Scene #8154: You Can Go Home Again

Owner	Pose
Remee Halcyon	(Posted on the Watch board a while back, cc'ed to any non-Watchies who are joining in) I need to head back home. There's some things that I lost when we had that encounter with Hiromi, and spares are hard to get. The problem is that I am probably not fully welcome at home, and that unwelcome is coming from the nine other werewolves that live there. So this likely won't be a casual visit. So I could use some backup. Halcyon House is at the edge of a town called Huntsend. Huntsend is pretty remote, you can expect a twenty minute drive from the nearest warpgate, and there's just the one road going in. On all other sides there's a lot of heavily forested wilderness. Unless someone has a better plan, we're just going to go straight in. Take the main road through Huntsend, drive right on up to the front door, and once we're done we'll head back out the same way we came. It'll be easier to get everything out with a vehicle instead of trying to stealth everything out through the woods on foot - especially while trying to avoid pursuing werewolves. On that note, I've tried to time this trip for when as much of my family is out as possible. If we're lucky we'll see only three: my aunt Octava, and my youngest and oldest brothers Doreton and Tidon. I don't know if Dad's in or out that day. Doreton's a prosecutor, and he's not as physically strong but he has a better grip on the whole Big Bad Wolf thing than any of us, so be careful if we're facing him. Tidon's working as a military contractor and he's usually always armed with something. Dad doesn't have a specialty, but he's an experienced full-blooded werewolf so just keep your distance. This is meant to be a simple retrieval mission - if you think we have an opportunity to do more than grab and run we can give it a shot, but there'll be better opportunities later to deal with the other Halcyons one at a time.
Remee Halcyon	Today's the day. The assembly point isn't in Huntsend, it's in the city that's twenty minutes away from it, specifically in the back "employees only" parking lot of a closed-down shopping center. (You can still see the tape marks where they hung the Specter Halloween sign last month.) Remee's got a rented delivery van. "Hey, got drinks and a cooler full of sandwich stuff in the back of the van," she says, as people join her. "My approach is still like I said on the board - I'm going to take the van right up to the front door, and try to rely on speed over stealth. Get in, get to my room, grab as much as we can, get it into the van, get out." "If you want to make your own way over, by whatever way you want, that's fine! You've got the coordinates, and the house is kinda hard to miss. Everyone else, pile in, there should be enough room in the back." FOR THOSE WHO DON'T TAKE THE VAN: The Halcyon manor has a few entrances - aside from the front door that Remee's said she's going to storm through, there's what appears to be a service/servant's entrance on the east side of the manor, and a patio entrance that leads out into the woodlands that border three sides of the manor. There are also a number of second floor windows that look promising.
Rita Ma	There are very good odds that Rita (tiny blonde girl, pleated skirt and cropped jacket) is the least-armed, most normal-looking person present. That doesn't seem to bother her. But there's something else nagging at her. The entrancing prospect of a car ride temporarily puts that out of mind, though. It's still new! It feels exciting! She hops up into the passenger seat if it's not already taken, just so she can watch the marshlands parallax by with her knees pulled up against her chest. It also gives her a chance to ask Remee a question, after a long stretch of quiet. "You said 'if we have an opportunity to do more', that's okay." An uncomfortable pause. "Did you really mean that, Ms. Remee? I mean- I know you said you wanted to bring down your family. But you also seemed..." "... Will you really be okay if someone dies?" On arrival, she takes a deep steeling breath and hops out. The passenger door slams shut. No point keeping it quiet for long. It's a little uncanny, though not blatantly inhuman, when she leaps ten feet straight up to grab a second-story windowsill and pry the window open with her fingers. As she slips in and shuts it behind her, she's already starting to shimmer into transparency.
Kukuru	If this was supposed to be a job to get Remee's stuff and leave quietly, Kukuru might not have gotten the memo. Judging from how excited she sounds chattering on about meeting Remee's family, it's entirely possible she either didn't finish reading the message, or she's already forgotten about most of it up until she's actually reminded what the plan is in the vehicle itself. "I wonder if they like the same type of stuff we eat. If they're wolves..." Kukuru murmurs to herself as she keeps digging around in her pockets, going in and out of sleep on the ride over. She's dressed in her usual white and green-to-brown getup today that would probably look more appropriate for someone trying to make a good impression through formal-ish clothes rather than someone preparing for a sneaking job. As usual, she provides plenty of extra snacks on the ride over to add to the pile of sandwich stuff. Today's things: Weird things she ordered online (salted egg yolk-dusted salmon skins, American-style Turkey Drits) and the old faithful standbys (fried shrimp balls, extra rare mystery meat). "... Oh, wait. I shouldn't assume they like meaty stuff just because they're wolves. We need to be sensitive about different diets. That includes the weird ones, too." She affirms to anyone actually listening while putting some of that deli meat between the salmon skins and D*rts. She certainly seems to be in no rush to get out of the van by the time they reach their destination, although she's surprisingly quick at getting to the door once everyone's piling out. Not quick on her feet, of course, but just teleporting right over to the door to knock on the door and wait there patiently. Someone has to (not really) be the decoy, and who better than her?
Petra Soroka	The boxy metal Ekanamsha flies over the shopping mall into the parking lot with uncharacteristic gentleness, though the roar of its engines and plumes of exhaust still make it impossible to view as anything but brutish. Despite this limitation, Petra is focused intently on the array of dials and knobs inside the cockpit, a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead as she, with a white-knuckled grip, releases one hand from the wheel that's balancing the Kana's descent, and presses a button. It's noticeably better piloting than the times you've seen her before, but her eyes scan the control panel with a frantic energy, evidently expending a lot of focus on this improvement. As the mech gets closer to the ground, its four legs stretch out, reaching to meet the asphalt before the rest of the body does. The legs clatter together, absorbing the impact, and then slowly squat down to rest the Kana on the ground. Petra heaves a big sigh, wipes her forehead, takes a big drink of water so it isn't so obvious that she looks like she just sprinted the miles from the warpgate instead of flying, and pops the hatch open, hopping lightly to the ground. She's in a flowery orange turtleneck and jeans, though most of the turtleneck is obscured by her bulky black bomber jacket, and she's got the same pair of black combat boots on as usual. You can tell they're the same because they're clearly beat up. "Hi Remee! Hi, everyone. I thought I'd just park the Kana here, and take the van, otherwise they'll hear me approaching from half a mile away." Petra smiles around at everyone while climbing into the van, then her face drops at the lunch provisions. Ignoring her preferences, her stomach growls, loudly.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	A blue-shrouded shape snaps into the air above the van as it pulls close to the house, folding down from some higher dimension into a small vessel affixed midair. A plate on the side slides back and unceremoniously dumps DRYCLEAN next to the others, landing just short of gracelessly. They dust themselves off as the vessel hovers for a split second before it ascends up and out of view, a dot in the sky only to the most keen of eyes; some sort of hovering panopticon guardian angel. DRYCLEAN adjusts their antennae their jacket. Faint static flows through the radio devices of everyone present, subtle waves of comprehension, like the voice of something sub-real gently informing you that someone's listening. They grab and adjust their primary monitor into place as they promptly stride up to Remee, extending an uncomfortably long arm for a handshake. "Miss Halcyon, is it? Pleasure to meet you, ha ha. Got a real crew together for this whole hit-and-run affair!" Though they stand there, motionless, some monolith of polite introduction in an unfitting jacket, there's already awareness pulsing through the region: that soft static flows through anything modern within the house itself, prying into tuning in to all the sound they can find throughout the building. There's people to keep track of.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	"Hey, new girl, right? And new robot. Call me Phreak." As it turns out, a space elf twink doesn't take up much room in the back of a van. Phreak's gray hands dart for the cooler the moment he hears 'sandiwch stuff,' only for mild disappointment and annoyance to flicker across his face at the state of the ingredients. "No cheese? No greens? No oil? This ain't sandwich stuff. This is... meat and meat towels," he grouses, pointing accusingly at the single loaf of bread. Nevertheless, he is piled in. His clothing is replaced by an encroaching wave of armor. Within seconds he's garbed in a sand-and-rust colored set of fitted leathers with impact-deflecting metal plates. The plates themselves seem substantial enough to house some kind of electronic components, as evidenced by the occasional presence of vents and faint indicator lights from within. A translucent blue visor displays a tiny sprawl of reversed characters, rapidly scrolling upwards in time with the movement of Phreak's fingers across empty air. "GSFs, coming up," he states. One-by-one, everyone in the van notices AR notifications overlaid atop their vision, informing that a 'nanoprogram' is running. Focusing on the notification opens up a menu showing the filename and more importantly, its effects, listed as 'IncreaseMoveSpeed' followed by an utterly arcane indicator of magnitude. Of additional note is a suite of subroutines, which seem to alter reaction time and general mobility. Procuring two different submachine guns so large and blocky as to invite concerns about the health of his wrists, Phreak is a blur the moment he's out of the van. While Rita goes high, he goes low. A turbulent draft of wind follows in his wake, as he leaps into the air and puts his considerable speed and surprising strength to use, slamming into the front door with a flying dropkick and springing from the point of impact with a nimble backflip. The moment the entry is clear, he races into the house, running along walls. Family photos, coats of arms, and other decorations stand little chance against his blistering beeline in search of a route upstairs.
