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“You’re you. And we’ll have plenty of time for me to get to know you outside of the workplace…” Here, you have to swallow a lump the size of your fist before resuming, “…you said that you want this, that you feel the same way as I do! And all of that’s on the table along with waiting for the right time for your…more difficult subjects…”

Sarah leans back, exhaling heavily, running a hand through the tangle of her hair and sweaty mess of her forehead. “…you really don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind,” you confirm with a smile, “Patience just happens to be one of my best virtues.”

She laughs, brittle and almost too high-pitched to be anything but nearly hysterical. “No kiddin’…you have to wait how many fucking years before you get your medical license?”

“Ten to thirteen after high school, so…maybe six at the least, eight at the most.”

“Jesus H. Christ…” she chuckles, shaking her head in faux outrage. With a quiet sigh, she leans into your shoulder, and you can feel the smile through the thin fabric of your fatigues. “…most remarkable woman you’ve ever met, huh? Guess the boys and girls from upstate Maryland have some pretty low standards.”

“They’re only low because you set the bar a few dozen notches higher from day one,” you counter. “And they all fail by merit of not being you…and the fact that you’re smoking hot is only a bonus.”

“Damn straight I am.” She hums a quiet, satisfied noise in the back of her throat. And the color in her face seems to return, as well as a measure of her usual self. “…shit, I honestly can’t even remember the last time somebody’s got me all this messed up and flustered…just don’t expect me to go suddenly soft or mushy in public…I’ve got an image of a sarcastic hardass that I need to maintain.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you grin back.

“…good Christ, we’re really doin’ this, then…”

>>There is no turning back…
>>Your relationship with Fitz has become Intimate!
>>Fitz approves +50.

She shifts in her position on the floor, pulling out of your arms to give you a quizzical look. “So…what exactly are we now? Ah…fuck, it feel’s…I’m, what, your girlfriend now?” There is no malice in her inflection, and the face accompanying her words is one of mutual chagrin, amusement and amicability.

You find yourself inclined to agree. The label of “girlfriend” seems to be almost too mundane to describe what Sarah is to you. In layman’s terms, it’s meant to describe a couple in a relationship and how they’re getting along. At your age, parts of the relationship include dates to the cinema, dinners at fancy restaurants, banging each other’s brains out, other enjoyable activities as you build up to something more…

(cont.)

The relationship you share with Sarah, even before your confession, can be anything but mundane. It starts with the two of you, unconscious in an abandoned hospital, and a bullet in your shoulder and arm due to some god-awful bad luck. Then it’s one of mutual camaraderie, a friendship forged in the fires of battle and conflict. Would you have felt the same way with another woman? Intense emotional moments shared between people always make bonds out of nothing, sometimes even enmity.

But those are hypotheticals that have no worth beyond wasted time.

Thus, the answer is simple. “You’re my best friend that I just happen to be dating…” Sarah looks up towards you, mere inches away from your face. “…and my subordinate...that I may be fooling around with…”

This time, however, you become all too aware of the finer details…eyes that you could get lost in for eternity, the little tiny scars that run along her cheeks and forehead, the hot breath of her mouth raising gooseflesh along your skin as the two of you draw ever so closer.

In retelling this story, you don’t remember who initiated, and you don’t particularly care. All that matters is the sensation of her lips on yours, the combined warmth of your bodies as you pull all the more closer into something more comfortable of a position.

It starts chase, of course. At first, it is no more than awkward, but affectionate contact between two individuals who never could have thought of this moment happening. For a split second, the two of you part, no more than a few centimeters and your eyes meet as both of you gather your breath. Strands briefly connect you until the gentle breeze of the air conditioning breaks the bridge.

But as the seconds pass, something inside the both of you just…clicks into place. Even as the relief nearly turns you into a nervous, quivering jelly, the sheer gratification and sudden heat in your stomach keep you from stopping. The heat spreads from your gut throughout your body like lightening as you and Sarah come again once more, all hesitation and reason abandoned and forgotten.

The two of you are fast, furious, and urgent. The taste of blood fills your mouth as she bites down on your lip, and the tingle of pain makes an odd contrast to the softness of her lips. At some point, your back hits the floor, and your coupling threatens to turn into another match for dominance. But you remain content to lie there, relishing the way your bodies writhe and grind against each other, within your arms.

You want this woman more than any other woman in your life, and there had been no small amount across the years. You forget where you are, forget about the fact that somebody could walk in, once more forgetting about the rest of the world around you. The blood in your veins is liquid flame, and your heart aches with the pain of your passion. Crushing her against your chest, you hold and kiss her with a bruising intensity to match her own desperation.

(cont.)

By the time Sarah pulls away, both of you are heaving, struggling for breath. She wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her arm, and the act stokes another fire in your chest. For a brief, wild moment, you think about picking her up and taking Brady’s suggestion about finding a room to take this encounter to its obvious end.

“Hot fuckin’…damn!” She grins from where she straddles your waist, “…that was…whew! You’ve got no fuckin’ idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.”

You can’t tell whether her roughness is one borne out of inexperience or her own fiery temperament. One thing is for certain, however. This relationship is the one that’s going to either make you or break you in half.

It takes a few moments for your higher thinking to kick back in. “…yeah…me too.”

She settles herself comfortably against your chest once more. But before she could initiate round three, she casts a wayward glance towards the entrance of the barracks proper. “…when do you think the others are gonna be back?”

Fighting against the urge to just answer her with your lips, you think on the question. “…and MacKay…sooner rather than later, but not immediately. Brady might not come back tonight…” The temperature of the room suddenly becomes just a bit warmer, and she realizes it, too. Gesturing to the empty room with the hand not on her waist, you grin slyly, “…guess we have the barracks to ourselves, then.”

“…that was just a taste test, so if you’re expectin’ me to put out even before we’ve even had dinner…” She can’t finish her sentence, laughing at the offended scowl on your face. “Kiddin’, kiddin’…”

Not one to be outdone, you somehow manage to tear your hands off of her waist, pantomiming a mock count on your fingertips. “Seafood in Delaware…sandwich shop in Kentucky…”

“Can’t tell if you’re actin’ like your usual wise-ass self, or if you’re just thinkin’ with your dick.”

“Who said that it wasn’t both?”

“Careful, Sawbones,” she warns. The sing-song voice gives her amusement away, but you still take it to heart. “…samplin’ the goods is fine and all, but...”

Yep. Don’t push it.

“…tell you what…” Extracting yourself from underneath her body, you sit up, gesturing towards your quarters. At the narrowing of her eyes, you hold up your hands in a gesture of peace. “Here me out: I’ve got your dad’s gun in my room, and I was gonna spend the afternoon cleaning it before handing it back. Maybe...maybe you could tell me about him while I work on it. Just…small steps for the details of your personal life, if that’s alright with you.”

The surprise on her face lasts only for a moment. The corners of her mouth tug upwards, and the smile on her face is one that’s devoid of any sort of dry or cynical wit. “…I think I can manage that much…”

>...
>You spent a long time with Sarah.

=========

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It's been a while, but welcome back to Task Force 666! So terribly sorry that it's been too damn long since I ran this, but I'm back in the game with a renewed passion for this quest. Thanks to everyone who stuck with me in spite of everything that's happened since now and last year.

For those coming in just now, the un-truncated snip of this can be found on my Pastebin, linked in the OP, and the entry is "Continuation of 37.5". And speaking about the OP...only now do I realize that I linked the wrong thread. Whoops.

Proper link:
>http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2843366/

>>3368315
>You spent a long time with Sarah.

