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Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Eumenides, as it turns out, is a chimera, genetically altered or perhaps even created by the paranoid ruler-in-exile of the Athen Subways, known as Vergil. They are able to split their physical body into three identical instances, one for each constituent personality. Crow has met one of those selves, in the darkness of Borealis' similar tunnel network.

     There, he plans to negotiate and reason with the mannerly killer. That lightning caster they wield hasn't been raised yet. Maybe there's a chance. Crow's mention of 'water under the bridge' draws a raised eyebrow, an expression they're not familiar with. But they seem, after a brief pause, to get the general meaning. "You wish for us to absolve you of the sins of your fellows," they say. "But they have poisoned the minds of His subjects." Eumenides shakes their head sadly. "More work must now be done to bring His subjects back into the fold--you have set back His work by years, and forced his hand into violence." They still haven't raised the weapon. They're curiously eyeing him. "Tell us, Crow, what would you do, in our place? Would you suffer a threat to *your* ruler's sovereignty?"

     As that conversation goes on, Samhain has already decided on a course of action. The SUBSPACE ARRAY is visible above the trees which surround Borealis, a satellite dish sat upon a lonely cliff which overlooks the surrounding area. It's only lightly guarded, in the kind of way that suggests its construction was likely seen as a needless boondoggle at the time. As stealthy as he of the Slaughter is known to be, a few bored guards will prove no match, even in the daylight. There is ample space, atop that cliff, for a fight. There is also ample space for all manner of savage and crafty traps; the grass which covers it is thick enough to conceal some low-to-the-ground traps, and a fall from this height could be fatal. What manner of preparations will he make for that duel, with all the time he has?

     That just leaves Xion, who, despite utterly confusing Bauer a few days ago, still managed to impress him enough to have been included on that warning: 'there's a killer on the loose.' With one copy of that killer currently unaccounted for pending a duel, the nearest such copy would be underground, in the city of Borealis with Crow, assuming they're her target. She could also make for Athen, and put her earlier suspicions about sluice puzzles and levers to the test in search of Vergil, or in search of more mysterious electronic bits and bobs like those she and Majima found. They do definitely have 'Someone Will Want These Later' energy, after all. Failing that, the whole of the planet is her oyster--her own talents for teleportation aside, there are two distinct on-world networks leading to all manner of destinations.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Liza, meanwhile, has decided to strike at the heart. As Bauer had said, it isn't long before there's a transport on its way to her location, there on the west bank of the river Stret. The craft is clearly one designed for in-atmosphere flight, and for use by military personnel. It's bulky and blocky in a way that suggests heavy armor plating, with a rust-brown coloration and powerful wing-mounted turbines. The dirt and plant matter around the riverbank is blown away radially from the point of the transport, as it lowers to just a foot off the ground.

     The sides of the craft are open, a design which has stood the test of time across multiple worlds. Waiting inside is her squad. Unlike Ramon, none of them are wearing the Vanguard uniform, each having evidently brought personal equipment. These are the kind of professionals trusted with 'comfort picks.' AR displays, should Liza possess the means to see them, will show each squaddie's name--otherwise, there's time for introductions on the five-minute flight back to West Athen.

     STITCHES, the combat medic, is a short, stout woman so pale that in places, veins are visible where they otherwise wouldn't be, on most humans. Her eyes are hidden behind a glowing blue prosthetic visor, and her weapon of choice is evidently her bare hands, which bear the scars of many battles. PHREAK must be seen to be believed; his physical presence resembles a graphical glitch by some computer or another, his features suggestions within a translucent blue wireframe in the shape of a human man. The only thing on his person which appears real are the two compact, blocky submachine guns and the shoulder holster which holds them to his form. EDDIE TWO-TIMES is a tall, rakish man whose skin is a startling grey, with black markings that run up the side of his neck. Mirrorshades with some manner of integrated HUD conceal his eyes. "Hey, how's it going, how's it going," he says. Resting in his lap is a pump-action combat shotgun of sleek and classic construction, which despite this world's far-flung year, would be right at home in even a contemporary Earth. Lastly, YATES, a redheaded woman of similar build as Liza, whose demeanor and attire seem plucked straight from an old Western, complete with a self-rolled cigarette that's flicked away once Liza boards. She's equipped with a pistol and a sword--the pistol, a futuristic revolver chambered for an absurd size of bullet, the sword an obsidian, curved short sword with a razor-sharp edge and a gap for catching opponent's weapons. It seems to idly radiate heat.

     "Ain't our QB just pretty as a picture?" She grins impishly.

     "God damn, Yates," comes Phreak's artifacted response. "Can't even wait five minutes."

     West Athen is there, before long, a somewhat idyllic city of terraced limestone construction, nestled between the river's tributary to the east, and gren forest to the west. Liza and her squad won't be enjoying the scenery, however--the Subway entrance is on the lowest level of the city, currently cordoned off with holograpic caution tape. They can pass through it and through the guard detail stationed there, with no issue.

     The early portions of the subway pose little to no threat to Liza or her squad; Vergil's forces appear to be hesitant to come this close to the surface. There is, should the need arise, a friendly presence here with which one could trade--but otherwise, all that really stands in their way in the upper portions of the tunnels are the odd outcast--muggers, stim fiends, malfunctioning droids--and animals in the form of vermin and the descendants of pets abandoned long before this was a Clan city.

     Past the lobby and into the hallways leading to the unfinished, unused train is where things begin to get difficult. Four legged hyperintelligent spiders, which gibber in almost human syntax, coordinate swarm strikes against Liza from the darkness, apparently smart enough to tell that she's in charge. The spiders are roughly the size of a human fist, and their bite is painful, but not deadly.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Their intention, however, is to slow the advance of the group and gum them up for something that actually can do damage. "SHADE! SHADE!" That warning is all that Eddie Two-Times can muster before the shadows of the dimly-lit hallway seem to take form of their own. A sound like a death gasp seems to breathe out just behind Liza's ear as razor-sharp claws form from the darkness to try and bleed the life from her. A malformed humanoid shape emerges behind them, grey and hunched over, with tendrils of unknown purpose running down the length of its malignant body.

     Eddie and Stitches are entangled with one, as is Yates, the latter apparently having taken a swipe before she could clear it. Stitches unleashes an agile leaping roundhouse, knocking her opponent off-balance. True to his name, Eddie Two-Times blasts its brains out with a surgically placed slug, then blasts its prone body a second time just to be sure. Yates, meanwhile, leads with her sword, which now burns so hotly as to cauterize the shade mutant's flesh; where her strikes drive it back, she seamlessly embellishes with that heavy revolver.

     "How the fuck are there shade mutants down here?" comes Phreak's artifacted, partially digitzed voice. Both guns are pointed forward--but he's either not as accurate a shot as Eddie, or not as confident in his shooting. His body, however, seems to move far faster than is natural for a human, and he is able to envelop Liza's shade-mutant in a pulsing green energy which greatly slows its movement.
C Crow wouldn't. Although he'd struggle to really agree on a specific person or entity he'd be comfortable saying is his superior in the same way that these things saw their own 'king' of sorts, he wouldn't hesitate to eliminate whatever was in the way between him and his own goals.

    Usually, anyway.

Rean Schwarzer, Class VII, and all of Crow Armbrust's former alleigances were nuisances to his role as C, and an uncomfortable topic for him to broach when brooding by himself, much less in the prescence of this thing. With a carefully cultured, polite smile, C forms his response.