Liza Grier	Riding in the car directly behind Rita's seat, staring over her shoulder and out of the window with a deceptively false-blank look, Liza remains silent, seemingly out of apathy, throughout the whole of Remee's explanation, all the way up until the end. The one and only indicator there is that she was listening only comes after. "Pursuit? They're going to come after us?" Liza drones, voice gravelly with the imminent fatigue of what she's already thinking. "And grab and run? That it? You're going to run from them?" "Again?" Liza gently bumps Rita's seat with the tip of her boot. "Someone's always not okay when someone dies." she murmurs. "No reason not to do it. Or does she matter more than the usual family 'cause you know her name?" She barely waits a second to prove the question rhetorical. "Of course not." Relenting for the moment, Liza rolls her shoulders in the back seat, frowning at the unpleasant crunching sound it makes, stiff from earlier with the ride already not helping. "Front door suits me fine. Any reason you haven't told anyone jack shit about what you're grabbing?" A side glance wanders over to Kukuru happily playing with the sandwich kit. "Actually, never mind." She switches her verbal attention over too. "How sensitive are you being if you're calling it weird?" When Phreak piles in, Liza adds "Sorry guy, no drinks. We're on the clock. I'll take you all out for something decent after we're done, okay?" When she has to acknowledge Petra's existence, she just sort of vaguely nods at the girl. "So, the tank have an autopilot? If you're gonna airdrop it when we get to the AO, that's fine. We only need one room intact, so just sit back at a comfortable range and put holes in that pig house where I send you ranging data. That sound fair?" She is . . . she doesn't sound like she's being condescending. She's not joking. Upon arrival, Liza climbs out of the van, spends a minute stretching her arms and back out, coincidentally giving Rita just enough time to get a head start, muttering something about 'prosecutors' with audible disgust while she does. Once she apparently feels good and ready, Liza slips out her PDA, dials in a blisteringly fast combination of touch taps, and waits through a sound that a PDA should not make; something like a camera flash charging on boost, corresponding with a bright red danger light blinking from the device. A rapid sequence of sharp-glassy cracks spits dull, broken crystals from the 'charging port'. Crimson teleporter light splashes onto her from above, bursting into a million glittering motes to reveal the black carbon weave and bloodred armour plates she now wears. She seals the helmet herself, with its click and vented air hiss. The optics flare menacingly green. The scattered teleport beams surrounding her disintegrate into matte black forms of familiar shape; drum fed shotgun, belt fed LMG, high calibre handgun, e-shield emitter, e-sword hilt, folded anti-materiel rifle, combat knife, grenade bandolier, twenty separate colour-stripe-marked canisters, waist webbing and arm straps overloaded with shells and magazines. "Front door." repeats Liza, her voice now recognizably scratchy and garbled by her helmet's perpetually broken vocalizer. Marching straight up the steps as Remee had wished, the monkey's paw curls one finger when Liza plants her boot to the doorknob frame with a thundering crash.
Remee Halcyon	"We've got good ears," confirms Remee to Petra. "Possibly literally a mile, depending on how loud you are and how much they're paying attention." Remee's face falls a bit at her choice of ingredients getting called out. "Ah - I mean, we could go pick some stuff up, but - oh, we do need to get going, um - I'll go take everyone out to one of those salad bars later? So you can get lettuce and the cheeses and the ranch dressing and everything else," she says, describing a salad bar in the same way that a fish would describe a mountain range. INTO THE VAN! It's an uneventful ride. Up the onramp to the highway, along the highway, down the offramp from the highway... "... I've... made peace with it," says Remee, unconvincingly. "I'm..." "... I'd like it if we didn't have to but..." She fails to say anything for a while, despite making several attempts. "If we don't do something, then other people might die. Will die. And- is that fair to them, if they don't deserve it?" Liza's statement makes her go silent for a bit again. "Well - I mean, it's... easy for you to say." She deflates a bit more, and just focuses on driving. The van continues along, going past the sign welcoming one to Huntsend City Limits. The sign art is in an olde 60's-ish style, with a man and a woman dancing in a grassy field, with two dogs playing nearby. It all looks very idyllic. Huntsend itself could be something out of an advert, as well. The houses are all well maintained, without a single broken fence or fading coat of paint in sight. Occasionally there's a small billboard, but instead of advertising products it's all various city officials with various messages promoting cleanliness or public safety. The main road leads right into the Halcyon driveway, with a clear demarcation of a thick treeline where public property ends and private property begins. The driveway leads uphill towards the manor, with a large circular drive that Remee pulls the van up into. "Okay, let's move-" Remee says, and then gets distracted by Dryclean's sudden arrival. "Oh- oh, you're on our side. Hello! Nice to meet you, do we need to read you in on-" A number of other things are going on at about the same time. Kukuru goes up and knocks on the front door, on which she can hear someone coming from inside. This is followed by Phreak busting down the door, and wallrunning in guns akimbo, blazing past the startled young man who'd been about to answer the door. Phreak's route takes him past the entrance hallway and into a living room, and from there a route upstairs is clearly visible via the grand staircase leading upwards. Also clearly visible, though, is the werewolf who's in the middle of descending the stairs, pack of cigarettes in hand. She takes half a second to stare at him, before shifting into a monstrous werewolf form and trying to reach out and grab him before he can go past! "... Um- hello," says the young man to Kukuru, as he reaches the door. He's wearing a formal suit. "I - can I help you?" Meanwhile, Rita makes her leap up towards the second floor window. Remee, misremembering and/or misunderstanding what Rita was just saying on the Watch radio channel, makes sure to look away as Rita does so. Unfortunately, this means that since Remee is looking away, she does not catch that Rita is going into the wrong second-floor window.