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>>3368295
>>3368300
>>3368304
>>3368315
>>3368340

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>Wednesday, July 28th
>Washington D.C.

…and to think that that encounter was only a handful of days ago. Three, to be specific, since you and Fitz got rid of (most of) the sexual tension with that little chat. Even now, you find yourself still smiling to yourself or otherwise just…chortling at the circumstances.

Brady left before things really hit the fan, but the programmer’s been walking eggshells around the two of you. Vicky and MacKay remain unaware, continuing their training, exercise and routine without any significant interruption. If he told them anything about your talk, he kept it strictly about Copland and reconciling with Sarah. Somehow, that makes the smiles the priest and engineer makes what the two of you even all the more…thrilling.

...God in heaven, you're incorrigible.

Everyone goes on and on about keeping things professional in any workplace. Thing is, when men and women work together, the odds of them dating or just screwing each other on the side is an inevitability.

You’d be willing to bet that the two of you aren’t the first Devil Summoners within the organization to date. And there’s no goddamn way in hell that you’re going to be the last. Still, from what you know about Alger, being ex-military and all, he might give the stink eye and a few terse words. But hell, he ought to be commending the two of you for showing restraint!

…not that it stops the two of you from making what time you can between your schedules.

Still, the charade can only be kept up for so long…and God knows how the others are going to react to the inevitable truth.

>>Choose only one:
>Keep your relationship a secret from the others.
>Tell the others at the first available opportunity.
>Custom option.

…but you’ll cross and burn that bridge when you get there. The next thing you have to worry about is the kegger with Bootes, and…Copland’s lesson on how to kill other human beings.

Setting down the weights, you lean back against the bench press, staring at nothing in particular up towards the linoleum ceiling. Your eyes flicker towards your hand, thrust towards the air in a cool down stretch. To think that very same limbs that struggle to bench one hundred fifty pounds are the same ones that brought about the destruction of a god.

…you’ve certainly come a long way since the hospital.

Please do not vote until both snips finish loading.

(cont.) [1/2]

>>You have accumulated enough experience to reach a new level!
>You are now level 30!
>You may now fuse and recruit demons up to level 30!

>>Please select two perks for Adrian:
>Battle Couple [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Fighting alongside your significant other drives you to even greater feats of combat. You gain +10 to Combat rolls when in the same party, but suffer a -15 to Combat when they are absent. Investing in this increases the bonus and decreases the penalty.
>Cleansing Chant [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Using the power of the Holy Scripture, MacKay will bless the party and remove all status ailments and debuffs once per day.
>Crone’s Mark [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Your body has channeled the energy of a goddess, but some of her power lingers on within your being. Once per day, cast any spell from her domains of Divine (Megido- spells), Life (Heal/Recarm spells), Rot (Dark/Mudo spells) and Water (Bufu spells).
>Deadeye (Rank 1): Apply +5 bonus to Combat rolls when using firearms.
>Deadshot (Rank 3): Firearms do an additional 20% more damage, rounding to the closest whole number.
>Fearful Presence (Rank 1): +30 in social rolls made to Intimidate, Coerce or Force a single target, human, demon or otherwise into doing your bidding or fleeing. Also can be used in combat to inflict Debuffs in certain opportunities.
>Mag Magnet (Rank 1): +5% flat increase to all Magnetite you loot from enemies.
>Nice Guy (Rank 2): Demons recruited through negotiation start with an additional 20% Approval.
>Super Shot Special [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: If Sarah is in your party, you can order her to make a Called Shot that will Knock Down or Stun an enemy, both bosses and mobs, in its tracks at the cost of all her ammunition for the current battle.
>Razor Sharp (Rank 2): Slash-type weapons do an additional 15% more damage, rounding to the closest whole number.

[2/2]

>>As this is a two part vote, please structure your votes like this:

>>Relationship:
>Keep your relationship a secret from the others.

>>Perks:
>Dead Eye
>Mag Magnet

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>>3368455
>>Relationship
>Tell the others at the first available opportunity.

>>Perks
>Crone’s Mark [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Your body has channeled the energy of a goddess, but some of her power lingers on within your being. Once per day, cast any spell from her domains of Divine (Megido- spells), Life (Heal/Recarm spells), Rot (Dark/Mudo spells) and Water (Bufu spells).

>Cleansing Chant [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Using the power of the Holy Scripture, MacKay will bless the party and remove all status ailments and debuffs once per day.

Both seem pretty useful

>>3368480
>>Relationship:
>Tell the others at the first available opportunity.
It's going to come out sooner or later. Rip of the bandage now.

>>Perks
>>3368480
>Cleansing Chant [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Using the power of the Holy Scripture, MacKay will bless the party and remove all status ailments and debuffs once per day.

>Crone’s Mark [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Your body has channeled the energy of a goddess, but some of her power lingers on within your being. Once per day, cast any spell from her domains of Divine (Megido- spells), Life (Heal/Recarm spells), Rot (Dark/Mudo spells) and Water (Bufu spells).

>>3368480
>>Relationship
>Tell the others at the first available opportunity.

>>Perks
>Crone’s Mark [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Your body has channeled the energy of a goddess, but some of her power lingers on within your being. Once per day, cast any spell from her domains of Divine (Megido- spells), Life (Heal/Recarm spells), Rot (Dark/Mudo spells) and Water (Bufu spells).

>Fearful Presence (Rank 1): +30 in social rolls made to Intimidate, Coerce or Force a single target, human, demon or otherwise into doing your bidding or fleeing. Also can be used in combat to inflict Debuffs in certain opportunities.

Crone's Mark sounds super powerful, but I gotta say if we take it, we should look into throwing her a bone on her requests.

This could very easily bite us in the back if we abuse the power while ignoring her.

>>3368480
>>Relationship
>Tell the others at the first available opportunity.

>>Perks

>Cleansing Chant [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Using the power of the Holy Scripture, MacKay will bless the party and remove all status ailments and debuffs once per day.
>Deadeye (Rank 1): Apply +5 bonus to Combat rolls when using firearms.

>>3368480
>>Relationship:
>Confess your undying love for pixie Tell the others at the first available opportunity.

>>Perks:
>Cleansing Chant [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Using the power of the Holy Scripture, MacKay will bless the party and remove all status ailments and debuffs once per day.
>Super Shot Special [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: If Sarah is in your party, you can order her to make a Called Shot that will Knock Down or Stun an enemy, both bosses and mobs, in its tracks at the cost of all her ammunition for the current battle.

>>3368480
>>3368515
This. pixie is best.

>>3368455
>Custom option
Tell anyone that asks, don’t open conversations with it. If they wanna know, then yeah, we are. If they don’t care, don’t tell em.

>>3368480
>Deadshot (Rank 3): Firearms do an additional 20% more damage, rounding to the closest whole number.
>Crone’s Mark [CONDITION UNLOCKED]: Your body has channeled the energy of a goddess, but some of her power lingers on within your being. Once per day, cast any spell from her domains of Divine (Megido- spells), Life (Heal/Recarm spells), Rot (Dark/Mudo spells) and Water (Bufu spells).

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>>3368492
>>3368495
>>3368502
>>3368507
>>3368515
>>3368658
>>3368713

>>Adrian has gained the perks:
>Cleansing Chant:
>Crone's Mark

“I still think you could do better, Master,” High Pixie grumbles from the water cooler. The little fey drinks from a cup the size of a thimble as she watches your approach, fanning herself with her other hand. “The priest can lift at least another…fifty pounds?”

“Not all of us are blessed with the physique of Adonis,” you retort.