"Well now, it wasn't really my intention. Being perfectly blunt, wouldn't it be more beneficial for everyone to work something out?"

Violence begat more violence, after all. There was only one way that road of reperations ended. But if he could convince them, or at least this one of the three, that it was better for their cause to seek compensation through other means, then things could turn out cherry.

    If not, there was always Plan B.
Samhain Samhain brought a shovel. It's not for his opponent. As he silently slips past the guards, not a single footstep creaking, watching their patterns, he begins setting up his traps.

First are the bear traps and spikes. They're obscured by the shadow of the subspace array, but anyone with darkvision can avoid them. That makes them annoying, but what they really are is a distraction. 'Oh, he underestimated me. He thought these were enough'.

They hide from the oil barrels buried underground, just shallow enough that a single fireball could detonate them with force and blast back Eumenides, should he be able to catch them in their positions not far from the beartraps. There's several of them - he's willing to chain explosions and possibly start a forest fire, if it goes poorly.

Then, Samhain moves to perch nearby, out of the way but with a good viewpoint. He was going to bury himself, but couldn't figure out how to cover up the hole. So, instead, he just sits there the whole three days.

He doesn't even breathe.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      ACTION SPLIT - THE SLAUGHTER AND THE GRACIOUS ONES

     The time for the duel comes. A curtain of heavy rain beats down on Borealis, turning the grass into a wet, muddy muck perfect for concealing those devious traps. Better, because Samhain buried his explosives, they'll work just as effectively as they would in clear skies. True to their word, the Eumenides copy arrives at the subspace relay. But unlike Samhain, their approach isn't subtle at all. He can see them coming up the catwalk, stopping to exchange words with the guards posted there.

>Wouldn't it be more beneficial for everyone to work something out?

     It's hard to hear what the guards are saying, over the thunderstorm. They have, after all, integrated speakers in their helmets, for just such occasions. The ICC is slow to act, but apparently quite detail-oriented. Eumenides has no such speaker, and speaks loudly and clearly enough so that Samhain will hear, if he's present.

     "We have no interest in the Relay, and give our word no damage shall come to it. We are here to satisfy an obligation to another."

     Naturally, that doesn't fly. They resort to violence--but curiously, despite the video Samhain no doubt saw of them gunning down the Vanguard officers, the ICC guards don't get the same treatment. The 'why' of it is anyone's guess, but Eumenides cracks the butt of their lightning caster against their helmets in two expert, fluid motions. When one is in danger of falling off of the narrow catwalk, they quickly catch the guard by the scruff of her neck. Both are placed out of harm's way.

     With that done... the Gracious Ones enter, unopposed. "Samhain, we are come to fulfil our oath to you." Stepping into the clearing, they set off one of those bear traps. It cleaves into their armor with a grisly crunch, blood trickling down their right leg in the rain--yet they bear it with an almost dignified stoicism.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      "We see the point you make," says Eumenides. "As his Mercy, we are willing to entertain the notion." That's potentially something to work with--they seem to believe that their role is not necessarily one of vengeance. "Let us begin, then, with King Vergil's concerns, if we are to 'work something out."

     They are utterly confident in this place, enough so that they're willing to turn their back on Crow to idly shuffle towards a rusted blast door of some sort. It was clearly in place to accomodate large amounts of pedestrian traffic, while offering a measure of security in the event of some sort of attack. The burnt-out neon letters above it are just barely visible in the grimy darkness: FAIR TRADE.

     Looking over their shoulder at Crow, they gesture with the faintly glowing weapon to the burnt out sign. "It is strange to be here--to see tunnels so like our own, yet so devoid of life." It's just an idle musing. But their next remark is in keeping with their aim of negotiating, their tone more businesslike. "Know that in the tunnels of 'West Athen,' His subjects dwell in a place like this one; a place the Above deigned to conduct their business for those who would use the Train. They who dwell in such a place, cast Him out, frightened by his genius and the power he wielded."

     "It is His concern that, exposed to the Above, they who dwell in Fair Trade will change their ways to the ways of the Above, and his efforts to win them back will be for nothing; his mastery over life and death ignored in pursuit of such things as the Above values. What, then," they ask, tilting their head, "Can be done?"

     It's a genuine, sincere question--so at the very least, there's no need for a Plan B yet.
C Crow, momentarily, entertains the impulse to try and murder them then and there. If he was quick enough on the take to use his ARCUS, he'd have all the time in the world to have at them while their back is turned. But it's a flashing thought, the same kind of waning instinct to jump off a ledge that most experience at least once in their life.

It's a notion that is discarded as quickly as it comes. The helmeted man releases a thoughtful hum, mostly for sure, though in no way exaggerated. At the end of the day, he thinks to himself, the concern being voiced is essentially one of manpower.

Rather, as a cult of personality, it's possible that those who leave it might not be susceptible to the same belief system that they'd known before. That's the real rub.

C knows a little something about that, though. "Allow me to pose you a fair question. These values that you wish to preserve, that you fear will be lost; if these values are good for them, more so than the values of 'the Above', then convincing those you've lost is not impossible. In ideals, there are two kinds of people within a cause, those who believe, and those who do not. If all the ones you need to convince to return are those who believe, then remind them why they believe. If they do not believe, remind them why they acted as if they did."

"If this is not the case, what values would be best for them?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Crow is rewarded for not indulging that instinct, with the knowledge that now, the two (technically, the three, if you count both instances of Eumenides being here) of them are entering into the Cool Zone. That is to say, Eumenides is surprised that someone from Above would put forth the arguments that Crow is putting forth. It's likely, given their obedience to Vergil, and the way they talk about him, about the community that exiled Vergil, and the way they talk specifically about the outside world, that Vergil is the sort to poison the well against anyone's rule but his own.

     They frown thoughtfully, pacing back and forth. "There was a time when all believed as Vergil did; that the Safety..." They pause. "Those Above call it 'Insurance' or 'Reclaim.'" That might be something to ask Bauer about; the construction of the Borealis subway, or perhaps the rock it penetrates, seems more permeable for radio frequencies. "It was meant to keep us all safe, and it did. But the Divide began when King Vergil sought to create new life, from the Safety. His first creations were..." They frown, stopping in their tracks. "Imperfect. Enough so that they became frightened of what else the Safety might be used for. A 'vote' was called, and he was thrown out."

     "We believe that they could be convinced that the Safety can be used for the good of all, that Vergil would use it only in the service of them... but... in truth, the King must be convinced, as well. Convinced that creations like his spiders, his shades, and ourselves are... not necessary. We fear that would be difficult; for we have seen as much anger as kindness in him."
Samhain It's the third day. Samhain's rival appears, knocking out the guards, stepping into a beartrap. He's physically tough. Good thing he set the beartraps, that's good to know.

Samhain leaps from his perch, soaring through the air from the jump, and comes hurtling down to land on top of Eumenides, sledgehammer first. He knows he can't crack his skull in one shot - he has a barrier - but he's hoping to do damage to the barrier immediately without risk of a big counterattack just yet. The ground is likely to crack underfoot from the sheer impact, but can his foe withstand it?

"Eumenides. Let's play."
C Crow places his forefinger and thumb onto the tipped chin of his helmet, in thought. So then, the problem wasn't necessarily the errant followers, so much as it was Vergil himself. Sheep were sheep, but if he couldn't act in a way that would draw them back, then it didn't truly matter, did it?

