Round 99 Transcript

Ms. Stone's patience snaps—she gestures sharply. "Enough." The soldiers move in unison: Two grab Halia, two grab Hera and Abby, a third aims his rifle at Silra and Jeane.

I drop to my knees, pressing my palms together in prayer despite the absurdity of it—naked and terrified between corporate soldiers and whatever those robed freaks are. Lord, grant me strength and wisdom to de-escalate this situation without compromising my sisters or betraying your teachings. I will not run. I will not fight. I will not be separated from these women who need guidance even if they won't admit it.*

[Halia | Cleric]
I fall to my knees, pressing my palms together in prayer despite the absurdity of it—naked and terrified between corporate soldiers and whatever those robed freaks are. Lord, grant me strength and wisdom to de-escalate this situation without compromising my sisters or betraying your teachings. I will not run. I will not fight. I will not be separated from these women who need guidance even if they won't admit it.

This is a test of faith—a trial by fire that could consume us all. Jeane's rage is palpable, Silra calculating escape routes in her head no doubt, Hera and Abby barely holding it together. I'm the only one here with any concept of restraint or redemption. Time to act like it.

Ms. Stone thinks she can intimidate us into compliance? The tall woman's cold amusement won't break our spirit—not if I can help it. Even if these fuckers do process us, at least we'll go through it together instead of scattered and vulnerable.

I close my eyes, focusing on the prayer despite the fear crawling up my spine like ice water. The soldiers' boots shuffle nervously—even they don't seem comfortable with this situation. Good. Make them question their orders instead of following them blindly.

The vortex of shadows keeps creeping closer, but I won't let it consume us. Not like this. Not without a fight... or at least an attempt at negotiation through faith.

Lord, give me the words to reach these lost souls before they're irrevocably corrupted.

My wings flare wide instinctively at the sudden movement—soldiers grabbing my girls. This corporate cunt THINKS she can separate us? Divide and conquer some cheap power play? I've spent months building this hierarchy, this dynamic of submission and loyalty. She's not breaking it apart for her fucking convenience.

Abby and Hera scream as soldiers haul them back—Halia still kneeling in prayer like the faithful little thing she is. Gods, she looks so vulnerable down there naked and praying while corporate muscle manhandles our sisters. I need to protect her. Keep her safe. She's MY responsibility.

Silra just stands there with that infuriating smirk even as a rifle aims at her chest—probably calculating every escape route and how many people she can take down before they put her down. Typical rogue arrogance. She might survive this alone, but the rest of us?*

The twin freaks in their matching robes creep closer—something wrong about them. Their shadows don't quite touch the ground right, and those glowing symbols pulse with a rhythm that makes my skin crawl. New players. And they're not backing down despite Ms. Stone's clear authority here.

This is a clusterfuck of threats converging. Military power, corporate control, robed cultists, and now medical staff showing up? Too many variables. I need to assess what these fuckers really want before making a move.

But first—Halia. My loyal little disciple needs me. She's the only reason I'm still playing nice instead of opening a portal beneath our feet and letting everyone fall into whatever hellscape I can reach. Stay calm. Stay focused. Pick your battles.

"I didn't take you for an executioner, Ms. Stone," I call out, voice dripping with contempt.* "Or maybe you're just here to watch while someone else does the dirty work? Not very hands-on for a company executive."

I step forward, positioning myself between Ms. Stone and Halia—barely more than a half-step, but enough to make it clear I'm not just another naked asset to be processed. The soldiers hesitate fractionally, their eyes darting between me and the executive.*

"Separately?" I repeat, voice dripping with contempt.* "You think we're stupid enough to let you pick us off 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?"

I don't flinch from the rifle aimed at my chest—been threatened worse while running cons in back-alley bars. Let them think I'm brave. Brave people are harder to control than scared ones.

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 fire fight 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.