let the sun breathe life once more [pafp, bxb]

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    “Not exactly good news, but…” Sorrel shrugs. Maybe for Jophiel it is. “Well, considering I don’t think there are any back doors here, we’re going to have to go in through the front.” Sorrel inclines his head towards the building. “Which means you’re in luck, because we’ve got those guys to deal with before we can do that.”


    He flips the knife in his hand so it’s more comfortable in his grip. “Well, try your best to be quiet, and be fast.” Sorrel knows Jophiel can do the latter but he’s more concerned about the quiet part. Of course he’s not going to begrudge him if he can’t, but it’d help.


    Sorrel breathes in and out carefully. “Alright, I’m saying again that if I die I still want to be cremated. I’m reminding you because if you make it open fucking casket I’m haunting your ass for all of eternity like the most annoying cockblock of a ghost. Ready?”

    Quiet? Manageable. Jophiel thought. In and out was probably as quick as they wanted this to go really. And, with the large group within the building, the element of surprise would be on their side, especially if they acted at breakneck speed, without hesitation.

    At the thought of cremation, Jophiel could do nothing else but shake his head at Sorrel's persistence. "Fine, fine, incineration it is."

    But, of course, before that, they needed to do some breaking and entering. On your mark, Sorrel.

    Sorrel rolls his eyes. "Honor my dying wish, asshole." Without waiting for a response, he slips under the caution tape behind some of the machines. He takes a look through to the door, and nods once at his partner, waiting for him to go first, less because he's willing to let Jophiel get hurt but because he's the better fighter between the two of them. "Go," he mouths, tensed up himself and ready to follow right after him.

    //Yeah, I know. Anyways I wanted to say I won't be able to post for at least a few more days if not this week. It's finals week and after that I'm done(with life) So thanks for waiting. :)

    //I'd tell you, but I'd have to go through all ten circles, and that, my friend, is an experience I never want to relive.

    Anyways... I glanced back over this page for context, is Sorrel waiting for Jophiel to go in guns blazing to draw the fire? 'Cause that's what he's probably going to do.

    Right. Jophiel merely nodded before he stood up from his crouched position. There was only one thing to do now, and all it would take was a step through the entryway.

    One.

    Surprisingly, it took the grunts more than half a second to register his appearance - actually, it was more than a second. That was when Jophiel quickly shifted the weight to his lower body as he rolled to the left behind a loading crate in the room. A guard turned an eye towards the agent's previous position, but failed to register his quick movement.

    It was a bit... unorthodox for him, Jophiel had to admit. But, hey, it provided him some cover, instead of his original plan. "Hey, heads up." He called from his corner of the room, alerting the other guards, who immediately drew their weapons, scanning the area.

    Placing his glock in the gap between the crates, Jophiel let the trigger slide back as his finger curled around it, eventually letting bullets fly at a blinding pace, threefourfive, in counting. He wasn't aiming, which required sight, of course, but the noise and potential danger served its purpose.

    It was only a brief two seconds, but two of the grunts standing were now on the floor with their hands around their bullet wounds.

    The others now looked skeptically at the direction of the bullet shot, but wasted no time laying waste to the crates, unloading their clips, unaware of the agent, whose body was sunken so low to the ground, the bullets whizzed past his head, as did splinters of wood.

    From his vantage point, Jophiel could see Sorrel just around the corner. Clicking inaudibly his tongue, he motioned with his head for his partner to get a move on. With the flashing explosion and sound of bullets being unleashed, it would only further mask Sorrel's infiltration if he acted now.

    Sorrel crouches, sharp eyes keeping the entire area in mind and resisting the urge to sigh. What the hell happened to quiet? he thinks, half exasperated and half amused, but it works, so Sorrel doesn't complain. He'll take what he can get. Laying as low as possible, he slinks towards the door, now that the guards are no longer guarding it, and notes that the door's cracked open slightly, one hand covering his mouth to prevent the rising dust from entering his mouth.


    He chances a quick glance behind him but thankfully, the guards, now yelling in a panic, aren't looking towards the door, but towards a potential attacker. Sorrel can say what he wants about Jophiel, but he has to admit that the dude knows what he's doing.


    Taking his chance, he teases the door open a bit more so he can slip through, but the moment he does...


