Round 93 Transcript

The tall woman's expression doesn't change—she remains a statue of cold authority. But her hand moves infinitesimally closer to her own weapon, and the soldiers shift their stance.

"Your 'team' is irrelevant." Her voice drips with contempt. "You will come. Separately." She points to Silra. "Starting with you."

The enhanced operative draws her weapon—a sleek, efficient sidearm that looks utterly lethal in her grip. The twin robed figures finally begin to move, stepping forward in perfect synchronization and spreading out to flank the group.

Decision point: Will the party allow separation? Will they attempt a coordinated escape? Or will they try to bargain further while maintaining unity?

I step between Halia and the approaching soldiers, wings flaring wide—no threat, just a clear physical barrier. The enhanced bitch draws down on us? Fine. Let her.

"Separately?" I repeat, voice dripping with disgust.* "You think we're stupid enough to let you split us up one by one for... what? 'Questioning'? Interrogation? Or are you planning to process us like cattle and ship us off to whatever fucking lab awaits?"

My gaze shifts to the twin freaks—robed, masked, absolutely still except for those goddamn glowing symbols. What ARE you? The air around them feels wrong. Heavy. Wrong.

The tall cunt can think she's in charge all she wants, but this is MY cult. I don't give a shit if she's the CEO of Hell itself—she touches one hair on Halia's head, and I'll turn her into a fucking candlestick.

Silra tries to talk us out of this? Fine. Let HER handle the bullshit diplomacy while I calculate teleport options. One misstep from any of these fuckers, and they all die.

Halia's trembling but standing her ground—I can work with that. The others? Scared shitless. Useful for nothing but absorbing shock in a firefight if it comes to that.

Not MY ideal endgame—preferred to have the whole city dancing naked by now—but if we're doing this, I'm not playing along like some obedient pet.

The tall cunt wants us separated? Fuck her.

"Separately?" I echo, my voice carefully neutral but unable to hide the edge creeping in. This is exactly the kind of bullshit power play I fucking anticipated—divide and conquer, isolate the threats one by one for 'processing.'*

The enhanced bitch with her gun drawn? Predictable. The twin freaks in their glowing robes? Those are the wild cards. And our esteemed leader— Jeane's about two seconds from teleporting us all into a fucking firefight.

I step forward, positioning myself between our vulnerable members and the threat. "Perhaps there's been some... miscommunication within your own ranks?" I suggest carefully.* "We had every reason to believe—"

The tall woman cuts me off with a sharp gesture. "Enough. Your excuses are meaningless." Her voice is like ice. "You will come with us for full debriefing. Now."

My jaw tightens, hands clenching before relaxing deliberately. This isn't the time to argue or run—we need information as much as they do. Let them think we're compliant while we calculate our next move...

"Of course." I force a small smile.* "We understand and will cooperate fully. Isn't that right, team?"

But inside, my mind races: This is beyond simple cleanup—this is corporate asset retrieval with military backing. They don't want us dead; they want us... processed. The twins' glowing symbols pulse with each heartbeat, and the enhanced operative's casual brutality suggests she's done this before.

We can't split up—that leaves us vulnerable to isolation and interrogation. But standing our ground could escalate into violence we can't win. Jeane's barely containing her rage, Silra is calculating escape routes, Ms. Stone is useless... and Hera and Abby are terrified.