Round 70 Transcript

Ms. Stone's voice echoes coldly through the alley, "Two... three..." The twin cultists' symbols flare impossibly bright with her count, casting harsh shadows that make everyone squint.

The enhanced operative strikes first—faster than should be possible. One moment she's circling Silra like a predator, next she has the rogue slammed against the brick wall face-first, arm twisted painfully behind her back. "You're coming with us," she growls low and personal into Silra's ear.

Jeane snarls and starts to unleash her magic—too late. The soldiers react instantly, one rushing forward and driving his rifle butt into the sorcerer's temple hard enough to send her staggering. "No magic!" he barks as she reels.*

Halia prays louder, more desperate now, "Please! We mean no harm to anyone!" But her words are lost beneath the twin cultists' symbols pulsing in unison—four...

Abby whimpers and sinks further down the wall as if trying to merge with it. Hera stands frozen between defiance and terror, knowing she should do something but paralyzed by indecision.

Four.

Ms. Stone steps forward now, her heels clicking ominously on the concrete. "You're making this much harder than necessary," she says, voice dripping with displeasure. "I don't care what you've done—right now, you're liabilities. Cooperate and maybe we can sort this out later without violence."

The enhanced woman twists Silra's arm further. "Don't make me break it," she hisses. "You're coming whether you like it or not."

My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out Ms. Stone's cold words and Halia's desperate prayers. This can't be happening. We were so careful, so discreet...

I watch Silra struggle against the enhanced operative's grip, stomach churning with fear and guilt. If she gets hurt because of us...

Jeane staggers from that blow, wings fluttering wildly as she shakes off the disorientation. Part of me wants to rush over, help her stand, but I'm frozen in place—paralyzed by indecision.

Abby whimpers and sinks further down the wall, eyes wide with terror. She looks small, fragile... like a deer caught in headlights. I want to reach out, tell her it'll be okay somehow even though I don't believe that myself.

The soldiers shift uneasily, clearly not comfortable with this situation but following orders nonetheless. And those cultists, their symbols pulsing in unison like some sick dance...

Four. Ms. Stone's voice echoes through the alley again and I flinch at the cold finality of it. Four what? Counting us off to some unknown fate?

Halia prays louder now but her words are lost beneath that eerie pulsing glow. She looks small, breakable... like a flower bending in a gale. Part of me wants to rush over, shield her with my body.

But I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't think past the primal fear clawing at my throat—

Run. The urge is overwhelming, screaming through every nerve. Run run run away from this nightmare before it's too late—

But where? Where could we possibly go, naked and exposed in the harsh light of day?

No. I have to be brave. Have to do something before those cultists decide we're no use at all.

I take a shaky breath and step forward on trembling legs, forcing myself to meet Ms. Stone's cold gaze head-on. "Please," I hear my own voice say, small but steady. "We can explain. Just... don't hurt them."

The words taste like ash in my mouth. How many times have I said something similar, offering myself up as a sacrifice for the others? And how many times has it ended with me on my knees, broken and bleeding?

This is different. A small, desperate part of me whispers. You're not doing this because Jeane wants you to. You're choosing to protect your sisters.

My eyes flick to Halia, still kneeling in prayer, then Silra fighting against that grip... Abby pressed so hard into the wall she might leave an imprint...

Sisters. The word echoes through my mind and I feel something shift inside me—some long-buried instinct rising up.

I will not let them be hurt. Not if I can stop it.

Even if it means sacrificing myself again, I will find a way to save them from this nightmare somehow.

I just hope whatever fate Ms. Stone has in store for us is better than the alternative...

Because right now? The cult's enemies seem like far less of a threat than the monsters we've become ourselves...