After several moments of contemplation, Crow puts his hand back down. "That is quite a problem, isn't it? The source of their concern and his consternation ... it's practically recursive. If he can't be convinced, then neither will they. You would know your King far better than somone like myself; how do you believe he could be convinced?"
Liza Grier     A squad of four goddamn weirdos, with mostly their own personal picks of custom assembled kit, waiting aboard a dinged up and outdated yet robust group craft, for fast flight and tactical insertion, brings a special kind of faint, intensely nostalgic smile to Liza's face as she climbs aboard. The kind that doesn't reach halfway across the eyes, but radiates like cozy fireplace heat. It remains on her face while she repeatedly glances up and down at the others from her seated position at the edge of the craft between bouts of tapping on her wrist device, like she's trying to copy down an extreme long sequence of numbers and memorizing ten at a time at each peek.

    "I'll congratulate Bauer later." she says. "You're a lot more exciting than I expected you to be. Good stuff. Nice picks." Beep beep blip blip beep. She reaches into one of the two storage spaces on her suit, at the small of the back, then begins slowly feeding what look like dodecagonal red marbles into her wrist unit, with the thumb motion and general air of loading a shotgun one shell at a time. "And get it all out of your systems. Plenty of people haven't lasted five minutes between them being introduced to me and them having their skulls caved in with the sharp corner of an engineering toolbox. Saving impressions for later is for people who can't make a good one without prep."

    She does spend some short amount of the ride over making herself fairly clear on a few things. This kind of environment is exactly where Liza is most relaxed in, and she interacts with the others with the sort of relaxed but serious cadence of a veteran sports coach having professionally retired to teach local as a hobby, now in the locker room an hour before regional finals. It mostly amounts to them sticking to what they know, relying on their familiarity with each other, and staying a set distance both away from and behind her at any given time. She has a few distance bands on the table, one of which is a five foot 'do not cross under any circumstances in a combat situation' affair, for whatever reason. She gives a broad and fuzzy overview of her familiarity with the field, which is a lot, albeit much of it not relevant to something as simple and down to earth as a subway. She also very specifically asks about mutants. Then she asks about psychics. Then she asks about *wizards*, and if that somehow doesn't get blank stares or laughs, she goes on to ask about cultists.

    Her insistence on being point with Bauer becomes fairly apparent once the operation is underway. She remains moving constantly forward, never slowing more than a walk for any reason other than to check blind intersections. The menacing glow of her helmet optics in the dark constantly cycles between enhanced vision modes, and her callouts and indicators are professionally effortless over the AR web within the squad. At some points, she highlights and bids the group move around various muggers and junkies without them ever having come up on sensors, through something she just calls 'intuition'.
Liza Grier     The first couple of run-ins she bodies through krav maga and hidden shock emitters and boosters in her gloves and boots, but from there, she begins punching hotkeys in her wrist device to, it seems, teleport items straight into her hands from who knows where, expending and ejecting those red crystals each time. She isn't precious or stingy with her gear in this way. If she takes something down with a submachine gun, she empties the remaining dregs of the magazine into the body to be sure. If more than one enemy is within a few feet of each other, it gets a grenade; EMP, explosive, or gas depending on what it is. If she can scan an enemy through a wall, she rotates in an anti-materiel rifle too big for a human to nominally use, and blows it in half through feet of concrete and steel. If she can spot a large group early, she lays down improvised traps and lures them out. She takes no risks and holds back nothing.

    More than that though, the trip highlights the purpose of her chosen gear preferences perfectly. Weaponry is dealt with via a large and powerful round shield of glowing blue energy she can emit from one arm, as well as extensively trained defensive and counterattack maneuvers, unarmed or with an energy sword in her other hand. Anything that gets past --or that she lets pass-- is absorbed by an energy barrier on the surface of her suit that gradually recharges between engagements. If it goes down for a short time, heavy armour plating and reactive materials absorb the impact. In any case where something might puncture a weakspot, not only does she not bleed at all, but she seems to not even react to the pain. She may, at most, press a button for a preventative chem dose. It's an approach that is optimized from the ground up for one person to deal with fifty deadly opponents by staying on the move and taking them on five at a time, over and over again without slowing or resupplying or pausing for medical attention. Liza radiates the feeling she'd be sprinting this if time were a factor.

    The shades represent aforementioned mutants, and potentially also aforementioned wizards. She reacts to hers in a different manner than everything else so far. Reflexively, it seems, as her change in demeanor from the moment it starts chewing on her life force is too quick to have been a conscious decision of figuring out what the feeling is and responding strategically. While the shade is slowed, her shotgun still too low to be readied against it, Liza turns on it and throws out her free hand as if she means to grab it by the neck, despite being five feet short and still lunging back further in the process. A split second later, she's somehow managed to paralyze it completely, but in a way that looks more akin to a seizure than magic. Curling her fingers and slowly twisting her wrist, she contorts its body in a painful, but nominally undamaging way-- and then with a flat slash of her hand, arterial spray explodes from its neck and face, spinning it around with the sustained force of ejecting most of its blood volume for several seconds.

    That red suit is exactly the right shade to hide human blood. Possibly less so shade blood. She doesn't even reflexively try to wipe any off before barking "Good question. I need to hear the answer. What do these have to do with Vergil? Are there any more of them? If those are here, what else is?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants >What values would be best for them?
>If he can't be convinced, then neither will they.

     True to Bauer's warning, that faint ripple is visible--in fact it's very much so, as microscopic impurities present in the rain collide with its surface. When that sledgehammer crashes into the barrier, some of it does transfer to Eumenides. There is a meaty sort of crunch, and a grunt, as the weapon collides with their shoulder. But, as Bauer warned, a portion of that impact is translated back to Samhain, nanites forming a blunt force impact with a blast of compressed air at just under half of the strength of Samhain's attack.

     But they aren't stupid. "You held back. Clever," they say with a wan smile. Why wan? What could have changed, in the past three days, to render that sadness onto their previously carefree demeanor? They shoulder the lightning caster, and for the first time, Samhain sees the weapon in action, in person.

     Bright purple novas of plasma stream from the weapon in rapid succession, as if it were the energetic equivalent of a light machine gun. As opposed to Samhain's preference for blunt force trauma, bear traps and explosions, Eumenides' weapon carries no impact force at all; rather, it's like being blasted with miniature suns in rapid succession. The spinning of the fuel rods within is so rapid that it creates a significant kind of untraditional recoil--but the Gracious Ones have a strong grip.

     "Much has changed in three days," they call over a crash of thunder. Their shoulder was dislocated by that blow from Samhain, but when the weapon's full-automatic burst is over, and the spent fuel rods eject into the rain with a hiss, there's another opportunity for a counterattack. There's a grisly snap as they forcibly set the bone without so much as a grimace. "We are, at least, gladdened to see you enjoy this."
Samhain The blowback sends Samhain into the dirt, rolling backwards. He leers from under the mask, staring straight as Eumenides. "What could change? We are the same. Monsters looking for somewhere to belong. But you belong under a master's control. I am free. That is our difference. You could break free. But you won't."

The lightning caster blasts into Samhain as he starts walking forward, and is far more intense than he expected, frying his jumpsuit and revealing rippling muscles underneath, burnt black but not broken. He takes a breath even as he skids back, but keeps moving forward. He knows he can't walk through each blast of this weapon, and another will probably knock him off his feet.