Remee Halcyon	In the room Rita's made her way into, it's pitch black. There's only a little bit of light coming in from the room's door, and a little bit more from the window she just came through. Is this Remee's room? There's certainly enough guns mounted on the walls. Also something with multi-pointed antlers mounted on one of the walls, though it's a little hard in the darkness to tell if it's a deer or something else. There's also the four-poster bed, with a ton of blankets piled on it. The big pile of blankets definitely smell strongly of werewolf... but that'd be natural for a werewolf sleeping there, right? As Rita gets her bearings, there's a sudden bit of movement - and then a large furry arm emerges from the blankets, snatches at her leg, trying to grab her and lift her up by her ankle! Down at the front door, the suited young man stares over Kukuru's shoulder at Liza suiting up. "Ah. It's... a raid of some manner, I see." He goes to step aside.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	DRYCLEAN is immediately distracted by Liza exiting the truck, dropping their arm and moving to follow her with exactly zero sense of self preservation or stealth. The comms in her helmet hitch and pulse with the static for a fraction of a second, before suddenly the Syndicate-encrypted line clicks active using a keypair that's instantly recognizable: a dedicated ship-side Communications Officer has opened a line. "Well, I'll be damned. Usin' old code patterns worked, did you folk ever actually splinter? Gettin' ahead of myself. ACLF Radio Operator DRYCLEAN-SIGINT reportin' in, ha ha. Three hostiles visible, scannin' for more. Orbital support close enough to standard codes GM-4-OL up and runnin' when you say the word." These comments weren't made idly. Familiar sets of information sprawls pour down the dedicated lines, the operation dossier updates with DRYCLEAN, and a holographic targetter for something referred to as Infrared Ritual is neatly displayed. They're still searching. Noting the quantity of radio-enabled devices. Listening for anyone past the three that have made themselves known. Haven't had an op in a while, ha ha. Planning routes that the current three might take - people are predictable. A large but faint red reticle coalesces on the roof of the house, simply waiting for its time. They then suddenly step to the side and once more proffer a hand, this time to the fellow at the doorstep. "Sorry about the mess, ha ha. Pleasure to make your acquaintance while my friends here do their thing."
Kukuru	Weirdness not withstanding, Kukuru proceeds to address none of that potential concern as she waits by the door patiently with a slightly excited smile when she hears the sounds of someone coming. When the door opens more forcefully than expected, she glances sideways briefly just in time to see Phreak charging right on through, watching him blast ahead as a werewolf goes for him while a different young man greets her. Immediately, she dips into a polite curtsey. "He-llo there! My name's Kukuru, and..." A raid? Right. Phreak wallrunning right on in. Liza getting suited up behind her. Rita and Dryclean going for alternate entrances that she's hoping the man answering the door does't notice. Undeterred, she keeps on smiling and sounding pleasant as ever while nodding. "Mhm! My friends needed to pick some stuff up from the... Halcyon family, right?" She can't hide her concern for long, though, as her expression shifts to a more worried frown. "I know this is kind of a weird thing to ask, but... Um. Is everything okay with them? With neighbors, friends, other family members...?" She's doing a terrible job trying to be subtle about who she's here for, but she does sound like she's actually concerned about something going on that she clearly knows (the barest hints) about.
Petra Soroka	The whole ride over, Petra munches on the food that Kukuru brought, eating what has to be more than a meal's worth. She doesn't seem to notice that she's doing this. Glancing sheepishly at Liza, around whom she's mostly been sticking to looking at the floor, Petra mumbles around a shrimp ball, "No, it--I didn't set it to autopilot, I just left it behind, so it wouldn't make so much noise. I'll be going in myself." Petra shifts uncomfortably, tapping her toes to the floor of the van, as if confessing to some wrongdoing. When the van pulls into the driveway, Petra leisurely emerges and stretches, surveilling the house and the landscape around. Everyone else, however, shoves past her and barges into the house, catching her off-guard. "I thought we were going to, I don't know, make some kind of plan of attack?" She turns helplessly to Remee, pulls out her gun, shrugs, and fires downwards, launching herself onto the roof with a loud report. The layers of streams of visual notifications from Phreak and Dryclean make her eyes glaze over, but she acknowledges the speed boost from the twink and dashes across the roof, towards the window that Rita went in. She probably knew which one to go into. Petra hooks her feet into the gutter, fires behind her, over her shoulder, and involuntarily giggles at the adrenaline that comes with her showy, upside-down frontflip into the room where Rita is currently being grappled. "A-ah. This is the wrong room, I think." She levels her gun at the figure in the bed, hesitates for maybe slightly too long, then uses her other hand to pull out a yellow and black gun from a pocket inside her jacket. This Banana gun looks like a child's toy, but when she unloads its clip at the figure, each pellet floods his nervous system at the site of impact with positive ions that, on a human person, at least, would completely disable him.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	In addition to being fast, Phreak is absurdly limber. The werewolf's grasping arm, large as it is, gives him only a small time to react due to his speed of ascent. Rather than try and dart directly past, he instead runs futher up the wall, winding up to the ceiling then dropping onto the banister and diving forward. "I'm here to pick up a few things for Remee," he calls, as his hands gracefully slip the SMGs onto contact holsters at the thighs. It's just in time for his palms to touch the floor, mounting a handspring to bring him back onto his feet. Both SMGs are redrawn and leveled at the werewolf. "And I'm gonna do a lot worse than track dirt if you get in the way. Only warning." Something dark lurks in golden eyes behind that translucent visor, before he takes off again. "Remee, I got one of 'em on me. Just headed up the stairs from the front door. Paint me a picture here." Based on how she advises him, he'll use his speed to try and reach her room as quickly as possible. If the werewolf gives chase, he shoots for the legs, and does as much damage to the house's decor as he can to get away from her, using objects d'art and wall furnishings as springboards, turning over pedestals and making copious use of the full auto functions on both guns to leave plenty of holes in his wake.
Rita Ma	Grabbing Rita is easy, comparatively, as long as one does it before she fully cloaks. Keeping hold of her is the hard part. The girl squeals and flails, but the monster knows what to do. The mimic-tentacles that form her leg's second skin twist in the werewolf's grasp, peel off to push against their fingers, and sharpen into knife edges, slicing into flesh and maybe through bone. That lets her leg slip through. She lands in a three-point crouch as they re-weave into a seamless disguise, then rises again with a bone-jarring uppercut to knock the werewolf back. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she finally registers Petra. A face that had previously been 'startled' becomes 'panicked and distraught', even though the stun bolt's likely bought them a few seconds. How much did she see? "Ms. Petra!! I- you shouldn't- thank you, but- ... please go. Try to find Ms. Remee's room, alright? I'll deal with this." Is it because she doesn't want Petra to see her? Or is it because she doesn't want her to see what's going to happen? Regardless of whether Petra leaves, she touches two fingers to her earpiece and keeps her eyes on the probably-staggered figure. <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, suddenly urgent: "Ms. Remee. Does your family do the healing thing, too?"
