Round 100 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.

"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.

"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.

I scream as rough hands grab me, dragging Hera and I away from Jeane and Silra.
The soldier's grip is like iron on my arms, his fingers digging into my skin, making my knees weak with fear.
Hera struggles beside me, her body pressed close to mine for comfort but it does little against the overwhelming panic rising in my throat.
All I can think about are those robed figures watching us impassively—the ones with glowing symbols on their chests. They look like something out of a nightmare, and I press closer to Hera, trying to make myself smaller.
The tall woman—Ms. Stone, they said her name was—watches our struggle with cold indifference, as if we were nothing more than objects being sorted for processing.
I can see the terror in Halia's eyes as she kneels on the floor, still praying despite everything. Her faith seems pointless now, but I feel a strange envy for that calm acceptance of what’s happening to her.
Silra just looks annoyed at being aimed at by a gun. The woman is crazy; how can anyone be so relaxed in this situation?
Jeane—her anger is palpable even across the room. She’s like a caged animal ready to strike, but she doesn’t move, just watches with those intense eyes as we’re pulled apart from her.
I want to call out for them, to tell them I'm sorry we couldn't hold together, that this isn't my fault, but all I can do is whimper as the soldier hauls me through a set of heavy metal doors.

Fucking hell. This corporate bitch thinks she can just waltz in and separate us like we're some kind of... asset to be processed?

I watch Halia kneeling there, praying like the loyal little thing she is—vulnerable as shit but refusing to back down. Gods, I love her for that. Stupid brave idiot.

The soldiers grab Hera and Abby—the two least useful in a fight right now, of course. Typical. Their screams echo off the concrete walls as they're dragged away from Jeane, who looks ready to tear someone apart just for touching her girls. Got to keep HER calm. Can't have our resident psycho unleashing hell in here.

Ms. Stone just stands there, all cold indifference and power-tripping authority.
The twins in those creepy robes watch everything with predatory interest—something wrong about them, off-kilter somehow. New players. And they're not backing down despite Ms. Stone's clear "I'm in charge" posturing.

This is a clusterfuck of threats converging. Military power, corporate control, robed cultists, and now medical staff showing up? Too many variables.

Nah—I need more information before making any moves. Let Silra try her usual bullshit diplomacy while I calculate teleport options. One misstep from any of these fuckers, and they all die.

Time to assess what these asshats really want before committing to a course of action.

The lingering scent of sex must be completely erased before anyone else enters the church. My body needs rest but my mind is already calculating how to manage this crisis. The medical facility revealed through secret doors suggests long-term containment plans—something worse than simple processing. Can't let them separate us for that.

I need a way to neutralize these threats without exposing our activities or ending up in one of those rooms.

I can't believe this cunt thinks she can separate us like we're some kind of... property to be processed? My wings flare wide instinctively at the sudden movement—soldiers grabbing my girls. This corporate bitch THINKS she's in charge here?

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. The twins in those creepy robes watch everything with predatory interest—something wrong about them, off-kilter somehow. New players. And they're not backing down despite Ms. Stone's clear "I'm in charge" posturing.

This is a clusterfuck of threats converging. Military power, corporate control, robed cultists, and now medical staff showing up? Too many variables. Nah—I need more information before making any moves. Let Silra try her usual bullshit diplomacy while I calculate teleport options. One misstep from any of these fuckers, and they all die.*

Time to assess what these asshats really want before committing to a course of action.

The lingering scent of sex must be completely erased before anyone else enters the church. My body needs rest but my mind is already calculating how to manage this crisis. The medical facility revealed through secret doors suggests long-term containment plans—something worse than simple processing. Can't let them separate us for that.*

I need a way to neutralize these threats without exposing our activities or ending up in one of those rooms.