New plan. As Eumenides fixes their shoulder, Samhain points a finger at the ground beneath him. A small blast of fire moves to impact with the ground, and set off the oil barrel close-by, since he was just in the beartrap. Hopefully, it's straight underneath, and launches Eumenides briefly into the air...

For Samhain to teleport above him, empower that sledgehammer like a piston, and try and break the shield again. He's willing to take great damage to do so. It's almost like...

Yes, Eumenides would probably realize it, being in a world with casual immortality. This Elite isn't afraid to die, probably because he /can't/ in a traditional way.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      "Indeed it is. We do not wish to betray our king. But the Above is more vast than even he can imagine. It is not something one simply brushes away. To serve him in the way that he asks... it would endanger him, those still loyal to him, and Fair Trade alike." How *could* Vergil be convinced? Thought of that question brings a concerned crease to their brow, then sees them shuffle over to a long-forgotten bench, which creaks onerously beneath the combined weight of them, their armor and their weapon.

     "No doubt, your fellows are on their way to him now, imagining that he is vulnerable without us there to guard him." They chuckle, shaking their head. "They are wrong... but we would do the same in their position." They sigh through their nose, palms resting on the lightning caster. "We believe that if King Vergil is to be convinced at all, this argument is what we should use. Yet, time is short."

     In that moment,there is a disturbing sight. While Eumenides remains seated, their face bulges unnaturally. Emerging from their body is a perfect copy of themselves, which stands up once it's free, leaving the other portion of the gestalt consciousness seated. They both speak in perfect unison. "Kill one of us, Crow, and the Safety will draw us back to His kingdom. There, we may... attempt to convince him from this path. Our other will remain here, to draw upon your wisdom such that it may help convince the King."
C Hidden by his visor, Crow's face cringes in disgust at the un-natural division. It was hard to not feel repulsed by it, even as seasoned as he was.

"I see. So then, if I take one of you out, that body will ... respawn, I guess is a good word for it. If you're ready for it, then."

Waiting briefly for affirmation, he parts his cloak and lashes out with his lance, intent on beheading one of the two with a swift but clean motion. With any luck, Eumanides' plan would work and they could talk Vergil down, with his assistance.

Swinging down with an almost whipping gesture to fling the blood off his Sigurd Edge and onto the floor, he hums.

    "Now for the toughest part, huh."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      >Saving impressions for later is for people who can't make a good one without prep.

     Liza's made a great one on the team. They're perfectly okay with keeping back. She'll likely get the idea that none of them--even Stitches or Yates, are front-liners anyway, all having been hand-picked by Bauer to complement Liza's skillset. Mutants, psychics, and wizards, according to Yates, are all real here, though that last one draws a compressed snort from Phreak. It's technically true--there are trillions of nanites in this squad, between all of the members, and what they do could easily be construed as magic. Casual pre-op conversation reveals that an acquantance of Phreak's, a prolific neutral 'nano-technician' by the name of Izgimmer, apparently plays this Clarke trope to the very hilt, going so far as to name his offensive programs as a wizard would name their spells.

     Everyone on this planet is at least a little psychic--even brute force professions like soldiers or 'enforcers.' Stitches is quick to state that the history of why that is the case is something that goes back across thousands of years of evolutionary history; something one can't easily explain on such a short trip. Mutants, however, are fairly simple: they exist, and in the overwhelming majority, they are failed experiments which Omni-Tek, owner of the planet's lease and instigator of much of the planet's strife, abandoned as callously as any other abuse Liza knows such corporations to make. That, then, would be why Phreak was so surprised to see 'shade mutants,' perhaps, down here--for this subway has been abandoned for generations now.

     In any case, her progress through the Subway is met at several points with impressed remarks from everyone--especially in the way that she deals with the shade. "Father God," says Yates with a low whistle. "'Slike somebody gave an enforcer a god damn nuke!" As her shade flees into one of the adjacent bathrooms, Yates pops it in the head with a shot that seems to curve around the corner.

     "Yeah, it was sick," says Phreak, who is definitely in the splash zone for the blood, even keeping the distance Liza asked for. It's then that his 'armor' reveals its purpose: the majority of physical matter which hits him passes through harmlessly. He's digitized his body almost entirely, compressing his remaining physical matter and hiding it somewhere within that mostly virtual avatar of his.

     There's a brief lull. Everyone here has *some* manner of healing programs at the ready--Yates has quick-and-dirty frontier fixes, Stitches has sophisticated mobile-hospital work, Phreak, illegally redirected programs from legitimate sources, and Eddie, most interestingly, a kind of vampiric program that steals material from enemies to repair the tissue of allies. Since Liza has her own supply, they mostly look out for themselves, which is likely just what she'd want.

     The next area is more difficult, and more disgusting. Deeper in, onto tracks which never saw the light of day, there are maintenance tunnels which carry the echoes of buzzing wings and the stink of refuse. Fleshy, two-legged things of filthy skin and singular, viscous slimy eyes, hop out to spit corrosive ichor, surrounded by legions of flies attracted to their stench. They die quickly, but not unlike silverfish, the scent of a dead one attracts more; Liza's patience pays off here.

     Down, down, down, past a winding circular stairwell which is indicated as 'POWER GENERATION' on Bauer's provided blueprints, is where the scope of Vergil's experimentation begins to become apparent. Bolted to the sides of the hallway are test tubes, many seemingly shattered from the inside, as well as terminals labeled RECLAIM in various states of repair; some still functioning, others destroyed, others still without the label and evidently built from scratch. Phreak glances towards Liza. "You got those, Boss?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      "We got incoming," says Yates, firing her pistol. There, on the other end, are two humans, seemingly. They come running down, opening fire with clearly hand-made projectile weapons sourced from whatever could be salvaged, their clothes likewise piecemeal makeshift armor over tattered rags. But there's a wrongness to them. One has 13 fingers between both hands, with teeth growing so out of control as to pierce the skin in places. The other has five eyes, each of a different color, and a uselessly dangling, withered third arm.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      >Now for the toughest part.

     "On the contrary," says Eumenides. The explosion throws them from the ground, indeed launching their heavy, armored form high into the air. Their eyes widen in surprise, to see Samhain above winding up with a haymaker. Much of the strength of that blow is indeed transferred to Samhain--but the majority of it is still delivered to its intended target. There is a sound like a circuit burning out, and the shimmering field is now totally gone, just in time for Eumenides to impact the ground.

     A spray of water, shorn blades of grass, and clumps of muddy earth are thrown up around him in a crater. With a grunt, they roll away from the point of impact. Another bear trap, this time clamping down on their hand as they get back up. It is torn off in a bloody mess, their hand now unable to work the weapon's trigger. "This is our first act as a free being. To keep a promise, even if the reasons for making it..."

     They switch hands, attempting to load new fuel cells into the weapon with their bloodied, mangled fingers--and failing. "No longer apply." They toss the weapon aside, then in a burst of superhuman speed, charge headlong through the mud to attempt a leaping snap kick, even if it means wading through another of those traps. There's movement in the city below--that oil bomb has started a fire which the rain is having a difficult time extinguishing. Someone may be up to investigate, soon, but that doesn't seem to bother Eumenides at all.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      "Indeed," says the one remaining Eumenides with a nod. Their decapitated other rapidly decomposes, leaving only an empty longcoat, an unfired lightning gun, and a suit of heavy military-grade armor behind. "We are reconstituted now... the King is in his throne room. Here. You may speak to him through us, if need be."