She gesticulates wildly with both her fan and cup. “Maybe, but priests are supposed to be fat! Friars, monks, and all manner of holy men in the West should not be as statuesque as your friend.”

“All attributable to lucky genetics and no small amount of high school football.” Emptying the bottle in a single swing, you continue, “He needs it, though. The ammunition crates that come with his LMG are too damn heavy.”

“Not counting the seventy pounds of equipment you already carry,” she counters, smugly, “Or in the cases of Miss Trigger Happy and the mechanic, the forty pounds of equipment.”

You give her the look, but tease, “Easy for you to say when you hitch a ride on my wrist or shoulder, you kimono-wearing loafer.”

Her cheeks puff out, indignant. “Rude! Don’t you know?” The little fairy flexes her arms, eerily resembling the Macho Man himself. “I’ve gotten stronger as well! You’re never going to find a fairy like me, not if you searched the entire world!”

>>High Pixie has leveled up!
>High Pixie is now level 28!

>>High Pixie learned the following spells:
>[Zionga – Medium lighting spell, 20% Shock to one foe]
>[Diarama – Restores a medium amount of health to one ally]!

>>Assuming Zio will be replaced by Zionga, please select a spell for Diarama to replace:
>Media (Restores a small amount of health to one ally)
>Zionga (Medium lightning spell, 20% Shock to one foe)
>Luster Candy (Increases all Combat Stats by 1 Level)
>Recarm (Revives one unconscious ally with little HP restored, stabilizes one dying ally)
>Megido (Medium Almighty damage to all enemies)
>Healing Pleroma (25% Boost to healing spells)
>Mazio (Weak lightning spell, 20% Shock to all foes)
>Me Patra! (Removes bind, sleep or panic from all allies.)

Even if the person you made the deal with was such a conniving bitch, you can still more than appreciate the gift she gave your first demon. “No, I don’t believe I will.”

High Pixie rubs her hands maniacally, giggling and flushing at the praise. “Praise me more, human! Praise me for the most powerful member of my kind, and maybe I will deign to offer my aid in battle.”

“And my demon should be careful about getting a swollen head, or I’ll stop stocking Keebler’s in the barracks-”

Her pretenses of godhood and superiority vanish like water on a scalding surface. With a speed born from panic, she launches herself towards you, fan and cup forgotten in a desperate scream.

(cont.) [1/??]

The impact to your chest actually hurts, but not enough to harm or otherwise bowl you over. Her eyes water with crocodile tears as she wails and clutches the front of your shirt. “Please, no! I can’t live without them! You’re a cruel master, Adrian Brown, to get me weaned, then hooked upon human confections! Have you no humanity?”

The immediate lack of response causes her to sober immediately. Her eyes catch you staring at your hand, deep in dark and uncertain thought. Hesitantly, she asks, “Master?”

Her voice brings you back into reality. You dismiss her concern with a slight shake of your head. “…it’s nothing. Just…”

The fairy wrings her hands apologetically. Truly contrite, she lulls: “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, even as a joke.”

“It’s not you. It’s just…” Exhaling, you collapse against the wall. “Doing all that trickery against Arcahne…”

Humans aren’t supposed to be wielding magic. Especially not when said magic comes not from you, but from a goddess lurking inside of your head. Certainly, it might be different if you were like Tivix Neeb. At least that kind of power was solely derived from human means.

High Pixie pats you on the shoulder, uncaring of the sweat that clings to the sleeves of her kimono. “You’re still human. The most human man I’ve ever seen in my lifetime, no matter how many goddesses you have in your head.”

You ask, smiling, “And how many humans have you known?”

Her face screws up, and she waves her hand at that like one might an annoying insect. “Doesn’t matter! You know what I mean, Master.”

“And being human means…?”

“You make mistakes, you screw up, and you own up to your own faults instead of pushing it onto other people. I’ve known more than my fair share of river Naiads that were too lazy to clean their rivers and just pinned it on human campers. Gods and demons aren’t really different. At least, the powerful ones,” she adds as an afterthought, “I don’t have the power to back that kind of attitude up…yet, anyway.”

Snorting, you retort, “Remind me to keep a pin on hand in case your head gets too swollen.”

She sticks her tongue out like a petulant child. “You’re the one who asked for Her Highness to implant a fragment of her power within me! You have no right to complain what I do with it!”

“Hopefully it isn’t ever going to be aimed at the direction of those humans who make so many mistakes.”
“No, only you, master,” High Pixie grumbles, before adopting a disapproving tone, “Because you are truly human to have begun courting Miss Trigger Happy-”

“Oi,” you cut her off, only slightly stern, “A little harsh, don’t you think-”

(cont.) [2/??]

>>3368741
Going to pass out before I can do all the prompts so my vote here is to replace

>Media (Restores a small amount of health to one ally)

with

>[Diarama – Restores a medium amount of health to one ally]!

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>>3368751
“You stabbed yourself in the hand for her,” she retorts in a tone dryer than the desert, “Just to make a point. And don’t forget that she put a bullet in you back in the hospital.”

“Water under the bridge. And as far as the bullet in my arm goes, it wouldn’t be the oddest way for a couple to have their first meeting.”

High Pixie shakes her head, dismayed as dematerializes back into your COMP. But even as you walk towards the locker room for a quick shower, her voice drolls from the speakers, “Only human, master…you really are only human…”

>>To celebrate your partnership, High Pixie has gone out of her way to make a gift for you!

>>Please select one to receive:
>Critical Earring – An earring made from gold taken from a dwarf’s horde. DC for Critical Hit is lowered to rolls of 85 and higher.
>Pixie Doll – A plush doll made from materials gathered from around the base. Offers no bonuses to battle, but makes a fine Gift and paperweight.
>Spriggan Charm – An amulet made from the petrified wood of a Spriggan’s heart. Confers Resist Phys/Elect, Weak to Light/Dark.

>>3368741
>>Media (Restores a small amount of health to one ally)

>>3368767
>>3368767
>>Pixie Doll – A plush doll made from materials gathered from around the base. Offers no bonuses to battle, but makes a fine Gift and paperweight.

God damn, I want that Earring, but the doll is too cute to me to not say no to.

>>3368767
>Critical Earring – An earring made from gold taken from a dwarf’s horde. DC for Critical Hit is lowered to rolls of 85 and higher.

Actually still awake so this vote in combo with >>3368760

>>3368741
>>Media
>>3368767
>>Pixie Doll
what a cunning, insidious trap. So devious, I cannot help but fall for it.

>>3368767
>Pixie Doll – A plush doll made from materials gathered from around the base. Offers no bonuses to battle, but makes a fine Gift and paperweight.
Pixie is best girl.

>>3368741
Media

>>3368767
Critical earring

>>3368767
>Pixie Doll – A plush doll made from materials gathered from around the base. Offers no bonuses to battle, but makes a fine Gift and paperweight.

