Round 74 Transcript

Ms. Stone's patience finally snaps. "Enough of this farce!" She stalks forward, heels clicking ominously on concrete. "You're all coming with me regardless of your… spiritual posturing." With a sharp gesture, the soldiers lower their guns but remain alert.

The enhanced woman steps back from Silra, clearly irritated by the interruption. "Ma'am—"

But Ms. Stone cuts her off coldly. "My way is simpler and less messy than yours. Bind them and transport them to the facility for proper evaluation." She produces a small remote control from her jacket pocket and presses it.

A sudden hiss fills the air as several hidden doorways in the factory walls slide open, revealing—

Fuck. —revealing rows of identical beds covered in sterile white sheets. Medical equipment gleams in the harsh overhead lights. This isn't a processing plant at all; it's some kind of… facility.*

The soldiers move with sudden purpose now that they have orders, advancing on the group while Ms. Stone watches impassively. "You can come quietly," she says without inflection, "or we can make this unpleasant."

I snap back to attention just in time to see Silra slammed against brick—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.*

Halia 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 if played right. The twin cultists move too much alike for coincidence or simple family.

Ms. Stone? Observing from afar like this is performance art rather than actual crisis management. I’m no fool—I know the kind who stand aside while others bleed. And you… enhanced freak with casual brutality. Military experiment gone wrong, probably sold to the highest bidder and now… this.

No. We won’t let these fuckers hurt them—not because of some misplaced loyalty, but because we’re too useful alive. Dead? No value at all. Captured? Used properly? That’s how you build an empire.