     Crow is handed a datapad which appears to be streaming directly from Eumenides' split conscious. The King himself is a disturbing looking figure, a tall, pale humanoid shape in futuristic black armor that resembles banded mail, yet seems to drink in the light around it. He is bald, the entirety of his face evidently caved in and replaced with an expressionless black screen, held fast to his head with woven straps. "My Furies return to me with work unfinished," says Vergil.

     "For good reason, your majesty," says the other Eumenides. "We have spoken with the outsiders. We have found that their desires and yours are closer than you thought."

     Vergil is silent. "And what do you know of their desires? Who is it that poisons my creations against me? Hm... you are broadcasting... who goes there? Who dares interfere in the court of Vergil Aeneid?"
Samhain There is a realization as Samhain's arm breaks from the impact of his own blow. It's not about the blast or the damage. It's about what Eumenides says afterwards.

He's free? This was his own choice? That's...

"I see. That's respectable. But I will not spare you. This is a duel to the death - it'd be disrespectful to go easy on you when you're keeping your promise. No, I must kill you to truly christen you as a free being. Otherwise, your choice has no meaning."

Desummoning the sledgehammer in trade for a one-handed claw hammer, Samhain charges. The barrier is down. The killer moves to start striking for vital bone breakage points, and then the skull. He's not playing anymore - this is an opponent he respects, so he's trying to kill him quickly.

But it's not going to be that easy, and he knows it. And he's still going to cheat. Mid-swing, he suddenly feints, rolls back, and sets off multiple fireballs. Every remaining oil barrel is set off in an attempt to immolate Eumenides.

The security is gonna absolutely come investigate, after this.
C C stares into the pad for several moments, the light reflecting off of his visor. It takes him several moments to both compose a reply, and figure out how to utilize the device. It wasn't quite like the orbal computers he was familiar with, after all.

"I .. am C. I am the leader of the Imperial Liberation Front, but, more pressingly, an associate of The Watch."

Pausing momentarily, C considers how to begin speaking to the man proper. This was a crucial step, saying the wrong thing here would make it all for nothing.

Finally, he continues, "I would like to mediate, to .. avoid a conflict. I have come pleading mercy, King Vergil Aenid."

It was important to maintain his own dignity as well as it was to sway the other man into a positive response, lest he come off as an insincere bootlicker. Men like this, from what he could discern of his person, were highly ego-centric. A certain Duke he knew was similar, in some ways -- the smallest slight being enough to incite a terrible grudge.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      "I know of the Watch," says Vergil with a solemn nod. "I have supped of the knowledge of the world above. My kingdom is not so cut off as you may believe; we know the ways of nanites, of the sciences. Observe, my latest creation."

     He steps aside, and Eumenides' gaze follows. The room in which they stand is a combination laboratory and throne room, with a throne in the center, fashioned from scrap and unused bits of subway construction. The walls are lined with self-made computers of varying size.Chemical and biological synthesis chambers are affixed to several of the computers, but the eye is naturally drawn elsewhere. Up, at first. Up, to a ring of cumbersome and alien machines, like visions from nightmares of abduction, hanging from the ceiling, needles and nodules and freshly-blooded surgical tools pointed towards an operating table. The table is angled upwards with the press of a button, releasing Vergil's latest work.

     Eight feet of solid muscle stands up and approaches Eumenides. Between those broad shoulders, there is no head. Affixed to either side, there are no arms; rather, two massive chains, affixed to bloodied metal flails, which retract and extend as needed by the heavily-breathing monstrosity. Its muscled torso is armored with form-fitting hammered metal, save for the space where the stomach would normally be. There lies the source of the heavy breathing--for instead of an abdomen, there is a gaping maw, with razor-sharp teeth, a slavering tongue licking across those sharp poiints hungrily.

     "Behold," says Vergil. "Abmouth Supremus. Have you ever seen such physical perfection? Have you ever witnessed a being so perfectly tailored for war?" Eumenides takes a step back.

     "It is not necessary, your majesty," they say warily. "The Above doesn't wish for war any more than you do. Nor do the people of Fair Trade."

     "No," says Vergil, seemingly agreed... at first. "Not at first, they don't. But when I revealed to the people of Fair Trade my gifts--when I used the reclaim technology of our ancestors to spin life anew, what did they do?" He folds his hands behind his back. "Did they see, as I did, a future where our every need could be met, with flora and fauna tailor-made to our every need? Where any material concern we might need could be satisfied, without need to ever venture above?"

     "Your majesty... they only feared because they could not understand."

     Vergil laughs. "You are apparently a convincing man, C. My Furies rarely ever know doubt. Nor have they ever sought to sway me... especially as fervently as they do now. But I created them, as I created my infestors, as I stole the fire from those above to create my shades... all because my gifts were denied. Because they didn't believe the Above would come for us."

     This will be a much harder sell than Eumenides... it may not even be possible. What this is, is anger, and paranoia, and a god complex, all rolled into one.

     Eumenides makes one last push. "Your majesty... C told us that there were two kinds of people in a cause. Those who believe in it, and those who... do not. If you truly believe in protecting your people, why do you prepare for war, when you know that many of them will die for it?"

     Vergil is silent. Seething. It isn't going well. Crow's probably got one last shot, and realistically... it'd be a hail mary, at this point. This is someone who's not only abandoned what he believed in, he's operating purely on spite and powerlust.
C C's mask betrays no expressions. It was the real reason he wore it; certainly there were other advantages. It hid his true identity far more thoroughly than G, S, or V had cared to for themselves. But it took the burden of having to steel his face from him, allowing his expression to free itself behind the facade.

Vergil Aenidas was a man on the brink of a meltdown. It didn't take a genius to observe, one only had to look at the utter abomination he'd created. That wasn't something made to kill efficiently, like a tank, or a gunship. Not even a trained beast like the jaegers of his world favored.

It was more like a fiend; a tool of torture, of malice and cruelty. That wasn't the weapon of a man fighting for what he believed in, rather, it was the bronze bull of a despot, something meant only to inflict pain and horror to the maximum degree on those who'd angered the owner.

"I have heard many things, from many people, concerning you."

"I'm sure you can imagine what some would say. Yet, I have also heard of a King who only wished what was best for his people and his kingdom. Of a most gracious soul full of vigor and genius, one whose very being was dedicated towards progress and safety, who would not stop for anything until his vision for his people was realized."

"King Vergil Aenidas. Are you that man? Are you he, who is looked up to as a King, or are you the mad dog /despot/ that some would paint you as? Those who fear you, now is the time to prove to them who you are, and what you stand for. Your true face will be revealed here, one way or another."
Liza Grier     Liza is pretty open about her bizarre gladness to not be dealing with actual wizards, though she doesn't really explain it. It may as well be the same thing, but the minute they explain that it's all 'nanites' and 'programs', her demeanour becomes slightly but noticeably more relaxed about the mission.

    The fact that all four members of the squad are middle or backliners is hardly lost on Liza either. She says something to the effect of reevaluating her opinion of Bauer's judgement upwards a few times along the way, though she seems disinclined to fill the longer, emptier stretches of tense quiet with any kind of chatter or questions. Though it'd do a lot to soothe nerves, she seems far more intent on maximizing how much she'll be able to hear instead. The fact that they can all sustain themselves is a definite plus.