Liza Grier	About the only thing that can get Liza to pause on the job is a ping from the generic encrypted Syndicate hailing frequency. Call it old reflexes, but she stops on a dime and puts her finger to her helmet antenna before even thinking about it. It takes her a second to realize that she isn't on an official op and can't be given new orders, and a second longer to realize that it isn't even any of her old bosses that she doesn't talk to anymore. "Ballsy. Maybe not smart." she replies. "Operator, huh? Been years since I had one of those." Dead air indicates a thoughtful silence. "It was always organized chaos. Long before I showed up, and that was a long time ago. People come and go. Teams form and split up. Relationships break down. People die. I don't know if you'd call it splintering. That's just life." Unbeknownst to DRYCLEAN, the following pause is induced by the confusion of a pleasant surprise, as Liza is momentarily transfixed by the hostile indicators blinking onto her HUD without her having to do anything. "Well damn. I'd forgotten what field support actually feels like." Then it's all business. "Orbitals acknowledged. I need warmup and travel time solutions and a danger close radius ASAP. Slave a designator trigger to my CPU. Over." She passes Petra with a crackling mutter of 'fucking typical'. At the door, Liza stares aside to the butler(?) getting out of her way. She's only an inch and a half taller in that suit, but it somehow feels like much, much more. It might be the sun at her back casting her front in shadow, making the optics stand out even more, or it might be the extra presence afforded by the bulk of all those weapons. "Good choice." she says, the synth growling ominously. The instant DRYCLEAN releases his hand, she snatches for his suit collar, then 'gently' lobs him further away from the door. "But you need more distance. That is, if you want to keep all your fingers." She turns back and heads into the house. Directly ahead is the logical place to go. Foyer. Living room. Stairs. Liza pops a carabiner clip on her webbing and drops something just around the corner of the front door, where it can't be seen without crossing, and then accelerates to a steady jog. She pings the layout with a radar spike from her sensor unit, counting routes of ingress egress and reinforcements, blind corners and chokepoints and dead ends, and is already churning out her strategy by the time she catches up with Phreak. And when she sees him-- It's actually weirder that she doesn't say anything at all. The shotgun flips up as if the stock were spring-loaded and hinged to her shoulder, and the flash and thunder jumps from its barrel with scarcely time to even fully process that she's there. Without knowing the female werewolf's name, without knowing what she's done, without even being sure she is Remee's family, Liza squeezes the trigger and pumps one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight and counting automatic blasts straight into center mass. The swirl of sparking embers and fouling smog from the muzzle is too late a warning that she already loaded chemical incendiary shells. She knows Remee regenerates, and so her immediate answer is to lodge a solid pound of inextinguishable war crime in her target; step one to stopping a heedless regeneration-fuelled charge at her, unbelievably painful, and also, of immense danger to the fancy house, banking on any of the people who live here not being eager to set their own mansion ablaze. As usual Liza Grier did not come here to fuck around.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Additional numbers flash into view: looks like the laser has slower tracking than her grandparents playing a shooter and a warmup long enough to reheat lunch, but there's an oddity that the entry for warning radius is marked N/A. That's not to spec. They've opted to lean against the main doorframe, relieved of its requisite door, and strike up a small conversation with the fellow thrown to the side. The radio organization happens concurrently. Information is juggled to the others with heads up displays, and they seem to almost visibly relax. They adjust an antenna. "Real mess they're makin' of things. You live here, or just around for work?"
Remee Halcyon	DRYCLEAN can pick up on four lifeforms inside the house. One of them is in the room Rita went into, one's trying to grab Phreak, one of them is talking to Kukuru at the door, and the other one is location indeterminate right now. Correction: one of them is being carried away from the house by Liza right now. He looks carefully blankly at her as he's carried off. Kukuru gets to chatting. "Yes, I figured as much. I do hope your warrant is rock solid," says the suited young man, blandly. He extends a hand for her to shake. "Doreton Halcyon, attorney at law. If you've got questions about the family and neighborhood, I'm afraid I'll have to wait until the rest of the legal team gets here." DRYCLEAN's hand gets shaken in turn. "Actually - I should be asking the questions, starting with which organization you're with. The Paladins, I presume, given the explosive unannounced entrances with guns drawn." emee's absent from the front door area by now. One can assume she's making her own way in as well. Or maybe she's avoiding Doreton. "<Um- up the stairs, down the hallway- no, wait, take a right first, then the hallway->" she sends to Phreak. The werewolf's eyes light up (that is, the one facing down Phreak) when Phreak mentions Remee. "Ah." "Tell her to call first, before she sends her friends over to play next time," she growls - and then Liza comes around the corner. The shots land in quick sequence - and the werewolf goes down in a flaming pile. Smoke alarms go off and sprinkler systems activate, for however much good they'll do against a chemical fire. Liza and Phreak don't quite make it to the door Remee indicates is the entrance to her room. There's another person, in a much more smartly dressed suit, coming out of the door opposite it in the hallway. And he's grinning widely. "Liza mother-fucking Grier." And then he quickly draws, and fires - a pair of armor-piercing rounds fired from a handgun that'd probably break a normal person's wrist.
Remee Halcyon	The werewolf in the bed grunts as his hand is cut through - and then, undeterred for having lost most of a limb, starts to stand up. This is just in time for Petra to come in, emptying her clip of pellets right at his center of mass. The monstrous figure remains still for a moment... and then topples over, landing half-on half-off of the bed, with his top half being the off half and his head making forceful contact with the floor. "F-fuck..." He whines, reaching up with his remaining hand to grab at his forehead. "Goddamnit, if this is some sorta a april fools prank, I'm getting you all calendars for Christmas..." He seems more inclined to nurse his wounds than try to grab Rita again.
Petra Soroka	Petra stares at Rita, wide-eyed, then abruptly twists her whole head away to give Rita privacy. Her hand is still tightly wrapped around the trigger of the upraised Banana gun, elbow locked into a rigid line she lowers it, trembling. "Y-yeah, I'll--" The boom of Liza's shotgun makes her shudder, "I'll look for--" Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Petra wraps her arms around her shoulders and hurries out of the room, facing away from Rita. Out in the hall, she's inclined to begin her search for Remee's room by heading in the opposite direction of where the gunfire is coming from, unless there's any obvious signs for which one's hers. A cute little name plaque on the door, maybe. A sign that says "The DOG is OUT". Petra sidles along the wall cautiously, hand grasping her handgun in her voluminous pocket.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	DRYCLEAN suggests a shrug; whatever joints might be in their shoulders certainly don't work that way, but the point gets across. "Wasn't really informed this would be a whole gun's blazin' affair, apologies for the mess, ha ha. I'm sure our organizer'd love to work things out with your team. How's your insurance 'round these parts?" Location data is procured: hostiles marked on HUDs with the position of the man in the upstairs hall snapping in slightly slower, and fallback routes painted across visors almost before Liza gives the word. More data fills in. Who's the man upstairs? More importantly, is he going to be tangled up fighting Liza for the time being? Answerable questions. Background information is scraped at rates that sound like movie technobabble, iterated over, thought over. Halcyon Holdings Inc. has public data, but there's always something deeper. Accounts, communications history, public appearances, everything. Internal questions posed again. Will he keep shooting the operative? Information on two targets confirmed. Nameplates snap into place on displays. Analysis continues. A warmup indicator sits at 80%.
Kukuru	"Warrant...?" A blank haze settles over Kukuru's face as the young man rattles off words she doesn't quite understand and others she only sort of recognizes, and she visibly struggles to catch up even as she hears so many things going on upstairs and in other areas of the house. Still, with her name given, that does make things slightly easier for her, as she doesn't need to worry about introductions past that! Stepping aside for Liza to get by in her big fight suit, Kukuru keeps her attention squarely on Doreton at this point as she shakes his hand firmly. It's an indisputably warm and friendly handshake, to be sure, but it's not necessarily a weak one despite how soft spoken she is. "Do they have one...? Um. Probably!" She shrugs. "They're good kids, even if they can be a little..." How can she put this elegantly? "... Ambitious!" That's a word she definitely heard someone else say. "We're only gonna be here for a little while, though, but I'm sure they really appreciate you wanting to bring more-" Wait. He said 'legal'. He said 'attorney'. She might not know a thing about either of those things, but she knows both of those are words she's been warned about before. Her smile fades again, and that concerned look and tone of voice returns as she clings onto Doreton's hand. "Does it really have to be that way? I mean... It's a family thing, right? It shouldn't be like that. Families should be more understanding of each other, and not..." She looks towards the stairs again as she hears gunshots coming from multiple directions. "... Going through this kinda stuff. I just wanna know what happened to make all of this like... This. And then maybe we can try and get you and-" Wait. Remee's not supposed to be here. Kukuru unsubtly looks to her side, then the other side, then back at Doreton again. "-the... Them to sort things out."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	The fixer doesn't bother waiting for the flaming werewolf to get back up or even show signs she's still kicking. Off like a bullet with water droplets from the sprinklers now clinging to his armor, Phreak's blitz for Remee's room is interrupted by the presence of a grinning pistoleer. The hole is punched clean through the ribs--but despite a spat invective, Phreak is still standing. The wound reseals itself, not prettily but undeniably effectively. Liza's vision is overlaid with a notification of one of his programs running. Unobtrustive and almost certainly third-party loading notifications refer to it as 'Dr. Hack n' Quack,' which should speak to the legitimacy of the routines contained within. Assuming she actually takes damage, it'll keep her topped off just like him. "Yeah don't bother, chief," Phreak hollers from experience, over the shrill report of both SMGs, making a moonsault behind Liza to keep her angles clear while providing suppressing fire along an impressive arc. At the apex of his twirl, his physical form digitizes in real space, replaced by a silhouette in sky blue polygonal wireframe. The SMGs are still very real, and clearly competing with the suit's pistol in terms of 'how big do these realistically need to be.' Darting out from behind Liza on his landing, he creates a crossfire, and any reprisals he attracts while in that digitized form seem to fly right through his 'body' harmlessly.
