Round 73

Ms. Stone’s eyes narrow as Halia continues her silent prayer—she doesn't miss much, and this sudden display of piety clearly registers as suspicious rather than sincere. "Asset evaluation," she repeats slowly, "isn't something to be avoided through religious posturing." The enhanced operative twists Silra’s arm higher, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the rogue. "Last chance for cooperation before I lose patience," she growls low enough that only Silra can hear—though everyone present feels the threat in those words.

Halie lowers her head further, hands clasped tight, though it’s no act of submission. These symbols pulse wrong—violated magic that chills me to the core. The woman in charge? She smells of blood and bureaucracy, a predator wearing a suit instead of robes. Silra slammed against brick… our resident viper finally snared by something sharper than herself. Good riddance, maybe, but not like this—not dragged away while we watch helpless. The soldiers shift uncomfortably—useful uncertainty among the ranks.

The rhythmic pulsing of those twin symbols fills the air between heartbeats—an unnatural cadence that makes Silra’s skin crawl despite the lingering heat still thrumming through her veins. She watches as Halia kneels praying, something between disgust and respect flickering through her. The enhanced operative twists her arm higher, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the rogue. "Last chance for cooperation before I lose patience," the woman growls low enough that only Silra can hear—though everyone present feels the threat in those words.

Jeane snaps back to full 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 Silia 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 on your full cooperation."

Abby presses herself harder against the cold brick wall of the alleyway, feeling its solidity behind her back as if it could somehow shield her 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. She watches as Halia kneels praying between everyone, a picture of serene faith even in this...

You emerge naked into the factory, hands raised. "Names," the woman commands coldly.