    Liza doesn't seem too ruffled by the revolting bog that inevitably springs up where sewage lies stagnant for long enough, though no doubt in large part due to wearing a sealed environment suit. After the first few ambushes, Liza exchanges her weapon --a hand cannon at that point, to free up a shield arm-- for something that looks like the unholy bastard offspring of a nailgun and an auto-injector, which apparently fires more like a machine pistol instead of either, for the sake of riddling new targets with toxic cocktails loaded into constantly 3d printed syringe-bullets. Minimizing any scent of blood or charred flesh should lower their encounter rate.

    When it comes to the tube terminals, her answer is simple: "If you've got those, then yes." Her inclination to ask about, or even analyze, the two brand new awfuls is fairly low down on the list at the minute. It'd probably be somewhat more efficient to task the digi-man with these terminals and handle those mutants herself, but it'd rob her of the more important aspect in the scenario here.

    Instead, what she does is select, teleport, prime, and slide a handful of canned objects across the floor. One bursts into a rapidly spreading, paper thin puddle of translucent, zero-friction liquid, essentially impossible to stand on without slowly and deliberately adjusting for it. Another erupts with twin streams of semitransparent gas that burns, blisters, and dissolves exposed membranes --especially eyes, gums, throats, and the like-- in a way that is definitely a war crime. A third is just a powerful canister bomb timed for thirty seconds and magnetically latched to the frictionless ground, which she will rely on the others to drive the mutants back towards.

    Liza doesn't have much in the way of ability to fix things, but weird nanotech and cobbled together superscience are in her bag. Somewhat literally. She has her emag and crytpograhic sequencer kit physically on her, and spends a short while plugged into the terminals, scouring them for records. Those that can be searched but not activated, she copies the content of and then deletes. Those that are fully functional, she changes all passwords, blocks all access, and locks down so nobody else can use them. Those that appear to link to a dangerous tube subject, she sets to purge imminently. It has the air of a bomb defusal team on a set of computers.

    Every so often, she disengages to blast a few rounds downrange at the mutants, but she's mostly relying on her many layers of defenses, and her squad, to make it work. Especially while she pulls for any and all data pertaining to OmniTek, and what Vergil has been doing in the meantime. Any controls or routing regarding any other parts of the subways --even just a good condition map-- are also pulled.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      There is the sound of gunfire, both energy and ballistic, which is faintly heard through the tablet. If Crow and Eumenides can hear it, Vergil certainly can too. But he retains his cool-headedness. His tone is as cold as ice. "That man is dead. Killed by knife, after knife, after knife in his back. That his own Furies would be here, with another in hand, is an insult to his memory."

     "There is a place, on this world, where others study, as I have, the means to create life, to push it beyond even the brilliantly engineered creatures which form the planet's artificial ecosystem. In a just world, they would share such knowledge--but because it is unjust, and because they know it to be, they hide away and guard their knowledge jealously, fearing reprisals from those who fear... what they cannot understand." The last words are uttered mockingly, as Vergil turns his attention fully on Eumenides.

     "My subjects should have been willing to give their lives in service of that vision from the start. But I was weak--my overtures for their acceptance, my attempts to improve their lives, sent them the message that they could defy me and still earn my forgiveness. My mercy. No more. I will take Fair Trade back, by force, and I will seal this place off from Above with every tool at my disposal. That is what I should have done from the beginning. If it makes me a despot... so be it."

     The stream stutters. Eumenides--the one in the throne room--grunts. "We... urge you to reconsider, your majesty."

     "*You* are my creation. You will do nothing but what I command. Leave this place, get back to your duties, and kill the interloper, C."

     The Eumenides in the darkness with Crow takes a deep breath. "We... are his *justice.* We never imagined our scales would weigh King Vergil... but they have."

     "We will do no such thing."

     "Then you will die with those who invade my lands." The feed cuts out, leaving the remaining consciousness and C in the darkness.

     "...his ways are no longer what is best. We must oppose him, for it is the only just choice. Yet... what will happen now?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants >My Furies rarely ever know doubt.

     Eumenides smiles. "Nor would we ask you to. We are glad you understand, Samhain." That smile remains, even as their face is beaten, bruised and swollen by the claw hammer. Ordinarily, such a weapon would be ill equipped to penetrate their riot armor, but the sheer strength which Samhain puts behind it is enough not only to crack the space-age ceramic, but to break bones and skin beneath it.

     Without their weapon, Eumenides resorts to barehanded fighting, as naturally as breathing, yet impossibly disciplined. From where did they learn? There were no such schools in Fair Trade, nor mention of any amongst its people. Yet nevertheless, there is absolutely a style at work here, one of elbow strikes and joint locks rather than redirection and grapples. In essence, they are every bit as brutal as Samhain, and, likewise, trying to kill him.

     Brutally trading lethal-force vital point strikes in the downpour, the two are locked in that deathmatch until Samhain pulls his trump card. Eumenides falls for the feint, bringing up a meaty forearm to block, only to see that no attack comes. They attempt a dive for cover. It doesn't work--all it does is place their stomach directly over the point of the explosion, cracking open their armor and throwing them high into the air, burning oil clinging to their body even as the rain attempts to smother it.

     That isn't the only consequence. The Subspace Relay, an undoubtedly ruinously expensive installation, is set ablaze, the flames melting and warping the plates which form the surface of the disc. The heat isn't the only factor--the force of so many belowground explosions appears to have shorn the dish from its subterranean support struts. With a cacophony of shrieking metal and buckling concrete, the Relay falls deeper into the pit dug to contain it, the dish bending where its mass is unable to overcome the strength of the earth around it.

     Eumenides hits the ground a second later, the sound of several bones breaking muted by a thunderclap. They roll over in time to see a squad of ICC soldiers, hurrying up the catwalk, accompanied by cybernetically augmented attack dogs which bay for blood, and stomping white droids with vicious-looking claws and segmented chassis concealing other deadly weapons.

Now is the time to prove to them who you are, and what you stand for.

     Eumenides barks out a laugh, ragged. "You failed, *hero,*" they cry, rising unsteadily to their feet, blood weeping from the charred and mangled spot where their abdomen was. "The relay is destroyed. I suppose my explosives were simply too much for your feeble efforts to stop." They're... putting on a complete fiction, to keep Samhain away from the consequences. So far... it's at least keeping the ICC's attention on him. "And look! Now the... ICC... comes to marvel at my work!"

     The guards bark orders for them to stand down--to put their hands up. They don't. "Let them marvel also as I strike you down for good!" With a roar of triumph, Eumenides makes one final charge. The bullets of the guards rip through their body, but even as they're flayed they continue running, using the last of their strength to try and crush Samhain's neck between their hands.

     "If this is also our last act... it wouldn't be so bad an end," they say, attempting genuinely to kill, yet knowing they might not manage. "Goodbye, Samhain."
Samhain The Subspace Relay explodes. That was /maybe/ too many oil barrels. As the ICC soldiers come up, Samhain prepares to fight everyone, including Eumenides at once.

Under the mask, his eyes widen as Eumenides moves to /save him from the consequences/. No one has done this for him before, in this way. No one has respected him like that. He's paranoid of the reasons, but...perhaps Eumenides respects him the same way Samhain respects Eumenides.