Liza Grier	When her first target goes down, Liza isn't hesitant about tagging, nor is she careless enough to not make very fucking sure of it. No sooner has she emptied out her ammo and thumbed the magazine release, dropping the empty drum with a dull thunk on the floorboards, she is already quickdrawing what looks like a nailgun cast in medical grade aluminium, dispassionately staring down clearly aftermarketed holosights welded to its side and emptying no less than a dozen heavy gauge syringes into the downed werewolf. The percussive thwip of pressurized gas and the wet thump of steel embedding into flesh is followed by the hissing gurgle of impact-activated plungers. "Marking neutralized target. Six on three now. Don't back off now; keep up the pressure. Noncoms-- Operator, move to my marked position and extract the target. She'll be incapacitated for the foreseeable future, but I'm leaving an emergency kit if she wakes up." The jingle of replacement syringes bundled in a nylon bag promises that. "Fungal tuberculosis. Don't expose anyone organic without respiratory insulation. If Remee isn't full of shit and she's really immortal, she shouldn't die." DRYCLEAN probably knows what that means; warcrime number two is a fast-acting viral infection that causes bioengineered fungal growth to fill the infected's lungs, usually choking them to death in minutes. "Might as well take a hostage until we can put her down." She resumes moving. Face to face with a new hostile. Liza's pace slows to a standoff. Her tactical uplink already told her he was around the corner. The gun is new. She chokes up the grip on her gun. Her left hand slides from the foregrip to a canister at her middle. "Yeah. Liza motherfucking Grier." she repeats after him. His pull of the trigger and Liza's motions are effectively simultaneous. The e-shield she always keeps strapped to her left wrist suddenly flares up just in time, the rounded blue forcefield springing up over her torso, owing to the position of her hand, and takes the overcalibre bullets to its surface. The slugs fracture and ricochet, embedding into the walls to either side of her. The glowing screen flares white, and settles to an angry violet tint, halfway to red. The emitter groans and pings with the sudden surge of heat through its circuits. Liza's back heel electromagnetically anchors itself to the floor rivets with her EVA soles. Her lead foot slides past it, but she remains anchored. She glances at the 80% indicator in the corner of her vision, grunts in irritation, turned into a garbled snarl through her vocalizer, and then tears the specific grenaded she'd grasped from its clip, pitching it directly at werewolf(?) number two. There's no fuse. It's a pressure canister. The instant it makes impact, or is ruptured, it explodes into a massive cloud of bioterror foam; six different illegal poisons clog an entire cross-section of the corridor, blinding, choking, disorienting the afflicted, as well as causing immense pain and irritation, and even immediate DNA breakdown. Taking zero chances, Liza drops the shotgun --incendiaries will cause the foam to ignite-- and unslings the anti-materiel rifle, performing the outrageously improbable by couching it in one arm and firing single-handed. The volcanic explosion of its discharge is tinnitus-inducingly loud. The calibre is so obscene it'll pass through several floors. It's aimed for the armed man's leg; probably able to tear it right off. As soon as she's certain he won't move in the next ten seconds, Liza transmits a burst of encrypted data to DRYCLEAN. FIRE COMMAND AUTHORIZED. 142.83-96.10-28.74
Rita Ma	"Thanks, Ms. Petra," Rita says to her back. "I'm so sorry." Her voice is even but strained. This is a crisis, but it's a crisis for later. "Please don't... just forget about it, okay?" Please don't say it, she thinks. I already know I'm gross. Her stressed-demure posture, hands folded white-knuckled in front of her and back ramrod-straight, is anything but a fighting stance. But when Petra hurries out, there's a dull thud and a crunch of wood behind her. An azure-translucent tentacle that used to be Rita's jacket sleeve is wrapped around the werewolf's neck, slamming him against the wall. A quartet of others unravel from elsewhere, baring slivers of the unearthly mutated flesh beneath the disguise, and menace him with their sharp points. Normally she wouldn't hesitate. Today has her off-kilter. Maybe it's the mention of Christmas presents; maybe it's the uncertainty in Remee's voice; more likely it's Petra shaking her up. "Hey," she says. "Mr. Halcyon. If I wanted to ransom you, how much could you give me?"
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Liza picks up anomalies in her comms stream; almost disgruntled clicks of static as each further terror weapon is unbuckled and sent loose. There's not usually any discernable inflection to DRYCLEAN's clip-derived speech, but as they continue to organize over comms you swear they're almost irritated disappointed. <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Movin' in for recovery. If you ain't got a respirator, get outta the main halls, we got biohazards comin' in hot." The indicator clicks. 90. 98. There's a pause, almost like it's taunting you - it might be. Other indicators update - hostile one marked down, three marked down. More indicators update - seems like the room Remee was trying to explain has been marked, though the door's behind all the foam.
Remee Halcyon	The probable dad blinks at Rita. "Um..." "Ransom? I guess - whatever it is I have on me? I don't really pay much attention to the bank accounts..." he sounds like he still doesn't understand what's going on. Petra makes it out into the hallway. Heading away from the ongoing battle is probably a good idea - though unfortunately the door with the 'Remee' name plate on it is closer to the fight than she is right now. If she can brave the gunfire and get to it, the door is unlocked. Inside, there's a lot of things. What was it Remee wanted her to grab? There's a rifle mounted on the wall, very similar ot the one she'd seen Remee use. There's a lot of trophies - what looks like a bunny but with antlers and sharp teeth, a stuffed eel, and what looks like a unicorn horn. There's a desktop computer, there's stacks of books, there's a locked gun safe that's as tall as Petra is... among a great many other things in the room. DRYCLEAN can dig into the pistolier's info fairly easily. That's Tidon Halcyon, eldest of the seven of that generation, currently working as a military contractor for - well, for a variety of various governments, selling high-tech anti-insurgency weaponry. The flagship product for this season of upselling the downgrading of uprisings is something called 'Strawbreaker', though details are sparse on just what Strawbreaker is. And he definitely will keep shooting at Liza if he can - the fame of taking her down would mean big business for him and his products. "... Ah. I see," says Doreton, to Kukuru. He nods. Then he turns to DRYCLEAN. "I do happen to know of a little shortcut through the manor," he remarks. Bioterror times six. Tidon turns and runs - he's not even going to try to face that down, running away from the site, trying to shake off any of it that's clung to him. Liza's shot just misses - he's just a moment too fast. And - everything's changed. DRYCLEAN's tactical layout is... outdated? And when he tries to get a new sense of the manor's layout, no two of his scans seem to agree. It's as if the manor's twisted itself around, while staying in the same place. Or possibly reality's twisted around, while the manor hasn't moved. Or everyone's perception of what hallway leads to where has twisted. It's as if the entire manor has become one big maze.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	DRYCLEAN was moving to start shuffling the downed Halcyon out of the staircase, gently waving Doreton towards the door, but suddenly collapses forward as space rearranges - need that to think. A fraction of a second. They Their arms catch them before their monitors hit the floor, and they pull themselves back to their feet. There's take a moment taken to pause and adjust their antennae their jacket, before they slowly turn back to Doreton. "Topography's shot, guess I see how that'd be handy, eh? Don't feel like the blue, either, so the math must be a hell of a thing, ha ha. Don't breathe in what the... operative pumped into her." An attempt to get them to slip up and say something. They thumb back to the motionless and infected person on the stairs, before standing in the middle of whatever foyer may exist - and spreading the cabling that comprises most of their mass out like some sort of tree. Data is consolidated between vessel and vessel: radio telemetry from two sources, one orbital and one ground-side, carefully cross-referenced. Everyone on the team carries a device, and they can still talk over them, so the topography isn't detached, just inconsistent. Pinpoint locations. Does data from the two sources align? Liza notices the charge suddenly drop; not all the way, but enough to be notable. This coincides with much deeper static sweeps across the devices of the team, gentle waves now crashing against auditory shores. Pinpoint. Data for the team, get them in and out. Something quickly flashes through their mind, as they're handling this - can they still get to the main door they were leaning against?