Too cute to decline

>>3368741
>Media

>>3368760
>>3368775
>>3368785
>>3368813
>>3368846
>>3368979
>>3370998

>>Direct Messages – Sarah Fitzgerald
>…Fetching Interface…
>…Matching Telemetries…
>…Retrieving Prior Messages…

>>Initializing Display…
>>Displaying Messages on: Thursday, July 30th

>Adrian: We need to tell them.
>Adrian: It’s bound to get out sooner or later.
>Adrian: Best nip it in the bud before it festers.
>Fitz: Gee, Sawbones.
>Fitz: It hasn’t been a week.
>Fitz: And you’re already comparin’ our relationship to an infected wound.
>Fitz: How romantic.
>Adrian: SHIT.
>Adrian: FUCK.
>Adrian: Sarah, I didn’t mean-
>Fitz: Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you.
>Fitz: Christ, you’re too easy to mess with.
>Adrian: …you are a fiendish woman.
>Fitz: Damn straight I am.
>Adrian: And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
>Fitz: …
>Fitz: Bet you say that to all the ladies you saunter up to.
>Adrian: Nah, only the ones I really care about.
>Fitz: How about your mom?
>Adrian: …let’s get back on topic.
>Adrian: Brady hasn’t said anything, but he suspects something.
>Fitz: I’d be surprised if he weren’t. He’s been all skittish and jumpy, lately. Spooked as shit.
>Adrian: That’s both of our faults, admittedly.
>Fitz: Haven’t seen anythin’ about MacKay or Vicky, though.
>Fitz: So either we’re really good at hidin’ it, they’re oblivious as hell…
>Adrian: Or they’ve noticed and are politely pretending to ignore us.
>Adrian: And I can’t tell which one is worse, really.
>Fitz: …that bein’ the case, maybe we should stick to high collars for a while.
>Fitz: Reckon you could scrounge up a turtleneck-
>Adrian: In the middle of July? I’d turn as red as MacKay’s Hua Po.
>Fitz: HAW.
>Adrian: Alternatively.
>Adrian: Keep it BELOW the neck.
>Adrian: [Sent a PNG]
>Adrian: It's JUST BARELY noticeable underneath the workout top.
>Adrian: It's not hot when you learn in med school that it's internal bleeding.
>Fitz: …well, you weren’t exactly complainin’ when it happened, ya big baby.
>Adrian: That…
>Adrian: …fair enough.
>Adrian: Digressing.
>Fitz: ...yeah, we should prolly tell 'em.
>Fitz: When do ya wanna do it?
>Adrian: May as well after dinner. Sooner the better.
>Fitz: Sounds like a plan.
>Adrian: Glad we're in agreement.
>Fitz: ...thirty bucks says that Brady's gonna flip his shit.
>Fitz: Again.
>Adrian: That's a sucker's bet and you know it.
>Fitz: Barracks in ten minutes?
>Adrian: I'll be there in five.

(cont.) [1/???]

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>>Later that evening…
The preface to sleep on a Thursday night is an hour of games. “Teambuilding”, or something along those lines was in the official guidebook for squad leaders. Take at least three times a week to settle down together outside of meals and do something as a group. Drinking wasn’t prohibited, but frowned upon, and movie night was deemed as “cliché”.

The impasse was only cured when Brady was found showing off magic tricks to his demons with a deck of cards. From D&D to Munchkin, poker to blackjack, there is no shortage of games for you to enjoy, both with the company of demons as well as by yourselves. Although certain games had been subsequently banned, for both social and safety reasons.

Egyptian Rat Screw is NOT a game to play with demons. Especially with demons strong enough to chop a table in half in their…enthusiasm. The danger of having your hand crushed by Lham Dearg, accidentally it might be, is not worth the risk of tapping the pot.

The other members of Carina Squad enter the barracks, and are surprised to see the two of you there first. Brady stiffens, but manages to relax somewhat. All Vicky and MacKay rate are curious expressions at the empty table, before turning troubled at the looks on your faces.

The mechanic is the first to ask. “Is there something wrong?”

Fitz shakes her head. “Nah, it ain’t like that.”

“…are you feeling alright, Adrian?” MacKay sizes you up, picking you apart as if to try and detect something wrong with you. “Another encounter with the…ah…goddesses inside your head?”

“Nope,” you answer truthfully. “The Crone’s been silent for a while. And I haven’t had any run-ins with the Maid or Mother either.”

Brady’s mouth is a thin line of neutrality as he pulls up a chair, plopping into it with an air of nonchalance. “So, then, what’s this all about, mate? I don’t see any cards or games on the table, and you two look as serious as you’ve ever been. Must be something really bad to put off Game Night.”

That gets a stifled chortle out of Fitz, and a dry laugh from you. “No, no,” you assure him, waving his concerns with a dismissive hand. “Just…all of you might wanna pull up a seat for this one…”

>Both of you tell your friends about your relationship.

“…and then we spilled our guts onto the floor and decided ‘fuck it’,” Fitz cuts in with a wry smirk, holding back another laugh at the way your friends react. Not the most apt choice of words, you cringe. “Let’s see where this goes. Although I ain’t gonna lie, it’s nice to not pine helplessly like some lovesick sissy. And have this big lug,” she punctuates the remark with a teasing nudge to your ribs, “More or less have the same thoughts.”

(cont.)

The silence is deafening. MacKay’s face is granite, as far as you can tell. The priest betrays nothing of his thoughts, nothing save for a tentative frown that is neither disapproving nor approving. Brady is still picking himself off of the floor, muttering expletives underneath his breath as he rubs his backside. As for Vicky…

The mechanic is pensive, face scrunched up in concentration even as a light blush dusts her cheeks. Then: “Kuso. So what was that, Brady? Two months after the Delaware mission?” Suddenly the programmer jumps as if stung, waving his hands frantically. “I bet on three months after that,” the mechanic continues, “Really undershot the mark. So who won the bet?”

By now, the Brit slumps over his chair, dismayed. You and Fitz glance back at each other, visibly confused and all saccharine feelings gone. “Wait, hol the hell up. What bet?” she asks.

Somehow, Brady deflates even further, giving the both of you a look that’s equal parts remorseful and embarrassed. “The…erm…the bet about when the two of you would finally get on with it.”

“You bet on whether or not we’d start dating?!” you demand incredulously.

“No, actually,” Vicky pipes up brightly, “We were betting on when you’d start dating. If was a very obvious bet.”

“…pardon my French MacKay, but…goddamm it…” Fitz palms her face, but it isn’t nearly enough to hide the shade of red on her cheeks. “…was I really that obvious?”

MacKay breaks his silence for the first time since you started talking. “In hindsight, I suppose you both were. Even without knowledge of this wager…” he shoots his two compatriots the stink eye before continuing, “…it was an inevitable outcome. If I was in this wager, I suppose I might have bet immediately after our most dangerous mission. You were quite distraught when Arachne took him, Fitz.”

“Too bad that hindsight’s always 20/20 though,” Brady mumbles.

Exasperated, you ask, “How many people were betting on this?”

The programmer freezes like a deer in headlights and you know something incredible is about to be revealed. “Uh…bloody hell, what was the final tally…one, six…fifteen...twenty people,” he replies in just above a whisper.

“TWENTY?!” the two of you shriek. “You…but we…how the fuck…we shouldn’t be knowledge outside of the squad-”

Vicky looses it. The mechanic howls in laughter, clutching her stomach and doubling over in mirth. “…our demons…also made bets…and then there’s…some other people in the cafeteria…the lunch ladies…”

"And would you believe Commander Alger?” Brady mutters. Even MacKay struggles to pick his jaw off the floor alongside you and Fitz. “He made a bet after the Titania mission in Kentucky, going all rank and file and stern while making the bloody wager. Guess he’s never getting that hundred dollars back.”

(cont.) [3/4]

The priest is the first to recover. He casts the two of them a withering look, the definitive look of a priest wary of his flock’s antics. “I ought to think that the two of you have better things to do than gossip, wager and run a gambling ring about our friends’ dating lives.”