    Sorrel swallows the bile in his throat as a crescendo of screaming meets his ears--it's muted, thanks to the earplugs, but Sorrel can still hear it. He still stays low, and looks around and--well.


    Should've just stayed home.

    Good. Sorrel was in. Now it was only the matter of Jophiel keeping up with him... after he got rid of this rabble first, of course.

    A good minute passed by with automatic firearms spilling shells on the floor - a waste of perfectly good ammo, if Jophiel could say anything about it. It was then that the seemingly endless flow of bullets disappeared. Even with the earplugs on, Jophiel knew this was so just by the fact that the uppermost box wasn't anything but a pile of splinters now, and there weren't any more bullets hitting the back of the wall behind it.

    "Come along quietly, you're outnumbered!" One of the grunts declared, ready to shoot anything that moved away from the pile of crates.

    Don't think I don't know what you're planning - please, these amateurs...

    It was a good thing he could see them, and they couldn't see him, because their lives would be over in a moment. His eyes locking upon the forms of about five remaining grunts, Jophiel's eyes registered and recorded each and every one of their positions, readying his aim as he prepared for his badass moment.

    He rose quickly, catching the attention of the guards. But with an aimbot mentality, the fates of the first three were sealed in an instant, each falling the moment before they could pull the trigger of their firearms.

    Playing it safe, Jophiel ducked back down behind the crates, which was good, considering the retaliating volley was twice as numerous, pinging the back wall a solid hundred times before they ceased again.

    It was getting annoying; he was supposed to get them all.

    He stood up again and wasted absolutely no time in dealing with the other two, his arm sliding from one to the other as he pointed the death weapon at them each, pulling the trigger only once for each target.

    As they slumped to the ground, Jophiel looked back at the stairway Sorrel had taken, making his way past the bodies. He was going to grab the guard rail up, but was stopped suddenly by someone holding onto his ankle. Turning, Jophiel only saw one survivor, though he wouldn't be for long, the grunt gasping for breaths as he stared in confusion and awe at the agent before him. "I...We... though you were an... an agent."
    "I am."

    "Y-you're lying."

    "Quickly please,." Jophiel sighed at the dying man, "You're wasting my time, and your breath."

    "....What...what are you?"

    What am I? Some part of Jophiel took delight in that question.

    It got him in a good mood, strangely.

    Why was he smiling at the man? Who knew? However, only the dying grunt could see the answer to both his and Jophiel's question as the agents smile lay frozen on his lips. His grin began to widen, pas his cheeks his mouth widening past his ears as it opened up to reveal a slowly glowing and ghastly blue light. His perfect, pearly whites grew jagged, black, and long, the very eerie glow that consumed his mouth took over his eyes as Jophiel stared at the man with a phantom of a face.

    It was like something out of a horror movie. All features that made him human seemed to fade away as the specter before the grunt watched as the man's breath spiked, his expression forever frozen as his body went into shock.

    "What a silly question." Its raspy voice echoed.

    [ this one gets a bit fucked up; aka there are a few people being trapped in here for not quite slaughter or torture, but it may as well be.


    let me know if you want me to tone it down LMAO ]


    Jesus Christ. Sorrel wants to be sick, but he tamps down on the urge, yellow eyes roaming around the inside of the warehouse. There are people in cages, in conditions Sorrel doesn’t even want to imagine—oh, but he can, he's been on the wrong side of the interrogation before, and he hates it—and he knows immediately that this is where all of the ability users in the area have gone missing from.


    He doesn’t even know what they’re doing here, only that they need to get out. Sorrel slips behind a large stack of wooden boxes, the thick, cloying, and sickly sweet smell of rotting wood fills his nose. Squeezing his eyes shut only briefly, he forces himself to focus. This has gone so far beyond scouting, it’s not even funny. They’re really going to have to call in a ton of reinforcements for this one.


    Okay. Focus, Carbonell.


    He assesses the room, keeping his head as low as possible while doing so. None of the ability users in the room seem to have been here for longer than a week aside from the people in charge—and he’s not sure what they’re doing, only that there’s a machine, and they’re hooking some of the innocents up to it on one side, and then a member of their gang to the other side. It’s absurd, but it’s where the screaming is coming from.


    Sorrel’s sharp eyes find a few members who are obviously ability users, judging from the way they’re hyper focused on something. There are two, and he’s assuming one is holding up an illusion and the other is the soundproofer. The third one is a bit of a mystery.