Kukuru	DRYCLEAN seems to get it, too! Kukuru turns briefly to flash them a fondly approving smile, then turns right back to Doreton as he seems to actually agree with what she's saying. She lights up at that, of course, hugging his hand to her chest briefly before patting him on the head. "I knew you'd understand! Ah, if everyone can be this reasonable, then maybe..." Maybe things really can be worked out between Remee and her family. Maybe Doreton is the key! Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, she gets ready to follow Doreton, or at least head down the path he indicates while glancing back at DRYCLEAN to wave them over. "Remee'll be realy glad to hear that. I know things might have been tough between you and her, but... I really believe in her. And you, too, Dorey. I want things to work better for all of you than... Um." She gestures at the once-wallran'd stairs, the various gunshot marks, and the concerning noises from several directions. "Than it is now. Let's get that stuff as a sign of good faith, then! Before-" <J-IC-Scene> Liza Grier snarling irritably. "Just extract the material! Dump everything! Get the objective out of the way so I can fucking reduce this place to atoms!" "... Um. Before things get crazier and no longer here." She looks concerned again, clearly hesitating on saying why. She doesn't fully seem to notice the twisting up of the manor just yet, though, having apparently placed her faith in navigating the place in Doreton's clearly trustworthy hands.
Petra Soroka	<J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "Oh, hey Remee, I'm in the room, but did you ever mention what you actually wanted?" J-IC-Scene> Remee Halcyon says, "Just... whatever's there." <J-IC-Scene> Remee Halcyon says, "The... spare gun, I guess." Heretra, finally in the room with the objective, is confronted by the fact that there doesn't seem to be an objective. Her lost expression wanders over the piles of trophies, and books, and personal trinkets, lingering on the rifle. Her lips twist into a thoughtful half-frown. It... really just looks like a cozy bedroom, inside someone's family home. It's familiar, even though no specific aspect of it really is. A sorry feeling wells up in her chest as she traces her fingers along the bookshelf, the placidity of the room contrasted with the sounds of more warcrimes happening throughout the house. She lifts the rifle off its mount on the wall, and leans it up against the bed. <J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "...Hey Remee? What did you really want to come here for?" Petra puts her hands in the pockets of her jacket, scanning the desk and the shelves. Is there anything that looks like it holds particular emotional significance? Something set apart, in a place where Remee would always be able to see it.
Rita Ma	That answer doesn't help Rita's indecision at all. If he'd said 'billions', it'd be easy. If he'd snarled something defiant, it'd be easy. This is agonizing. "Sorry. Never mind," she says. "It was a dumb question." The tentacle around his throat tightens. So does her expression. One eye is watering. The other stays clear. If I feed on him, he'll be dead no matter what, right? But I've seen Ms. Remee come back from 'dying'. I could just break his neck and he'd be fine later. I could say I tried my best, and Ms. Grier would never have to know. ... "If you think we have an opportunity to do more than grab and run we can give it a shot." "If we don't do something, then other people might die. Will die." <J-IC-Scene> Remee Halcyon deep breath. "It's fine. Do what you have to do." Those words weren't meant for her, but they come at just the right time. "Can you close your eyes for me, Mr. Halcyon?" Her voice is unsteady, but there's an attempt at resolve. "It'll just be a second." Four impaling tentacles go in. The soul goes out.
Remee Halcyon	"Right through there," says Doreton, pointing down a hallway, seemingly at random. And that hallway... seems more real than anything else here, in the twisted maze? It's mappable. DRYCLEAN's scans start suggesting that it's the right way to go, despite a moment ago showing that hallway as messed up as everything else. That path, the scans suggest, show that if they take it, they'll link right back up with Liza and Phreak, be able to swing by Remee's room, take down Tidon, and, pull all of their hostages out easily. It's so simple! Why didn't DRYCLEAN pick up on this particular plan before? ... The spatial data that DRYCLEAN's jury-rigged together by cross-referencing devices doesn't agree, though. Does he take the path, anyway? "If you'll excuse me," says Doreton, and goes to leave by a different hallway. Petra's searching finds... an old book. A well-used storybook, a set of Grimm's fables. Could this be it? Rita does what she has to do.
Liza Grier	Liza continues to shelter behind her e-shield as Tidon fires. She knows its specs inside out and hand-maintains it, so she is consummately confident in her ability to win a trade of bullites with her calibre, exposing only the barrel through the notch in the side of the forcefield disc. She wasn't quite expecting him to cut and run though. Firing the rifle one-handed is already ridiculous enough; she can't adjust all that unbalanced weight quickly and precisely enough to track him, so the bullet goes right through. #-1 FUNCTION (ANSI) EXPECTS 2 ARGUMENTS BUT GOT 1 Liza's vocalizer howls. It squeals at the volume it's processing. "What the fuck did you think would happen?! What does Liza motherfucking Grier mean to you?! Where's that fucking confidence from before, huh?!" Collapsing the shield again to let it cool, Liza smoothly drops to a kneel, braces her elbow over her knee, stabilizes her weapon properly, and swaps her visual to tracking Tidon by his heat signature rather than DRYCLEAN's telemetry, aiming just a hair ahead of him and blasting another anti-materiel round straight through the wall, shooting the fleeing man in the back without even giving him an opportunity to react before the bullet bursts from the wallpaper. "You pulled the gun! You were ready to kill! So fucking die like a man!" Unfortunately, even if she can confirm a likely hit, Liza shortly finds out that it doesn't matter. Following him down the same corridor doesn't lead her towards him at all. His heat signature shifts down a different corner. She takes the next junction, and now he's so far from her it vanishes from her HUD. She sees the charge indicator in the corner of her HUD stall and drop just before filling. "Fuck. Fuck!" Liza kicks a hole into the adjacent wall to calm down. Her voice is all steely cool but a moment later. "Operator, verify this readout." she pings DRYCLEAN, a grimace of displeasure quickly spreading under her helmet's faceplate at the response. "Confirmed. No joy on primary. Switching to target of opportunity." says Liza, now turning to face the front of the house, no longer taking her chances with the layout, and sighting in on the attorney out front, elevating to hit him in the head while he's busy talking to that dozy Concord bimbo. <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Roger that, Operative, though don't follow em' out of line of sight to your current position. Fella down here mentioned he knew a shortcut, presumin' the whole family can get around this mess." <J-IC-Scene> Liza Grier says, "Repeat? Exterior target has critical information?" <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Consultin' with em'. Listenin' for anything else." Liza holds back another sound of annoyance. She remains in position, waiting for the moment DRYCLEAN confirms they no longer need Doreton, but uses the time to dial another, longer code into her PDA. Spent telecrystals are spat out like spent brass. A football-sized device in steel and tungsten, the shape of a blunt handgun bullet, and about a thousand times heavier, teleports in beside her, making the floorboards creak underneath it. "Nuclear asset on-site." Liza's voice crackles, the unstable edge tainting her tone all but taking over. "You have ten minutes. Empty out the VIP's room for all assets of interest. Notify me if he heads for an exit. I'll reduce this place to fucking atoms before I let him run."