“Maybe/Nah,” they answer, so quick that you can’t tell which one said it first. But as one, the conspirators glare and shout at each other like criminals trying to throw each other under the bus. “You’re the one who made the bet/You brought money into it-"

Fitz growls, throwing your arm off her shoulder as she stomps towards them. Ignorant of their impending doom, the programmer and mechanic cease their bickering only when the policewoman looms above them. “Why you little…I demand a cut! A very sizable cut, mind you! If you’re that keen on buttin’ your nose into my sex life-”

“But that’s a separate bet-” Vicky chirps before clapping her hands over her mouth, wide-eyed and suddenly very, very afraid.

“…Adrian.” Brady looks at you like an inmate on death row, only paying a small amount of attention to the very, very angry Fitz glowering above him. “…if I don’t make it out of this, please destroy my hard drive.”

Before you can protest or flat out refuse, MacKay sets a firm hand on your shoulder. “Perhaps this is our exit, stage left, I believe,” the priest murmurs. “And I’d like to speak with you about this privately…”

“TASUKETE!” the mechanic pleads, frantically trying to scoot her chair back as far as she can. “Don’t leave us alone with her-"

Those are the last words before MacKay wheels you out of the common room and into the men’s barracks. And the door closes on the scene, Fitz cracking her knuckles menacingly, Vicky and Brady clutching each other in mortal terror, like the final judgment of an Old Testament god.

There is an uncomfortable silence as MacKay dusts himself off, setting you opposite of his bed. Then, with a small grin, he says, “Perhaps the two of them should get rid of the planks in their own eyes before concerning themselves with the splinters in yours.”

You frown. The Bible verse is familiar, but the context is lost on you. “Sorry, what?”

“Ah, never mind then.” He shakes his head, brevity leaving his face before he adopts the demeanor of the adjunct leader of Carina Squad. “…so, congratulations are in order, I suppose. But you’re probably thinking that I’m about to lecture and castigate you for placing yourself dangerously close to the occasion of sin.”

You blink. “You mean to say you aren’t?”

“No. I'll keep the vernacular out of this..for now.” He regards you with a critical look. "But my first concern is the proper function and performance of the squad…”

...so that’s where he’s going.

>“Things that happen in the barracks won’t go on the field.”
>“What we do in our off time is none of your business.”
>Custom option.

>>3371188
>“Things that happen in the barracks won’t go on the field.”
"If you feel that we are slipping on that front I want you to let me know."

>>3371188
>>“Things that happen in the barracks won’t go on the field.”
Professional on the field, sex crazed teenagers off it.

>>3371188
>>3371221
This

>>3371006
Oh no, Fitz ate human flesh. That's the same as the red pill, so she gonna go DEMONZ

>>3371221
Supporting this

File: MacKay1.jpg (90 KB, 600x887)

90 KB JPG

>>3371221
>>3371242
>>3371285
>>3371412
“You don’t need to be worried about it,” you reassure him, “Trust me. But if you feel that we’re slipping on that front, then I want you to be the first to let me know.”

>MacKay approves +8

He inclines his head. “A very pertinent and wise observation. Although, considering how even our esteemed commander was allegedly involved in this gambling ring…perhaps that’s his way of not necessarily condemning a potential relationship.”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “...can we please not talk about the commander being personally invested in my dating life?”

The priest chortles. “Very well, then. But to digress, I shall keep you to your word.” Then, he pauses, and his face turns stony. “Be that as the case may be, however, if you’re expecting either myself or Brady to vacate the premises should you invite Fitz into our side of the barracks, or for Vicky in the vice versa-”

Oh my God.

“That…really isn’t any of your business,” you murmur with a frown, “But considering how she was betting on our sex life, non-existent as it is, mind you, I’m half-tempted to not leave a sock on the door knob and have her walk in-”

“Adrian,” MacKay glowers sternly.

Rolling your eyes, you throw up your hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine. You won’t need to worry about any of that. Out of sight, out of mind, when we get up to that kind of thing, we won’t inconvenience you like that. Is that okay?”

He sighs. “Quite so.” The priest affixes you with a wry look. “Although I did notice you prefaced that with a ‘when’ and not an ‘if’…you’ve certainly put me in an awkward position.”

No kidding. If dating Fitz is gonna be as much as a shadow of your prior relationships…then you can see why MacKay might give you the stink eye from time to time. But the last time you checked, there weren’t any mentions of fraternization clauses in the Bible. And again, it’s none of his business what the two of you might get up to, priest or not.

You cough. “Yeah…I’d normally apologize, but…” The memory of that day in the barracks washes over you like a pleasant breeze. And you don’t even need to look in the mirror to know that you’ve got a dopey grin on your face. “…I don’t think I have anything to be sorry for.”

“Please. I’ve counseled enough teenagers to know where this is going.” He shakes his head ruefully.

“We’re way past our teens, MacKay!”

“Yes, but the hurricane of love, lust and passion does not discriminate when it comes to age.”

“Dude, come on-”

This time, it is his turn to raise his hands in a placating gesture. “I never had any intention of intruding upon the affairs of your bed. It’s ultimately your choice for what you and Fitz do. I may disapprove because certain things are sins in my faith, but I would hope that in no way does it stop me from being your adjunct and your friend.”

(cont.)

He offers you a hand, which you tentatively take. In an instant, the worst of the tension melts away as you shake on it, and you smile at each other. Hung up as he is on being a priest…he did mention about disapproving of bible-thumping. You suppose you’ll just have to put up with Catholic guilt from time to time…

“Of course, should you ever change your mind, I have been offering Confessions every Wednesday and Friday in conference room twenty three on the fifth floor-” He dodges as you swat at him with a nearby magazine.

…yeah, this is going to be a wild ride.

“Oh, crap. While we’re at it…” You pause, setting down your impromptu weapon. “We’re…uh…you know Copland, right? The explosives expert from Bootes right?”

In an instant, his goodwill fades, and a dark look crosses his features. “…yes, I’m more than well aware of her.”

Perplexed, you blink. “You’ve spoken to her before?”

“She thinks it amusing to try and provoke a reaction from me at random intervals of the day,” he says through clenched teeth. “I'm not sure as to whether or not it's due to her rampant hedonism, or because of our contrast in lifestyles. In all my years, this one of the most trying trials the Lord has sent to me.

…probably best to not mention that-

“…and I do believe, if I’m not mistaken, that you and Brady shared a shower with her after the mission in West Virginia,” he muses dryly, but at the look on your face, he adds, “I trust in you that nothing happened. A mark in your favor in keeping up with ‘professionalism.’”

“Gee, father,” you retort sarcastically, “Nice of you to believe that I don’t just think with my penis-”

“So what does Miss Copland want?”

You scratch the back of your head. “She…she was offering a course in how to kill other people. Uh…so given your whole ‘thou shall not kill’ thing, if you don’t want to join, then that’s totally fine…”

Your voice trails off as MacKay’s face turns to an even more granite-like composition, a stoic posture and demeanor of one who's had almost enough of someone's bullshit.

>>[Conditional Dialogue Unlocked – Minimum MacKay Approval has been met]

Then, after a solemn silence, he places a hand on the bridge of his nose, murmuring in a voice laced with regret, “…I already know what it’s like to end the life of a fellow human being. Her lesson would be wasted on me.”

>"Do you wanna talk about it? I'm all ears, dude." [Concern]
>“Here I thought you were a perfect choir boy.” [Sarcastic]
>“Maybe I should just have everyone learn from you.” [Joke]
>"You must've had a good reason to do it." [Serious]
>Custom option.

>>3371724
>"I need your serious opinion on this: do you think such a lesson is needed?"