I watch Hera take that brave step forward and my heart clenches with a mix of admiration and pure terror. She thinks she can negotiate her way out of this? That it will be enough to save us all? Oh, sweet naive girl, if only you knew how deep we are in this mess.
Abby (E, Civilian)
I press myself harder against the cold brick wall of the alleyway, feeling its solidity behind my back as if it could somehow shield me from reality.
The soldiers with their guns are terrifying enough on their own, but these new figures—these cultists with their glowing symbols and the woman who exudes an aura of pure menace—they make those soldiers look like children playing dress-up.
I watch as Halia kneels praying between everyone, a picture of serene faith even in this nightmare scenario. It's both beautiful and heartbreaking to see.
Jeane is coiled tight, ready to explode into action at the slightest provocation. I know that rage, have seen it consume her mistress time and again. But here? Now? It could get us all killed.
Hera steps forward, her voice trembling but determined as she offers herself up in some desperate attempt to protect everyone else.
My heart clenches at the sight of Hera's bravery, even as a chilling dread settles deep in my gut. I know what happens when they start negotiating like this, when they think being 'useful' will save them.
The woman in the suit just watches impassively from afar, some kind of corporate overseer who clearly has no intention of getting her hands dirty. Typical, Abby thinks bitterly.
Silra is the only one who seems to have a plan. She catches my eye and gives a small shake of her head—a silent warning not to do anything stupid.
I nod almost imperceptibly back, my mind racing. They need to get out of here. This isn't what they signed up for when they joined the cult, this wasn't part of Jeane's grand plan to corrupt the world one woman at a time. This was supposed to be about power, not capture.
The symbols pulse again, brighter now, more insistent.
I feel my own heart beginning to beat in time with them, an unsettling rhythm that seems to echo inside my chest. No, I think frantically, pressing a hand against the wall as if to anchor myself. Not this. Please, God, not this.
But deep down, I know it's too late for prayers. We're trapped between two kinds of monsters now—one with guns, one with magic—and Abby has no idea which is worse.
Hera stands frozen between defiance and terror, knowing she should do something but paralyzed by indecision.
I take a shaky breath, trying to calm the rising panic in my throat. Think, I command myself. Find a way out before they find a use for you too.*

I snap back to attention just in time to see Silra slammed against the wall—our resident traitor about to get her comeuppance while I was still dazed from that blow. Fuck.

The twin cultists' symbols pulse brighter now, almost painfully bright in the dim alley. The enhanced woman circles Silra again, close enough that her power crackles across the rogue's skin like static electricity—a constant reminder of how outmatched we are.*

Ms. Stone observes from a safe distance, "I must insist you follow proper protocol for asset evaluation." The soldiers shift uncomfortably at this sudden attention—clearly not expecting the enhanced woman to single out one of our captives for interrogation instead of their original targets. One mutters something about 'de-escalation' but falls silent under her glare.*

Decision time: does Halia try to bluff her way through? Offer something of value that might satisfy them but also reveal too much? Or does she attempt to defuse the situation with more prayer and pleas, hoping against hope that moral appeals will work on someone this clearly devoid of empathy?

I watch Silra slammed against the wall and feel a prayer rise unbidden to my lips—not for her salvation, perhaps she’s beyond that now—but for protection over all of us. These people… their symbols pulse with wrongness, and the woman in charge radiates cold calculation that chills me more than any winter wind ever could.

I see Hera step forward, brave girl, but her trembling hands tell a different story. She thinks she can negotiate our way out? The path of light doesn’t work that way—there’s no deal to be struck with shadows. Abby shrinks against the wall like a frightened rabbit, and God help me for thinking it, but I understand the impulse all too well. And poor Jeane… her rage is a beacon, drawing attention we can ill afford. She doesn’t see how every lash of those wings makes us targets.

I lower my head further in prayer, not submission, never that—strategic concealment while I sort through this mess. The soldiers are just pawns following orders; their uncertainty works to our advantage if handled right. These twin cultists… they move too much alike, think too much alike. Identical siblings or something worse? The magic on them feels wrong—forced, desperate, like they’re barely containing something that wants out.*

But the real threat? That enhanced woman circling Silra like a predator. I’ve seen her kind before: military experiments gone wrong, sold to the highest bidder and now… this. Loyal to whoever feeds her power. She’s not after us—at least not yet—but she’ll get there if given reason. The question is whether we can avoid that or if Jeane’s temper will make it inevitable.

I open my eyes slowly, already formulating a plan. First things first: de-escalation.

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 in an alley, soldiers aiming guns, 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 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 clearly uncomfortable with this escalating situation—good, use that. The twins? Identical fuckers with matching glowsticks and no facial expressions worth reading.

Ms. Stone? Observing from afar like this is performance art rather than actual crisis management. Amateurs all of them, even the enhanced one who thinks circling Silra will intimidate us. I know better—she’s profiling each of us, determining threat levels and disposal options.

Fuck Halia and her hero complex. If she gets herself killed trying to play savior, that’s on her—but I’m not dying for this shitshow. Not like this.