As the mutant charges Samhain to crush his neck, Samhain simply speaks. "It was nice meeting you. Goodbye, Eumenides." Under his breath, right where the rival can hear it, and then, as his hammer moves to rip Eumenide's throat out and kill him once and for all...

Samhain's neck snaps at the same time it'd occur. In the last moments of Eumenides' life, he'd see Samhain collapse to the ground, neck broken, dead. He lingers there long enough for Eumenides to die, and for the ICC to start investigating.

And then, slowly, Samhain's arms lift up, realign his neck, and it regenerates. He stands back up. And he speaks to the ICC.

"They were more of a hero than I ever was."

A photo-frame appears underneath Samhain's feet, drops him in, and disappears. He's not sticking around for interrogation.
C Crow watches, taking in the full breadth of Vergil's anger, but more importantly, his hurt. For that is what drove him. Crow knew the difference well, driven as he was by the unending flame he harbored in his chest. Vergil knew rage, yes, but it was his symptom and not his cause.

He was hurt by the rejection. Humiliated by it. And now he would take it out on those he deemed worthy of that suffering -- a despot, indeed. He accepted it wholeheartedly.

C says nothing for several moments before turning to face the one that remained. He'd considered killing it himself, earlier, but some part of him felt just a little bit attached now. He supposed it was endearing how it had grown over the span of their interactions. Or perhaps that was just his perception of matters?

It held no bearing on what would happen next, however. "You know what you believe in, and now, you know what he believes in. You are the justice of your King, but that man is not him; be the hammer which topples the dictator. That is something that only /you/ can do, as the one who carries on your King's will."

The words came easily after a moment of thought. Though he re-arranged them, altered to suit the situation at hand, he felt the same echo in his heart that resounded every time he spoke to his own people. In the end, the words were the same. The differences were ornamental at best.

It was the call to rouse a rebellious heart. "Vergil's shadow must be stopped, peace cannot be sued until he is."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Phreak absolutely has the two awfuls. Moving so fast that it can only be the result of a worldwide network of software trying to keep track of a pinprick in physical space, he practically glides towards them, circle-strafing around them and spraying them with burst-fire from those two SMGs he wields. They fire back, but even when the rare shot actually hits where he's hidden his physical matter, he's patched up by Stitches.

     Liza gets some unexpected assistance from Eddie Two-Times, who cries, "Skill Wrangler coming up, coming up!" As Liza's gas eats away at the flesh of another pair of mutants who run in to avenge the ones shot by Phreak, there is another mist which travels from Eddie's outstretched hand to the dying mutants. Stealing processing power from the brains of their opponents, Eddie's nanites confer a substantial increase to Liza's ability to navigate the terminals' systems. Yates, meanwhile, has undergone a startling transformation into a gigantic, pre-historic sized wolf, which leaps down the hallway to cover Phreak's hit-and-run offense with vicious maulings, the both of them two fast for their opponents to make more than glancing blows.

     Liza will find that Vergil has been up to a lot--the mutants here are his attempt to cobble random information from the reclaim buffers into bespoke entities. The shade-mutants are actually a one-to-one plagiarism of an Omni-Tek design, itself a failed attempt to create self-sufficient assassins. And where did Omni-Tek develop this design? At a black site known as BIOMARE, or BIOlogical MAterials REsearch, where all manner of experiments forbidden by the ICC charter are conducted in secret, under heavy guard. It seems that Vergil was able to break into their network, until he was discovered and booted. Lastly, the map--it's there, and it reveals that they're almost at the finish line. Overlaying Vergil's map atop the one that Bauer sent is how she'll come to that conclusion. The mutants are coming from a shantytown Vergil built for his sapient creations, and his 'throne room' (yes, that's what he labeled it) is not far at all.

     A tab labeled 'Eyes' flashes as Liza's explosive detonates, taking out the third and seemingly final wave of humanoid mutants. Tapped, it reveals a feed broadcast by one of those little gibbering spiders from earlier, of Eumenides destroying Vergil's lab, as the latter screams and sends a flail-armed, mouth-chested headless abomination after them. The files mention a mental lock placed on the Gracious Ones, preventing them from directly harming Vergil or their 'siblings'--they're evidently trying to do as much damage as they can, despite that safeguard, and judging by how hard the despot's bronze bull is swinging, there won't be much of Eumenides left before long. What now?
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      "We shall," says Eumenides, with a heavy sigh. They rise from the seat, and the weapon in their hands vanishes, as if eaten away by the very air itself, millions of nanites deconstructing it to store within the shared memory. "Though the loss of our king pains us... we know thanks to your wisdom that we lost him long ago."

     "You have done us a great service, Crow, in reminding us of who we are." They incline their head respectfully. "In truth, we would ask you for another, though we are not worthy of such. The men we killed as we left our home were of the Vanguard. We would like for there to be peace between us, and do not wish our people to suffer for our mistake. We would ask that you help us begin that process... by bringing us before the one called Ramon Bauer. Will you take us to him, and help us 'sue for peace?'"

     Vergil did not take Crow's words to heart, nor those of his Furies--but the Furies themselves did. If Crow would grant them that one last favor, they will follow his lead, and begin the process of healing the wound they struck.
C Crow smiles under his helmet. Part genuine, part smarm -- he's just glad that, once more, no one could witness it. It didn't matter what you fancied yourself, a King, a Chancellor, an Emperor .. or even a terrorist leader, without people to follow you, you were nothing. And your cause, likewise.

To a man quick to violence, it doesn't take long for it to become the only answer he knows, and Crow preferred to keep his repertoire full, and open.

         . . . . . .

After a short conversation via communicator, Crow removes his fingers from the nodule on his helmet with a small nod. "He's agreed to speak with you. No thanks are necessary, but I appreciate your gratitude either way. C'mon, let's hotfoot it out of here."

Shifting between the domineering and well-spoken C and a more easygoing tone like sipping water, Crow motions for Eumanides to follow as he turns away.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants FJRK: Borealis Relay Destroyed in Explosion
by Preston Roberts, FJRK (Tir)
Updated 20:09 RKT, Sun Nov 22, 29487

     The Borealis subspace relay was effectively destroyed late Saturday evening, following a confrontation between the assailant involved in the permanent deaths of two Vanguard officers, dubbed 'Eumenides' by clan authorities, and an unidentified vigilante with space-folding technology who fled the scene after apparently failing to prevent the relay's destruction. Vanguard sources say that the ICC was warned about the assailant, but refused to commit resources for a search. Vanguard officials say they have no leads, but will continue to search for Eumenides.

     The relay represented an as-yet unseen investment from Omni-Tek, and was expected to play a role in defense of the planet against orbital attack, coordinating communications with and between Goliath-class battlestations in geosynchronous orbit. Breakdowns in agreements over which of the planet's three polities would control the stations, ICC concerns over their use, and eventual sporadic armed conflicts for control of the battlestations have thus far resulted in a net loss for the megacorporation.