    The post was edited 1 time, last by aizawa ().

    //Meh, gore doesn't really phase me, carry on.

    /It was only a few steps, which gave Jophiel little time to think. But whatever time he had, he had to formulate questions, questions he'd probably have answered as soon as he met up with Sorrel to deal with their target.

    ....Or targets.

    He knew that there was an ability user that they'd been tasked with confronting, but with the appearance of so many others under his command, what was he plotting? His ability was probably, with Jophiel's intuition, one that required the personnel he had gathered here, including the many ability users that were his underlings.

    It was then that Jophiel realized the fact that their target required the service of ability users. Jophiel could only let his imagination run wild, but it only begged the question. And suddenly, Jophiel felt as if something was wrong, or was about to go wrong.

    He was expecting us, and yet, he hasn't killed us. He certainly had the firepower to do so, what with all the gang members around the facility.

    Perhaps they served another purpose?

    Regardless, Jophiel accepted that whatever he would walk into next would be with the presence of mind that this target, whoever it was, had an agenda to meet Sorrel and him as well.

    As he nears the entryway to the next room, Jophiel slinks low and he immediately sees the form of his partner behind a few crates. It was a little ways across the room, but the presence of gang members was heavy. With the situation downstairs neutralized, Jophiel thought it best to stay where he was. Of course, he would back Sorrel up if the scrappy redhead made a move, but knowing Sorrel, he would rather want a distraction than a hero.

    Another nervous glance cast at the door informs Sorrel that Jophiel's come inside, but he's disappeared from Sorrel's sight soon after, which is fine with him; if Sorrel can't see him, that probably (hopefully) means the guards haven't, either. Of course, he's noticed that none of the people inside have really been all that concerned with being secure--they're all focused on the machine instead. Sorrel forces himself to swallow again when he sees the scream of the captive, the actual sound muted by the earplugs. He doesn't know what they're doing--is it some sort of sick science experiment?


    Regardless, Sorrel's primary objective at this point is to get these people out. His fingers dig into his thigh, hard, knuckles turning white, when he spots a girl who can't be older than sixteen cower in the corner of a cage, flames flickering around her uncontrollably.


    He slinks around the back of the crates to get closer, footsteps silent from practice--or he hopes so. The earplugs prevent him from knowing, making him hyperfocused on making sure his steps are quiet as he tries to figure out his next move. Sorrel peers at the trio of ability users again--the soundproofer, the illusionist, and the mystery man, and wonders if their original target is anywhere in here. None of the people in here match the image Lynx had provided for them at the beginning.


    It takes awhile, but Sorrel eventually makes it to the girl. The people in the cages around her are all unconscious or worse off, but he tries not to think about that as he makes sure she can see him before he goes up to her, lest he startles her. Her eyes widen, and she clasps a hand over her mouth when Sorrel presses a finger to his own lips.


    "Hey," he murmurs, voice below a whisper. "My name's Sorrel--I'm going to get you out. Can you tell me your name?" Sorrel is hyperaware of the fact that he's close enough to see the three ability users' distinct features, or at least their backs.


    "Katelyn," mouths the girl, moving her hand so Sorrel can see her lips move better. Her eyes are still panicked and full of fear, but there's something like hope in them now--and Sorrel hopes he isn't going to let it down. "I-I've been here for three days and I don't know when they're going to--to drain me, too."


    "Drain?" Katelyn nods jerkily. Sorrel has to admire her cooperativeness and steadiness in this situation, and hates that she's even being forced to in this situation at all. He doesn't want to know how old she is--he's going to hate the answer.


    "Th-that machine," she says, inclining her head towards it slightly. "You've seen it, right?" Sorrel nods, grateful that she seems to be a smart girl. "They've been capturing f-freaks. Like me. And then they hook 'em up to that machine, and..." She shudders, and Sorrel wants to offer her comfort, but he doesn't know how. He only reaches out to take her hand and squeezes once, and has to hope that's enough at all. "When they come off the machine, they're no better than dead."

    Sorrel's moved. The guards have turned. Now was the time to go. With Sorrel gone, Jophiel rushed to take his partner's previous spot. Only a slight glance was needed above the boxes to ensure he wasn't spotted.