>>3371724
>>"You must've had a good reason to do it." [Serious]

>>3371724
>"You must've had a good reason to do it." [Serious]

>>3371724
>>"You must've had a good reason to do it." [Serious]

>>3371746
>>3371881
>>3371953
>>3371984

“…you must have had a good reason to do it,” you offer somewhat lamely. The revelation that the priest has blood on his hands has pulled the rug from under you, robbing you of your usual eloquence. It’s almost clichéd, you think to yourself. That the solemn or otherwise straightforward of the group is the one with a troubling past…but then again, what were the causes for an “invitation” to join the Task Force?

...thinking back on it, you can’t help but wonder what kind of skeletons the others are hiding in their own closets. Maybe now that you’ve proven yourself, you’ll be able to access the redacted parts of their files. Alas, but that’s another discussion for another day.

At your words, MacKay smiles sadly. “Your words are comforting. I suppose I should be relieved that a defense of my character is your first reaction to that unpleasant fact.”

>MacKay approves +10.

He continues, solemnly, “…but just because I had good reason does not mean that I regret it. As a matter of fact, we were speaking about hindsight, just before we got away from the commotion…the signs were there, but I was either willfully ignorant or foolishly blind to the circumstances that led up to that night…”

“…here, just…uh, level with me for a second.”

“Yes?”

You look the priest straight in the eye. “Do you think such a lesson is really needed?”

“Yes,” he answers without a single moment of hesitation. “I’m not so ideologically blind as to insist that you throw away your life for some misguided sense of the value of human life. Those who live by the sword will often perish by it, and there are those who would argue that the weight of a human life is an insignificant thing.”

The man is truly a priest. He’s not even drunk, and he’s already on his way to losing you within his pedagogic and philosophical ramblings.

“You should be able to know how to put down someone when nonlethal means are no longer an option. But take care that you tare the weight of a human life correctly within your hands. A shepherd will inevitably put down ravenous wolves that threaten his flock of sheep…”

His eyes darken, and his voice is hoarse with regret, “But take care that you do not become a hunter in the process. Or take the metaphor too far and assume all that oppose us are wild beasts to be persecuted and killed. Never forget the price and speed at how quickly a life is preserved or taken.”

“Of course,” you answer, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder, “…I’ll definitely keep that in mind. But, the night’s still young, so if you want to talk about it, then I’m all ears…”

“Thank you,” he replies with the tiniest quirk of his lips, “But I think I will retire for the evening. You’ve given me much to think about. I will share the story with you in the near future, but I must first gather my thoughts…”

(cont.)

File: Isabella Copland.png (336 KB, 550x880)

336 KB PNG

A silence settles over the men’s side of the barracks, interrupted only by the sound of the priest’s exit. With a hydraulic hiss the door to his room opens, and with a final wave, bids you good night and seals the door with a solemn finality.

>>You should ask MacKay about the kill he made sometime in the future.

Shaking your head, you move to return back to the common room. Hopefully, Fitz will have shook both Brady and Vicky down to the point where the gambling pool would cover the next handful of dates…and maybe rid yourself of dark and wary thoughts before Copland’s lesson…

>>The following day
>>Sparring Pad #14, Gymnasium #3

“Huh. And here I thought you’d all show up,” Copland muses, arms crossed beneath her breasts. “Oi, Brown. Where’s the priest?”

“Doing something far better with his time,” you retort sourly, not in the mood for any of her mind games. “If we’re done with the pleasantries, let’s get on with it. You offered the lesson, and the four of us are here to take you up on it.”

Carina Squad sans MacKay stands on one side of the “stage”. Opposite of them stands Isabella “Bombard” Copland, the weapons expert of Bootes squad and all-around troublemaker, alongside her leader, Mordecai Lee. The six of you have eschewed the familiar pads and protective covering, wearing no protection beyond what compression shorts, sports pants and baggy t-shirts have to offer.

Mordecai watches from the sidelines, hanging over the elastic boundary. “I’m sitting this one out. Try not to rough them up too much, Copland. Alger’s gonna be angry if he comes back with them in the clinic.”

“Quit worrying, boss. I promise to be gentle with them,” she retorts, before giving you your undivided attention. “So you’re good at killing demons, or otherwise shooting humans at a distance. You can zap an ogre into ashes or turn a wendigo into mincemeat without blinking, but what about when you get up real close and personal to another human being?"

She throws you a sparring knife, a flexible bit of hardened rubber that bends at the unsharpened tip. You catch it without trouble, testing the weight and feel of it in your hands.

“Alright,” she says, a savage grin on her face. Holding out her own knife, she bends her knees, rocking from one side to another in an adaptable crouch. “Come on then, leader, and show me what you’ve got.”

"Rules of engagement?" you counter, remembering everything that Fitz taught you as best you can.

"Nothing's permanent thanks to demon healing magic, let's not put each other on the ground too hard. It's not even been more than a week since we've met, and we haven't even had dinner with any of you."

Vicky prudently grabs Fitz by the arm before the policewoman can snap or bite back. Eventually, she calms down, but fixes you with a keen and knowing glare, one that demands a humiliating defeat for the woman before you.

>Roll 1d100+30 Combat.
>Best out of three.

Rolled 32 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>3373627
Come on, high numbers.

Rolled 93 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>3373627

Rolled 34 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>3373627
>1d100+30

File: brain problems.jpg (21 KB, 291x302)

21 KB JPG

>>3373650
...FUCK. You're right. Been so long since I ran TF666 that I defaulted to the +30 of BRQ. Whoops.

Bleah, at any rate, I'll keep these rolls, but I'll be more vigilant in the future.

>>3373660
I was actually just copy and pasting the number and didn't un-highlight, but I take full credit for reminding you anyway

>>3373635
>>3373640
>>3373650
Knife-fighting was something you never went over with Fitz on the sparring pad. The two of you preferred the chess match of MMA, the physical and psychological intimacy of grappling…the two of you fought with only your wits and bodies against the other, without the added complication of weapons.

“Weapons are an extension of your body.” Either Mister Miyagi or someone else in martial arts cinema said that helpful piece of wisdom. But you don’t have chopsticks in your hand as much as a knife, and your enemy is not a fly, but a hedonistic woman who you’re willing to bet gets off on battle.

Still, you manage to make an admirable performance, in spite of the lack of formal training. You more than make up with sheer adaptability and improvisation. More than once, you throw a punch or a hook instead of a thrust or slash, blows she’s unable to block with her weapon. Her annoyance is both visible on her face, and vocal in the explatives she murmurs as she dodges to the side.

“Nothing permanent, and you never mentioned anything against ‘anything goes,’” you pant when you pull away after a fierce exchange of blows.

The specialist offers a foxy grin. “Cheeky…”

The timer Mordecai sets up doesn’t even have any time to go off. At the end of a particularly fierce bout, you’ve got the woman pressed against the ground, arm around her neck and knife tapping against the side of her temple. For all the wiggling, cursing and kicking, she’s unable to break out of it.

“Tap out,” you simply tell her.

“…who the hell taught you how to fight like that?” the woman grouses, surprisingly unperturbed at the compromising position you’ve found yourselves in. Ignoring your question, she still struggles to break out of the hold. “Aren’t you supposed to be the team medic?”

Your eyes flicker towards the sidelines. Brady and Vicky are doing their best impression of sports fans after a touchdown or goal. And all the while, Fitz remains silent, but there’s no mistaking the shit-eating grin on her face and the smug aura that radiates from her side of the ring.