Rita Ma	Rita's disguise re-weaves itself. Blood drips from her clothes, but doesn't soak in. It's like rain off a raincoat. There's nothing left to do here. She steps out into the hallway, next, trying to clear her mind. There's one more thing she can help with: carrying more keepsakes out of Remee's room before DRYCLEAN and Liza blow the place to smithereens. But can she get there? DRYCLEAN sends her directions, of questionable provenance. Before she leaves, she has one trick to play: one of her tentacles, turned invisible, grabs the windowsill she entered by. With that as a tether to her entry point, there shouldn't be any way she can get stranded. With that guarantee in place, she anxiously tries following the map on her cell phone. She can't tell if she's more scared of finding Petra or not.
Kukuru	Random hallway though it might seem, Kukuru has no thoughts in her head telling her not to trust Doreton. Instead, she just beams at him while nodding firmly and starting down that path. "Thanks, Dorey! We'll be in and out as fast as we can, then, so..." She pauses, then disappears in a cloud of purple energy before reappearing beside Doreton in another cloud. It's maybe two yards, but she still does it that way anyway so she can pat him on the back firmly. "Be careful, okay? It sounds like things might get rough here reeeally soon." She gives him another sympathetic look, then rejoins DRYCLEAN a pat on the TV head. "Shall we, then? Or..." Remee gives her vibes that there might be second thoughts about what's happening. Liza gives her vibes that she really wants everyone here dead-dead and not just injured-dead. DRYCLEAN suggests following Doreton, and considering that Kukuru doesn't know if anyone else might actually live through this... "... Okay. Be careful... Um. You. If you have trouble getting out, show me where, and I'll take care of it." She gives DRYCLEAN another pat on the head (the radio one this time), then teleports back over over to Doreton and following him on his chosen path. "Where are we going? I..." It's a gamble, but Kukuru remembers what Remee said. "... I wanna make sure you get out of this okay, at least. Where are we going?"
Petra Soroka	<J-IC-Scene> Remee Halcyon says, "We're already killing off my family, let's nuke my childhood home. Sure." Okay. So we're wiping the house off the map. Petra feels sick to her stomach, completely out of her depth around Liza's intensity. She holds a shuddering hand up to her mouth, trying to calm her frantic breathing. Nuclear bomb. She's on a deadline. Whatever she takes from this room will be all that's left of Remee's childhood home. The image of this house going up in flames, reduced to dust, flashes into her mind, and tears start pouring down her face. This isn't what she signed up for, right? This isn't even what Remee seems to have wanted?? Why is this happening? Petra bites down hard on her knuckles, hard enough to draw blood. Her jaw tenses so hard that it's briefly locked around her finger, then she pulls her hand away and flexes it, robotically. With stiff motions, she picks up the storybook and tucks it away into her jacket. Almost at complete random, she stutters around the room picking up random objects that feel precious, ending with the rifle after an alarmingly long time. Petra thinks about the handgun in her pocket. Then she kicks the window open and jumps out, landing with all the heavy acceleration of gravity that she usually seems resistant to. She stumbles, and falls to the ground, looking up at the house with a petrified horror. She is not out of nuclear-based danger.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	As Kukuru pats DRYCLEAN the first time, they flinch - arms starting to reach for nothing important but stopping short. The second time though, they draw something in less than a blink: a foam dart gun. Red and black. Not threatening in the slightest, but it's drawn like a solution... before they bregudgingly put it back into their coat and re-adjust their antennae monitors. DRYCLEAN is one to take the bait. They start down the hall Doreton pointed out, organizing evac and distributing dubious scan data all the while. They walk at an unhurried but not slow pace, playing some whistled rendition of a Vivaldi piece all the while. Admiring the art, the endless halls, the history. Ostensibly, also to meet up with Rita, of course. <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Headin' down the path given anyhow. Seems interestin' that he could stabilize somethin' like that." Liza notices the charge diminish almost fully; it seems that the KEYHOLE is preoccupied. The reasoning for this is obvious to anyone exiting the building, mostly that it's currently hovering a few feet above the ground, a panel slid aside to reveal a somewhat cramped cargo bay. It's loud to stand next to, but not due to thrusters - devices flush with static even worse than DRYCLEAN does normally when approaching. It sits, patient, awaiting, inviting.
Remee Halcyon	The path Doreton gives him leads up to Liza and Phreak, and just past that to Remee's room. That much is true. It doesn't seem to lead anywhere else, though. Doreton glances back as Kukuru starts following him, looks like he's about to say something, and then his shoulders sag and he doesn't. He heads on what turns out to be a much straighter path... ... A few minutes later, the maze effect fades. Scans return to normal. There's no sign of Tidon, Doreton, or the werewolf who was on the stairway, though. They've gone somewhere else.
Rita Ma	DRYCLEAN's instructions get Rita where she needs to go. She jumps out the same window Petra did, maybe a minute or two later, and lands lightly. Her arms are full of stuffed animals and books, some of the slimmer pickings that Petra left behind. She looks anxious and guilty. She looks exhausted. But she still puts on a shaky, brave smile when she sees her. "Come on, Ms. Petra," Rita says softly. "Let's get all this to the van, okay? Or to... that ship over there." She gestures with a nod of her head. It's Dryclean's, right? It's gotta be. She tries to be comforting. But there's still a sprinkle of blood on Rita's face. It's not clear if she notices. "You're having a really hard time of it, aren't you?" she adds, while piling the books and plushies into the cargo bay. "I think Ms. Remee is too. She said she was okay with this, but... I'm not sure if this was really what anyone wanted, in the end." "... Ms. Petra, are you going to be okay? If you need to go sit in the back of the van, that's alright."
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	There's a glance down at the payload. An arm tapped along the hem of a coat. Consideration. <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Well, way I see it, mission's accomplished a-ok without annihilatin' the place. Ain't sure wastin' a payload on an empty house is worth it at this point, ha ha." They move to poke around some of the other rooms. Taking them in. Timer's not zeroed, yet. The vessel has... generally enough space to fit some people and their things. The cargo bay is small, and filled with a lot of assorted things - ammunition, spare parts, cassettes..? There's a few fold-down seats along one wall, reminiscent of a dropship, though obviously more jury-rigged.
