Round 82 Transcript

The tall woman's smile doesn't reach her eyes as she regards each of them in turn—assessing value like a farmer checking livestock. "You disappoint me," she says to Ms. Stone, "I thought you were bringing me assets, not... this."*

The soldiers continue their slow advance, the enhanced operative flexes her hands meaningfully, and the new arrival watches with cold amusement. "Perhaps we should demonstrate our seriousness," the tall woman suggests casually.*

A soldier raises the stun gun towards Hera—the youngest and most vulnerable among them. The air crackles with electricity as he prepares to fire.

Jeane feels panic rising in her chest but keeps her face a mask of composure. "Wait!" she blurts out, stepping forward instinctively.* "There must be a better way—"

The tall woman's gaze snaps to Jeane, her expression unreadable. "You have until the count of ten," she says again, voice dripping with bored menace.* "Or we begin... processing."

Tension coils tighter in the room as everyone waits for the next move. The soldiers stand ready, Ms. Stone watches with clinical interest, and Silra remains unnervingly calm despite the escalating situation.

The enhanced operative cracks her knuckles ominously—once, twice—and then a third time. "Boss," she says to the tall woman,* "let me handle one of them. Show what happens to non-cooperators."

The tall woman considers for a moment before nodding slowly. "Make it... instructional." She settles back against the wall, clearly intending to watch.*

The operative's eyes glint with cruel amusement as she steps forward—choosing her target without hesitation.

Halia rises from her prayers, face set with determination. "This escalating violence solves nothing. We’re all daughters of God here—even those who’ve strayed." She moves to stand beside Silra, voice steady despite the thrumming fear in her chest. "There’s a way through this without bloodshed or... processing." Her eyes flick to Ms. Stone and the tall woman—trying to find some shred of humanity beneath their cold calculations.*

Hera steps forward, heart pounding. She meets Halia's eyes, sees the same fear and determination reflected there. Her mouth is dry but she forces herself to speak.

"You... you can't do this," Hera says, her voice shaking only a little. "We're people, not... products. You have to listen to us."

She glances at Ms. Stone, pleading silently for understanding. But the woman's face is cold, unreadable. Hera swallows hard and turns back to the tall newcomer.

"Please," she begs, hating how weak her voice sounds. "We can help you. We have information, skills... just give us a chance to explain."

Hera feels Silra shift beside her—ready to move, ready to fight if needed. But Hera knows that will only make things worse. They need to talk their way out of this somehow.

She straightens her shoulders, trying to project confidence she doesn't feel. "Let's... let's all just calm down and discuss this like adults," Hera says, her voice growing stronger with each word. "We're not your enemies here."

Her eyes dart to the stun gun still pointed at them—and to Halia praying so earnestly behind her. God help them all, but Hera has a feeling they'll need more than divine intervention to survive this.

Abby presses back against the cold wall of the factory, her heart hammering so loud she’s sure everyone can hear it. She watches with wide eyes as Halia tries to reason with their captors and Hera steps up beside her, attempting a brave confrontation.
Her own voice feels trapped in her throat, useless. All Abby wants is to disappear into the concrete, to make herself so small these terrifying women forget she exists at all.
A chill runs down her spine as the tall woman’s gaze sweeps over them again, cold and assessing like a farmer looking for sickly livestock. When it lands on Abby, those eyes seem to pin her in place with their sheer indifference.
She sees Silra shift beside Hera, ready for anything. But what good is being ready when they’re completely outmatched? The soldiers are armed, the enhanced operative looks like she could snap them in half without breaking a sweat, and these two powerful women seem to hold all the cards.
The air crackles with tension as Ms. Stone takes another step closer, her smile now more of a sneer. "You're right," she says, voice dripping with false sympathy, "we do need to discuss this like adults."
Abby flinches at the words, knowing full well that whatever 'adult discussion' is coming next won’t be in their favor. She catches Jeane's eye across the room and sees her own fear reflected back—their leader looking less sure of herself for once.
The tall woman snaps her fingers. "Your time is up," she says, the sound echoing ominously through the cavernous space. The soldiers begin to close in again, their stun guns and batons at the ready.
Abby feels a scream building in her chest, but she knows it would be futile. They need silence now—the silence of obedience if they hope to survive this nightmare.
Her eyes dart around desperately, looking for anything that might offer an escape or a means to turn the tide. But there is nothing—just the cold machinery of industrial processing and their own helplessness.
This is it, she thinks numbly as the first soldier reaches out to grab her arm with gloved hands. This is how we die, naked in some factory hellscape, all because we thought we could be something more than what these people see us as.
The touch on her skin makes her recoil, but there’s nowhere to go. She meets Silra's eyes one last time—a silent apology, a shared dread—and then the world begins to blur into a haze of pain and terror.