    It was then that his eyes were met with the machine; knowing its place in the room, that was the object of attention. It didn't take much to guess what it did either.

    It required a body.

    And, judging by the empty husks of people that were once alive strewn all across the so-called "lab", they had quite a selection of candidates. From the looks of it, as Jophiel caught the burst of flame from a holding cell, they were all ability users. Regardless of whether they were there, willingly or not, all would eventually go to the machine; that's the type of culprit they were dealing with here.

    Since their arrival, Jophiel had not once seen an ability user that opposed them. That was probably because some of this guys own staff are now lying on the floor here. There was something interesting about the corpses though, something that made something inside Jophiel writhe with an anxious, but repressed impulse.

    It had never come to it, but that was because he'd never had such a convenient time to use his power before.

    Save it, hotshot. He told himself. Don't play your cards just yet. Mill the opponent first.

    Sorrel swallows. He looks at the man in the cage next to Katelyn; his complexion is more gray than ashy, as if all color has been leeched from him. Katelyn nods weakly when she follows his gaze. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was dead already," she whispers quietly.


    "Why do they do it? What's the point of draining? It's okay if you don't know," he adds hastily, ripping his gaze away from the man, suppressing the chill that goes down his spine at another muted scream. Katelyn seems to have no reaction to it, though Sorrel figures three days in this shithole will get you used to it pretty quickly.


    "They hook their own men up to it," Katelyn says, gesturing to the other half of the machine. "Sometimes, they come off the machine with powers. Sometimes they..." She smiles humorlessly. "Well, have you ever put a ketchup packet in a microwave?"


    "Jesus," Sorrel whispers, even more horrified now. He hadn't thought that was possible.


    "Yeah, we could use some of that." Katelyn closes her eyes and leans her head against the bars of her cage. She seems listless, and Sorrel figures she hasn't gotten anything to eat or drink in a long while. He can't hear her voice, but he imagines it must be cracked to hell and back.


    "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."


    "Me, too."


    Sorrel takes in a deep breath. "Can you tell me about the three over there?" Katelyn blinks tiredly before her eyes settle on the three ability users. Her gaze flattens into something like bitter rage.


    "They're the ones who run things around here, but that's all I know," she answers. She tilts her head at Sorrel, green eyes flinty but holding no judgment. "You should run away. They'll kill you. If you're a freak like me, you'll be even worse off."


    "I can't do that." Sorrel shakes his head. He's tempted-- he has no particular attachment to his own life, certainly, but being hooked up to a machine like that is not appealing at all-- but there is no way in hell he's not going to do his damnedest to get Katelyn and the rest of the ability users here out. "Thanks, Katelyn."

    Jophiel was patient, but he wasn't patient by nature. Too much time was passing by while they were sitting here without prey to catch. The machine, the people, he had it all figured out for the most part. Now all that was left to deal with was the man himself - the one they were after. Glancing over once more at Sorrel's position, he noticed his partner talking to one of the imprisoned ability users. Looking back beside the machine, he identified three figures.

    A technopath, female. And an illusionist...male. He noted, citing Sorrel's encounter.

    That made the third person the one they were after.

    Of course, with that in mind now, there was no way Jophiel wasn't leaving with their guy, in cuffs or in pieces.

    He was getting restless, glancing over at Sorrel once more, just itching to knock the teenage girl unconscious right then and there before he moved on to the real threats.

    Sorrel gets the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, and he glances in the direction he thinks it’s coming from. Thankfully it’s just Jophiel, who’s starting to look a bit antsy. Normally, he’d take amusement out of that, but Sorrel can’t summon anything of that sort with all this fucked up shit here.


    The soundproofer is likely what’s protecting this entire area from discovery; Sorrel knows that screaming of this volume could probably be heard for miles. He’s going to have to take him out first if that’s the case. Sorrel still can’t figure out the third person’s purpose, though he has a pretty uneasy feeling about him.


    “Hey.” Sorrel nearly misses Katelyn’s lip movement. “Good luck.” She bares her teeth in a grin. “If you don’t die, fuck ‘em over for me.”


    “Will do,” he says like a promise, and continues moving, circling closer towards them. The third man only seems to be observing, though his hands are resting on the illusionist and soundproofer’s shoulders. Up close, Sorrel realizes with some horror that both ability users look exhausted beyond themselves and wonders why—and how—they haven’t stopped.