Kukuru	The call to evacuate is made, and Kukuru eventually finds herself landing on the van. It's not quite in the van, but it's close enough, and she looks somewhat dazed after everything that's just happened. She looks over at the manor, wiping her hands off on her skirt idly before looking back down at the van again. "... O-oh, right. I should get everything ready for the others!" Still shaken, she teleports herself right back inside, then starts getting the food sorted out. They did say to leave the food for the after party, after all, and she's already prepared to get something tasty in her now. Depending on how long it takes for everyone else to get back, she might have already eaten quite a bit of the food ahead of time. It's a good thing she's brought plenty.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	With his body still completely a blue polygonal wireframe, Phreak's head bobs, tilts and nods, apparently in time with some sort of hands-free programming interface. "To hell with trying to navigate this bullshit. If the bomb's set, then..." Then he'll just scoop up anyone that needs it and deliver them to the nearest safe landmark of some significance. Maybe a small town nearby, maybe the local warpgate. It varies from place to place--but anywhere's better than 'in the radius of a nuclear device.' "Gridspace fork... done." A transitory virtual space, created to store physical matter as data for the briefest of moments. Less a plane of being, and more a pipeline. His motions stop when the house reorients itself again. <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Well, way I see it, mission's accomplished a-ok without annihilatin' the place. Ain't sure wastin' a payload on an empty house is worth it at this point, ha ha." "Operator," he says. He's an old hand at this sort of thing, just from the perspective of organized crime over terrorist cells. His communication with Dryclean is less formal than Liza's, but no less goal-oriented. "Check me on a second space-time distortion." <J-IC-Scene> DRYCLEAN-SIGINT says, "Distortion confirmed, snapped back to normal. Clear to navigate as you will." "Got it," says the blue wireframe man as his virtual armor dissipates, once more revealing the pointy-eared fixer, still hurriedly assembling lines of code. His mouth twitches into an annoyed frown. "Heard you on 'empty,' too. Continuing Grid jump." His map readings are accurate again. Might as well use his speed to its fullest and do a little multitasking, then. Hallways suddenly host turbulent currents of disturbed air as Phreak darts through the house. Maybe there's a computer or laptop, or several, he can recover for later use, if Remee is serious about wanting these people gone. It definitely isn't because his brain is trying to convince him that all of this is fine if he can find a way to present as helpful and skilled. Each closed door is bashed open--no point in subtlety if the whole place is going up in smoke soon.
Petra Soroka	Petra is still sitting on the grass, arms wrapped around her knees, when Rita joins her. The timer's still ticking down. Scattered around her are the trinkets she retrieved from Remee's room, but it looks like all the strength has already left her. Her face is hidden behind her knees, and when she raises it to acknowledge Rita, it's pale and blotchy, streaked with tears, frozen in a sort of half-smile. "H-hey, Rita, you got some stuff too. That's good." Her brow creases together in worry. "Oh, you've got something on your face. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" One of her arms extricates itself from its coil, and it really does feel like the arm is doing the moving itself. Like there's some disconnect, some level of unreality and performance, to the way it shakily reaches out towards Rita, too far away to make contact. Then it drops limply to the ground. Petra slowly stands up, gripping the storybook tightly with both hands, everything else left for Rita to move to the van. "Yeah. Yeah. It's time to go."
Rita Ma	Rita opens her mouth to answer. Then she realizes, with a jump of her heart, exactly how it'll sound if she tells the truth: 'it isn't mine'. So she fibs instead, behind her brave little smile. "I'm only hurt a little bit. I'll be fine, Ms. Petra. What about you?" That hand can't reach her. Rita pulls back from it anyway, without even thinking. Petra is both an object of pity and an object of fear. Even a crying, shaking girl has a way to hurt you, if she knows she's more normal. Rita takes everything to DRYCLEAN's ship in two trips. "Could you put that storybook in the van's front seat, Ms. Petra?" she asks while stowing the first armful. "I think Ms. Remee would appreciate that." When there are no more armfuls to carry, Rita regroups with her, having wiped off her face. "Um, Ms. Petra? I'll probably be going back with Ms. Grier, to her ship. ... Can I give you a hug before I go? I'd like that." Pity wins. If she accepts, it's long and heartfelt and maybe even a little bit comforting. But she can feel Rita's heart pounding. And the rhythm isn't right.
Liza Grier	Liza gets the call that all the remaining of the Halcyons have left the vicinity. The home is functionally empty. The room is raided. There's nothing left here to do. Rationally, DRYCLEAN is right. There's not really a point to blowing up an empty house, decadent as it is. Remee is in turmoil, Petra is crying, DRYCLEAN is probably wondering what she's even thinking, and Phreak and Rita simply know better. There is a short patch of silence; a period where Liza really is considering it. But something in particular swings it for her. <J-IC-Scene> Remee Halcyon says, "We're already killing off my family, let's nuke my childhood home. Sure." <J-IC-Scene> Liza Grier says, "It's theirs." <J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "Remee," <J-IC-Scene> Liza Grier says, "You left it behind." <J-IC-Scene> Liza Grier says, "You joined the Watch." <J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "This is really horrible. I'm so sorry." <J-IC-Scene> Liza Grier says, "You don't run away from home and swear to kill off your family and drag us into it then piss and moan at my methods." <J-IC-Scene> Liza Grier says, "You wanted the Watch's help, you got it." "All personnel evacuated. Retreat to two block distance. Break line of effect." Liza drones in dull tones over the radio, momentarily terse and lifeless before a bit of the intensity returns. "You aren't a child anymore, so stop clinging to your childhood. You were part of the problem too back then." The timer beeps pitilessly down to its last few seconds. "You declared war Remee. This is it. They're the enemy. They don't get to go home at the end of the day and wash it off like a bad day at work, never mind retrieve all their wealth and fortify. No mercy. No quarter. Nowhere for them to go. Nowhere for them to hide. That's the only way to tear it out at the roots." "Sorry if you were expecting a little more Robin Hood. But it's not my problem if you didn't know what you were signing up for." Liza does not compromise on her timer once she's committed to it. She has never been known to. When her countdown reaches zero, the woman herself vanishes into a colum of glaring teleporter light, and the place where the mansion stood is engulfed in a photo flash flare, incandescently blinding, that lasts only a fraction of a second before it is replaced with a building-sized roiling fireball. The rumbling underfoot precedes the deafening sound by just a little. The clatter of falling masonry and structural shrapnel will continue on for a solid minute. The adjacent buildings have the carbonized spray of what remains of a once-stately home embedded in their walls and through their broken windows. The billowing smoke cloud will last until emergency responders arrive.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Final seconds count down. An unhurried walk out to the ship, the cargo door shutting flush as they enter. The vessel shrouds itself, before once more half-folding into some higher plane. As the blast scours the earth, it was never there at all. Instead, it was already where the van opts to stop for the first time after the blast, bay door already open once more. DRYCLEAN stands off to the side, listening for something posing for no reason. They play some sound effect of an impressed whistle as people roll up.
Petra Soroka	Petra's shambling walk doesn't even get her to the van once in the time it takes for Rita to take everything else there. The storybook is still clutched in her hands. At Rita's request for a hug, her step stutters, weight shifting erratically back and forth like she's battling two different commands in her head. Eventually, she looks back towards Rita. "Y-yeah. I'd like that, too." Despite saying that, when she leans into Rita, her arms don't move to wrap around Rita, remaining stiffly curled up in front of her. Petra leans her head on Rita, in a shell-shocked form of affection, but the book stays between them. Petra doesn't have to feel Rita's heartbeat, if she doesn't want to. "You have a safe trip," Petra doesn't pull away until Rita releases her. "B-both of you." She can't look towards Liza. She doesn't meet Rita's eyes, either.
Remee Halcyon	House Halcyon goes up. At one time, it was a cornerstone. A fortress. The town of Huntsend was built around it, not the other way around. Two generations of children grew up in it, for better or for ill, shaped by it like how a glass shapes gelatin before it sets. But there's blood on the ground here. For every good memory someone might have of growing up here, there's many more bad events - and the bad outweigh the good by mass as well as volume. Tear it out at the roots. Remee makes certain everyone gets to some way of escape, but she doesn't join them. She sticks behind, and heads off into the woods. She finds a spot - past minimum safe distance, but maybe still closer than she should be. And she sits, and she watches it happen. It had to happen. It still hurts like hell. She reaches for her radio, thumbing at the transmit switch... but not turning it on. She should... say something. She doesn't. She doesn't know if, when she opens her mouth, she'll tell Liza off, or... thank her. She's not sure which would be worse to hear herself say right now, so she says nothing, and watches her home smoulder.