     Omni-Admin Director Jessica Lonare said in a statement on the evening following the relay's destruction that the loss was "regrettable," and that the corporation would be pursuing compensation for what it feels is negligence on the ICC's part. Asked for comment about Eumenides, she stated that she was confident that Omni-Pol would apprehend them, and that Omni-Reform facilities were equipped to 'rehabilitate and reeducate' even dangerous people like Eumenides.
Liza Grier     Given the extreme value of what Liza recognizes she's just discovered, she prioritizes keeping the reclaim buffer intact, but inaccessible to anyone without some very specific codes, which she is currently most strongly considering giving to Bauer to share or negotiate with as he pleases. The data regarding BIOMARE is something she mostly keeps to herself, however. Not out of any sense of suspicion or thoughts of potential profit, but for something she considers too dangerous to freely spread. It's something she plans to hit later herself.

    She tabs over to 'eyes' the moment it flashes, grimacing slightly inside her helmet as the angle of the overlay makes it clear just what it's coming from. The screaming burning exploding mutants become a distantly secondary concern as she begins looking for the controls on the spiders to a) get control of them for later and b) have them stop biting people like that.

    Locating Eumenides isn't exactly hard. What it's up to is a tremendous shock. It takes C explaining it over broadband to comprehend exactly what's happening. Given what the squad and Vanguard have told her about Vergil's safeguards, all possible scenarios in which this could normally happening are subversive disasters of varying levels of at least semi-technological collapse. The impossible one in which it really is, is different.

    "Short change of plan." Liza crackles through her helmet speaker, closing the feed and completing the last of the data transfer, and combining the coordinates of both maps. "Another agent has just activated an asset. Standard playbook procedure is to take advantage of any opportunity like this; the book is written by me. Hold tight." Flipping back the display, she hammers her computer with machine gun inputs, steps back from the terminal console, stands still amidst the increasingly loud, flywheel sound of charging electronics, and then she herself disappears in a leaping bolt of red light, like all the items dropped into her hands so far, leaving a handful of burnt and telecrystals jingling over the floor.
Liza Grier     The 'throne room' is shortly thereafter the recipient of a separate but related thunderbolt of crimson, this time with a suitable accompanying blast of sound and tingling electric heat. The geometric dead center of the room is scorched black for five feet all around, and briefly awash in meter-crackling radiation and smoke, compromising the lights.

    In the temporary dark sputtering, four glowing optics come online. This time, they are bright, scarlet red, and with a faint whine of servos and pneumatics, they lift themselves almost five meters from the floor. Ten tons of pitch black armour shifts its arms and flexes its articulated fingers, then emits the grainy, modulated burn sound of "<<Mauler diagnostics complete>>", before pneumatic harnesses release and extend a six hundred pound machine gun for it to grab from its back. Twin missile batteries purge their safety locks with hisses of steam. A shoulder mounted sensor pod sweeps its laser sight around the room, scanning the lab equipment, the man of the hour, and his bronze bull.

    Liza turns to the combat abomination, picks up fifty kilometers per hour in the space of three mechanized strides, and shoulder checks it from behind, aiming to fling it bodily across the room with tremendous mechanized strength. She brings up the heavy machine gun at the end of the same movement, thumbing the firing trigger and filling the lab with a sound like tearing paper amplified to a thousand times its normal volume, advancing on the monster at the head of a drowning tide of spent brass. The missile pods swivel independently, firing several explosives into the abomination at close range, but otherwise locking on to Vergil's equipment and free-firing streams of computer-guided mini-missiles into the most volatile and fragile machinery it can find, sewing thunderous explosions and blossoms of fire throughout the room as Liza moves.

    She uses the maneuvering thrusters for zero-G for extra speed and control instead, scraping and sparking the floor under her exosuit's boot treads so she can get in close and jam the glowing hot barrel into the monstrosity's toothy maw for the remainder of the ammo drum, then turn and burn in time to close on Vergil himself, moving at the first sign of an attempted escape or trump card pull.

    She has just the one question for Eumenides, whom she has never previously met or spoken to prior to this moment, distorted through the heavy bass of the Mauler's audio unit. "That dagger sufficiently bloody?" A no means she stands back and uses an integrated flamethrower jet to start burning the parts of the area not currently on fire, so that Eumenides can have his satisfaction, provided he can deal with the mental block enough to get there. A yes means she finishes the job herself, via a great big mechanized power stomp, fit to turn a man into a fantastically wide-spread mural of red abstract art.

    She'd been sent here to kill the chimera herself. Circumstances have changed.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F46r-_jPPHY

     "Sure thing," says Yates, assuming human form once more to do so. Her squad nods their agreement--if anyone can capitalize on an advantage in this group, it's Liza.

     Upon entry, Abmouth Supremus is blindsided by the Mauler's metallic bulk. Its armor clangs with an ear-piercing noise as the mech's shoulder is driven into it, and the sheer force of the impact flings it across the room. Vergil turns and opens fire on Liza, wielding a high-powered carbine which fires lances of blue energy that ionize the air around them. She'd hear the furious, despairing roar of a man watching his ambitions crumble, were it not for the sound of the mech's HMG. The king's weapon is powerful, but it's clear that his creation is the far bigger threat--Liza was right to charge it first.

     Eumenides, beaten to near unrecognizability, their armor puckered, cracked and bled through, likely would be dead now if she hadn't thought to use the telecrystal. Pinned by the abomination just moments before, this instance of the Gracious Ones could surely use the healing programs of her squad, but that can wait--her concerns now are more pressing.

     Bullets zip angrily into the beast's armored hide, cracking the teeth in its abdomen and drawing copious amounts of blood where they strike its mouth. Cybernetically auugmented legs carry it stubbornly, ploddingly forward, a weapon of destruction just as surely as her Mauler is. As it attempts to stop her from destroying the lab, the missile pods knock one of its flail-arms away, which ends up destroying part of the augmentation array affixed to the ceiling. It's strong, and it's tough, but it's nowhere near as fast as Liza--and her strategy of fighting inside its reach is extremely effective. Unable to strike the Mauler quickly enough to drive it back with its chain-limbs, Abmouth Supremus dies is a spectacularly gory fashion.

     At some point, the missile pods managed to strike a tank of highly flammable biomemetic foam, and afterwards, the shooting from Vergil ceased. When the smoke finally clears, Eumenides rolls onto their back to look up at the mech. With one bruised finger lifted, they point, looking for all the world like some figure in a Renaissance painting. Hanging from the ceiling with but a few cables keeping the apparatus affixed, there is the burning, slowly rotating wreckage of one of Vergil's vile surgical tools. Impaled upon it is the king himself, dead beyond any reasonable doubt, his weapon abandoned on the floor below.

     "Thank you."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      The King is dead, his Furies having weighed him and found him unjust. His lab is in ruins, never again to be used for such perversions of life. His research is in Liza's hands, the patterns in the Subway's localized reclaim network under digital lock and key, only to be accessed by those she can trust not to abuse them as Vergil did.

     In time, the molested patterns, fragmented memories and burn-outs created by Vergil's tampering with the buffer will grow curious, and the peaceful denizens of Fair Trade will no doubt be ready to accept them as brothers and sisters.

     Eumenides, The Gracious Ones, finally understand who they are, and are free of Vergil's corrupting, paranoid and warlike influence. They will make peace with Ramon Bauer, with Crow as their witness--and they will see in Bauer someone who can put aside his grudges for the greater common good. Someone who can recognize that common good when he sees it. Three days from now, they will make their first big choice as a free being, choosing to keep a promise made even knowing the reason for having made it no longer applies. Having seen what mercy looks like, and compassion, they will choose to be what they wish to see in the world, though that choice will carry consequences.

     The matter of the Subway, at least, is put to rest.