>Brady and Vicky approve +5
>Fitz approves +10

Copland tracks your eyes, and you can hear the grin in her voice. “The cop, huh? In that case…it’s your win. Made a few mistakes here or there, but do you really have the guts to cut out my throat?” But before you can answer, she taps on the mat, giving you as sultry a look as she can offer. “I give. It’s your win. Show mercy and compassion on this poor, unfortunate soul…”

(cont.) [1/2]

The smug aura becomes a glare of daggers piercing into your back. You don’t necessarily drop her like a hot potato as much as you uncoil from her like handling a poisonous reptile. Every single movement is almost designed to highlight the glistening sweat on her skin, the sway of her hips and bosom as she stretches and eases the kricks from her neck.

“…you’re an incorrigible woman, Copland,” you deadpan, with only a trace amount of animosity. “The little display does nothing for me.”

“Maybe for you,” she counters, a coy look on her face, “But the others are a very different story…”

>>Who will you send next to try for as close a lethal takedown as you can?
>Brady.
>Fitz.
>Victoria.

>>3373809
>…
and that's when she strikes

>>3373838
>Victoria.

>>3373838
>>Fitz.

>>3373838
>>Victoria.

>>3373838
>Victoria.
I dunno if Brady should be last to give him the best shot, or if Fitz should be last because she's likely to escalate this and cut the lesson short.

FUCK. Gimme a second to fix the formatting for that. Please don't roll.

File: 61UtMog2dTL._SL1500_.jpg (69 KB, 1500x634)

69 KB JPG

>>3373851
>>3373855
>>3373865
>>3373876
To your surprise, Vicky looks more than eager to scramble up into the ring. The mechanic is half a head shorter than Fitz, but she makes up her height with a sort of spry energy about her. She accepts the knife from you with a determined nod, and a high-five to finalize tagging out.

But before you crawl through the rope, she taps you on the shoulder. “Hey, uh…sorry about last night,” she apologizes, “Never did get to say it between all the screaming and everything…”

“Apology accepted,” you answer with a competitive grin, “But if you really wanna prove your sincerity…then do it by slamming her to the ground.”

“Hentai,” she deadpans.

“Oi, oi! I’m not the one with the dirty mind here! That’s Brady...and you, for jumping to that conclusion!”

“Hai, because it’s totally normal to perform black-ops secret stuff while blasting pornography at maximum volume-”

You wave her off with a rude gesture, and she giggles, all animosity gone. Before she saunters off to face Copland, she leaves you with these words: “You think you’re the only one getting CQC lessons with Sarah?”

The mechanic bounces from one side of the ring to another, hands held up in front of her in a boxer’s stance. Her eyes are narrowed in fierce concentration, a sharp contrast to the lackadaisical and open stance that Copland remains in.

“Boxing, huh? Woulda figured you for judo given your slender frame, Yamane. Still," she whistles, low and impressed, "You ain’t that bad…who’d ‘a thought that underneath those overalls, you’re pretty damn toned-”

“If you have nothing productive to say,” the mechanic answers in a voice as cold as steel, “Then no more words. Let us fight.”

At the sound of Mordecai striking the gong, the two women go at it, even more viciously than you attacked Copland. Either she held back, and Vicky’s forced her to bring it out…or maybe fights between women, similar to their arguments, are even fiercer than when someone with an X or Y chromosome is involved in the argument.

Vicky is surprisingly adept with a knife. But as opposed to a piercing weapon, she wields it like one might a club, preferring impact and slashes to pointed thrusts. But her strikes are true enough. She aims at weak spots, joints, necks, the little fingers. At one point, she even tries to bash Copland in the head with the pommel of her weapon!

“That’s not a wrench, kid!” Copland shouts, countering with a blow to the gut. Your companion grimaces, rolling with the blow as it sends her a few steps back. “So quit wielding it like one and fucking stab me! And I thought you Japs were all adept at bladed weapons-!"

>Roll 1d100+20 Combat.
>Best out of three.

Rolled 49 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3374057

Rolled 37 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3374057

Gonna take a quick break for a light snack.

Rolled 61 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>3374057

>>3374058
>>3374063
>>3374093
Maybe it was the ethnic jab, maybe it was the hint to stab or otherwise do something that wasn’t bludgeoning. But before you can otherwise shout a warning, Vicky’s eyes open wide, before narrowing sharply. For a moment, she almost seems to overpower Copland in a controlled frenzy of stabs and slices.

“Better,” she says, grimacing as a close call leaves a heat rash across the length of her arm, “You aren’t aiming to kill yet, just maiming. C’mon, what’s it gonna take for you to try to kill me?”

“Maybe one more racial slur,” Vicky grunts. The mechanic Dempsy-rolls out of a hook to the neck before bringing up her knife right towards Copland’s mouth. “Try saying something again after you’re chewing rubber-!”

But the specialist moves quicker. Like a puppet with its strings cut, she falls backwards in a remarkable display of flexibility. Then, in the blink of an eye, her fist lashes out to grab a handful of her shirt. The resilience of the fabric works against Vicky; instead of tearing, the material maintains cohesion, pulling her down along with Copland with a strangled yelp of pain.

“Anything goes, love,” Copland muses as she meets Vicky’s fall with her own outstretched fist. There’s a whoosh of air as the breath flies out of the mechanic’s lungs, followed by a hoarse wheeze as she collapses onto the ground. “Personally, I’d wear a shirt that’ll tear easy, but it’s just circumstantial. Bad luck you wore under armor today. Can’t really be helped.”

And she pulls back her leg as far as she can, like a forward making the game-winning goal, to kick Victoria in the gut as hard as she can.

You aren't sure which Carina screamed her name the loudest.

Even as your friend retches and struggles to breathe, Copland makes no attempt to lighten up her assault. Crouching down, she grabs the back of Vicky’s head, bringing her face only a few scant inches from her own.

“Never make assumptions about the enemy,” the specialist murmurs, before driving her fist into the side of Vicky’s head, “Just because your leader beat me doesn’t mean that you can as well. I mean, have you seen him? All that extra meat on his bones, at least a full thirty pounds of muscle…”

She sighs, dropping her back onto the floor. You watch in horror at the way her head bounces limply off the mat. “Then again, I’ve always been weak to a pretty face. Your leader’s not that bad looking’, not gonna lie…”

Copland rolls her over with an unceremonious nudge of her foot. Bloodied, winded and bruised, it’s all Vicky can do to raise her dagger, level a look of pure hatred towards Bootes’ special weapons expert and spit a globule of bloody saliva at her.

“What’s the word in your language…kawaii?” Copland shakes her head, battering aside the weapon with contemptuous ease. “How kawaii. Resistance isn't worth shit unless you can back it up."

(cont.) [1/2]

And then she descends upon her, one hand closing around her neck, the other bringing her dagger to hover only a few inches above a blackening eye. She continues, "Pinned down and about to die, you do whatever you do to live on to the next day. Bite and kick, flail and struggle...steal as much as you can of life until your last breath. That's what it means to live and survive in a world of strength."

The broad’s so focused on your friend that she’s not even paying attention to the sidelines. Brady’s already halfway through the rope barrier, and the look of sheer murder written on the dour programmer’s face is certainly something to behold. At any second, he’s about to punch through the elastic and blindside Copland in a dead run. Fitz, on the other hand, is in a dead run towards the lockers on the walls…right to where her gun is.

Mordecai, on the other side of the sparring ring…the bastard just keeps staring impassively. Apparently, in his book, having the shit beaten out of you isn’t enough to put you in the clinic. And this is Copland being “gentle”. The bastard isn’t even smiling, let alone reacting. He just stares as Copland rains blow after blow on Vicky’s defenseless form.