I watch Halia praying, thinking she’s wasting her time but admiring her stupid courage anyway. The others are just posturing—the tall bitch at the door wants compliance, not prayers. Jeane’s trying to negotiate like this is a boardroom and not a meat locker full of armed psychos. Hera’s offering herself up like a sacrifice, Abby’s frozen in terror, and I’m running through every escape scenario that ends with us alive.

The enhanced bitch flexes her hands like she wants an excuse to break someone’s neck, and the twin robed freaks just stand there looking identical and unhelpful. Ms. Stone? She's loving this—watching us squirm while she stays behind the soldiers like a coward. And the new tall woman? She’s the real problem here. Cold eyes, casual threat assessment, and that smile says she’s enjoyed this kind of situation before.

We’re naked, outnumbered by armed soldiers, facing two powerful women who see us as assets to be... processed. The lingering scent of sex hasn’t gone unnoticed either—it’s in the air like a fucking perfume and could be used against us. The whole situation is teetering between negotiation and abduction, and I need to figure out which way this falls before someone gets hurt.

Halia kneeling there won't solve shit magically, but it might buy time while I work out our odds. Jeane’s trying to bargain with secrets that half the time she makes up on the spot anyway. Hera and Abby are just distractions—one’s too scared to think straight and the other thinks talking her way out is a thing.

The real question is: do we fight now or play along until we have better options? Because fighting naked against soldiers with tasers and batons sounds like a quick road to sedation and experimentation. But playing along means trusting Ms. Stone not to hand us over completely, which is about as smart as betting on a weather forecast.

The tall woman wants results—either compliance or force. Her little 'ten second' ultimatum is just pressure to make us choose the easy option for her. Except neither choice is actually easy; both are shit sandwiches with extra ass-flavoring.

I need a third option here—a way out that doesn’t involve dying or being someone’s lab rat. Something in this situation has to give leverage if I’m sharp enough to find it. The question is whether any of these dumbasses realizes how fucked we are before it's too late.

I can barely contain my rage at this situation—these corporate monsters thinking they can just... process us like cattle. The soldiers advance with their stun guns and batons, the tall woman watches with cold amusement, and Ms. Stone looks like she’s enjoying our terror. Halia kneeling there praying is useful for one thing only: buying time while I figure out how to turn this around.

Hera stepping forward to ‘negotiate’? Useless—she’s just handing them more reasons to see us as compliant, weak little things. Abby shrinking into herself won’t help either; we need her to snap out of it or she’ll be the easiest one to take down. Silra? At least she looks like she understands this is a threat assessment and not an actual negotiation—her eyes are already calculating escape routes.

The enhanced female operative cracking her knuckles? That’s deliberate intimidation, meant to make us flinch. Well, I won’t flinch. Not while Halia’s looking to me for guidance and the others need leadership more than ever. These corporate bitches think they can just march in here and take what they want? They haven’t dealt with someone like me before.

I need to be smart about this—can't unleash my powers yet, not when there are too many witnesses and security cameras everywhere. But I can certainly plant seeds of doubt, make them question whether we’re worth the effort. Let’s see how they handle a little chaos magic without being obvious about it...

I reach out with my mind, fingers tracing invisible sigils in the air as I begin weaving a subtle spell—one that makes people feel uneasy, like something’s wrong but they can’t quite place it. It’s not enough to cause outright panic, just enough to make them... second-guess their approach.

“You really think this is how you want to handle things?” I ask, voice dripping with condescension as I address the tall woman directly. “Because from where I’m standing? You’re making a huge mistake.”