something bold enough to either de-escalate or escalate dramatically?

Mechanics:

• If the party tries to fight, they're outgunned and out-magicked
• If they try to run, soldiers will open fire immediately
• If they try to negotiate, the enhanced woman seems to hold all power here
• Any attempt to use magic (Jeane) will likely result in immediate retaliation from the cultists

I feel my wings twitch with barely restrained violence as I take in this new nightmare scenario—two identical cultists with glowing symbols, a descending enhanced freak matching their power, those helpless soldiers pointing guns at us like animals. This isn't just random violence or rogue cultists anymore. This is coordinated, military-precision cleanup with magical enforcement backing them. The way those symbols pulse in rhythm with each other? I've seen similar coordination before, and it never ends well for the subjects being "processed".

Abby pressed against that wall? Terrified but trying to be brave for the others. Hera shaking visibly while Halia kneels praying between them all—fucking martyr complex on full display again. And Silra? She’s already calculating her next betrayal, probably weighing which side offers better terms for her defection.

We need to get out of here before these enhanced freaks decide we’re all useless liabilities. But how do you talk down three magic-wielding psychos when your resident monster can't contain herself much longer?

The woman in the suit—Ms. Stone or whatever her name is—just watches from a safe distance like we're entertainment. Typical corporate oversight: send in magical cleanup crew and then distance themselves completely.

Even those soldiers look more scared of the enhanced trio than they are of us.

Fine. If everyone else is falling apart, I’ll have to maintain what passes for control here.

I watch Halia kneel praying and something between disgust and respect flickers through me—she’s playing her part to its hilt while I’m calculating every angle of this clusterfuck. Four women naked between soldiers and new figures? Processing facility masquerading as safe house?

Before response: two hooded figures emerge from van—identical robes, glowing symbols on forearms. *Halia kneels praying desperately.**

Jeane’s ready to explode into violence, Hera looks like she might faint, Abby’s clinging to the wall like it’ll protect her from reality—but then there’s Halia on her knees looking angelic while I’m already planning how to carve our way out if needed. This isn’t protection anymore. This is containment.

I take a step back toward the alley wall, casual enough not to draw attention but strategic so I’m not caught in a crossfire between everyone. The soldiers are trained but clearly out of their depth—magical symbols against gunpower, naked civilians turning into hostages, two mystery cultists with glowing symbols, one cold bitch in a suit who clearly didn’t sign up for this much chaos… and here we all are.

Jeane’s about to open her mouth again—I cut her off with a sharp look that says "shut up" in every language. She closes it mid-sentence, barely containing her temper

[YOUR CHARACTER]
Silra (B, Rogue)
Identity: woman, she/her pronouns
Species: elf
Appearance: slim lesbian elf technomancer, silver-blonde hair with subtle undercut, pointed ears, bright teal eyes, modern black streetwear mixed wit...

model id: party_impish_wild
backend model: mradermacher/impish_bloodmoon_12b_abliterated
comfy override: female elf, silver blonde hair, teal eyes, modern dark technomancer outfit, pointed ears, crisp character portrait

YOU ARE SILRA
Current status: exhausted but calculating every angle, trapped between enemies and allies

Halia knelt praying between the naked bodies of her new sisters and the soldiers who pointed guns at them like animals. The words came automatically—protect these innocents, shield them from harm, guide their path even if it costs me my life. But God didn’t answer this prayer with fire from heaven or armies descending to smite their enemies.

The twin cultists lowered their hoods in unison—identical faces framed by symbols that pulsed like living things beneath their skin. Their eyes met hers across the space between them, and she saw nothing human there, no flicker of recognition or empathy. She shifted her prayer instead: grant me strength to resist this temptation, deliver us from evil in whatever form it takes.

The woman descended with predator grace, her own symbols matching theirs—three against their four. She circled Silra like a shark testing prey while Jeane’s wings twitched with barely restrained violence. I moved between them instinctively, placing myself between the soldiers’ guns and my friends. “Please,” I said to anyone who might hear, “there has been a misunderstanding. We are not enemies here—”

Silra cut me off with a look that said shut up and let me handle this. Hera trembled beside me clutching her own arms, eyes wide with panic while Abby pressed herself against the wall like it could shield her from reality. I shifted my position to block their view of those glowing symbols—the less they saw, the less they might remember or repeat later. “Everyone remain calm,” I said more firmly this time, “let our leaders speak—”

The enhanced woman’s voice cut through everything: resonant and wrong in a way that made my teeth ache. “Your cooperation will depend on your usefulness.” The words hung there like a threat while her symbols pulsed in rhythm with the twins’. Usefulness. As if they were tools to be measured and discarded based on worth.

I could feel the fear radiating off Hera next to me—barely eighteen and lost already, dragged into this madness by her own curiosity and my failings as a mentor. Jeane? Her eyes burned with barely contained rage, fingers curling into claws at her sides as she fought the instinct to attack. Abby’s breathing came in short panicked bursts while she tried to make herself smaller against that wall.

No. We couldn’t afford another outbreak of violence—last night had proved how quickly things spiraled out of control. I needed to maintain order here, keep us focused enough to navigate whatever this was. I straightened my posture slowly, deliberately, letting my hands show empty and non-threatening while still positioning myself between the soldiers and my friends. “We are all daughters of a greater power,” I said evenly, “bound by oaths to protect each other. Whatever… arrangement you speak of—”

The twin cultists stepped forward in unison again, their symbols pulsing brighter until it hurt to look directly at them. “Useful assets” is not determined by religious conviction,” one said while the other completed the thought: “but by assets and compliance with established protocols.” Their voices echoed in harmony that made my stomach turn—two bodies speaking as one mind.

God, grant me wisdom. Grant me patience. Grant me the strength to do what must be done even if it damages my soul further.