"This isn't even close to killing a human," the hedonist muses, "But it should give you some hatred to work off of. Come on then, princess. I've kicked you around the goddamn ring. If you aren't anywhere close to wanting to kill me, then I'll just need to get it through that thick, Jap skull of yours, one blow at a time-"

>Join Brady and rush Copland from opposite sides.
>Order Carina to stand down, wait for Vicky to retaliate.
>Send Fitz into the arena to fight Copland WITHOUT her gun.
>Stop the “lesson", as it's devolved into a senseless beating.
>Custom option.

>>3374646
>Stop the “lesson", as it's devolved into a senseless beating.

This is beyond stupid. You're teaching her what? Get angry even though you've had her dead a minute ago in a real situation? At this point you're just indulging your sadism.

>>3374646
>>Stop the “lesson", as it's devolved into a senseless beating.

>>3374646
>>Stop the “lesson", as it's devolved into a senseless beating.

>>3374673
>>3374677
>>3374682
“THAT’S ENOUGH, COPLAND,” you shout at the top of your lungs, even as you lunge forward to grab Brady before he can throw himself towards the specialist. “This isn’t a lesson any more, this is a goddamn-”

Brady practically roars, struggling against your grip. “Get off her, you fucking slag! And let go of me, she’s not gonna stop-”

“Don’t make a bad situation even worse,” you hiss in reply, turning to find Fitz sprinting back with her gun, just about to take aim at the woman, finger already on the safety. “Fitz, no! Stand down. That’s an order!”

She stares at you as if you’ve said something grossly offensive. “Are you shittin’ me?!”

“…I’d recommend listening to him and putting the gun down, Fitzgerald,” Mordecai drawls from the opposite side of the ring. “The second you pop off a round, internal’s gonna come cracking down, demons and guns blazing.”

Fitz spits, pulling the hammer back. “Don’t fuckin’ tempt me, ‘cause one round is all I’m gonna need-”

“FITZ.” Your words broker no argument, especially since you’ve pulled out your best imitation of Commander Alger’s no-nonsense tone. “Stand down.”

Meanwhile, Copland seems to have listened. She tosses her knife out of the ring, blowing her hair out of her face as she lifts her hands from Vicky’s body. The mechanic is trembling underneath her, almost struggling for breath even after the hold on her throat’s been released. There’s no way in hell you’re letting her out of this building before you’ve checked for bruising or damage brought on by oxygen deprivation.

“Fine, fine,” the specialist grouses, blowing hair out of her face in an almost annoyed manner. “Guess we’re gonna put an end to today’s lesson…”

“Lesson?” you demand, enflamed by her words, “Just what the fuck was that supposed to teach her?! The knife to her throat was already a killing bow, you didn’t need to-”

“Yeah, I kind of did,” she muses, idly scratching blood from under her fingernails. “Look, I’m not a racist. Had a bit of yellow fever back in college, believe it or not. All of this? Just needed to give her the catalyst to strike-”

The scream of pure hatred to come from Vicky’s mouth catches you off guard. Copland caught the worst of it, throwing her off balance just long enough for the mechanic to land a solid punch to her throat. Somehow, even Brady manages to cringe at the sputtering, dry rasp that comes from the hedonist’s mouth as she collapses onto the ring.

Her transformation is almost stunning. The normally amicable, quip-cracking and plucky Victoria Yamane seems to have reverted to her baser instincts as she straddles Copland. Still screaming in pure hatred, it’s her turn to unload on the specialist, knife all but forgotten and tossed to the side as she rains blow after blow upon her downed enemy.

(cont.)

Every single one of her words is punctuated by a sharp blow to either face or sternum, intermingling between angry Japanese and English profanities. “OMAE WA.” WHAM. “MOU.” WHAM “FUCKING.” WHAM “SHINDERU.” WHAM “CHIKUSHŌ-BARA.” WHAM “NO GAIJIN.” WHAM

In spite of herself, Copland wheezes, smiling through a bloodied mouth, just barely managing to fend off or struggle against the attack. “…good job, princess…just ‘cause the enemy looks finished or someone says stop, doesn’t mean you’re down and out for the count…”

>Copland approves +25.

Even as he watches your friend beat the tar out of his subordinate, Mordecai only looks mildly concerned. And your friends’ attitudes seem to have shifted, as well. There’s an almost satisfied expression on Fitz’s face, solely focused on the beatdown before her. As for Brady…his attitude’s turned into a complete reversal. The programmer cheers and goads Vicky on, interrupted by brief expletives, as if he were watching a match of soccer.

>>Choose one:
>For everything that’s happened, don’t interrupt and let Vicky get some payback.
>Personally separate Vicky from Copland and stop today’s ‘lesson’ for good.

…all you can think is that the inevitable kegger with Bootes might be more than a little awkward.

If you even have the damn thing at all, to begin with.

>>Choose an activity for the first half of the following day:
>Check the Division Board for any local quests.
>Confront Copland and Squad Bootes in their barracks.
>Follow up on Arachne’s D-Source and “Red” medicine.
>Keep Vicky and Brady company in the barracks.
>Speak privately with MacKay about his past.
>Take the day off with Sarah.
>Custom option.

>>As a two-part vote, please have two selections to both choices in your replies.

>>3378977
>Personally separate Vicky from Copland and stop today’s ‘lesson’ for good.
But take your time walking over. And just put a hand on her shoulder so she gets back to reality and maybe calms down a little.

>Follow up on Arachne’s D-Source and “Red” medicine.

>>3378977
>>Personally separate Vicky from Copland and stop today’s ‘lesson’ for good.

>>Follow up on Arachne’s D-Source and “Red” medicine.

>>3378977
>>Personally separate Vicky from Copland and stop today’s ‘lesson’ for good.

>Follow up on Arachne’s D-Source and “Red” medicine.

>>3378996
>>3378997
>>3379000
Brady and Fitz don’t like it, but they keep their mouths shut as you push your way into the ring. Not that you’re in any hurry to stop Vicky. You take your sweet time, a full twenty seconds before you catch the mechanic’s bloody fist before she can deliver another strike.

“That’s enough,” you say softly, “You won.”

For a moment, her eyes and nostrils flare at you, the one who stopped her in the middle of her righteous fury. But then she recognizes you, then her rage abates, and the adrenaline seems to drain out of her as her fury subsides. She sways almost drunkenly as she pushes off of Copland’s bloodied form, but you and a swift Brady are quick to catch her before she falls.

“Easy, easy,” you assure her as she struggles fitfully, “We got you…and you got her really good.”

Brady nods. “Aye, well done. You beat her like she owed you money.”

“Snerkkkkk…ha – itai!” Vicky winces before she can fully laugh, “…don’t make me laugh…chest hurts…”

At your friend’s worried look, your mouth sets into a thin, angry line. God help Copland, Mordecai and the entirety of Bootes if Vicky has even a single cracked rib.

But it would be too easy for you to all just retreat to your corner of the gym without any final words. And they come just as Fitz helps the two of you ease your teammate over the elastic ropes of the sparring ring.

“…that tickled…” the specialist murmurs, somehow still able to pull off that inviting, sultry stare as she lays bleeding on the floor, “…hey, Brown. Next time, you should let Fitzgerald throw down in the ring…or Brady…I’m still not satisfied that you all know how to kill somebody…”

>Copland disapproves -5.

…yeah fucking right.

>>The following day

Frederic Byrne manages to look even scruffier than when you first met him. There’s more stubble, and his clothes hold wrinkles and signs of having been slept-in. The fusion technician looks up from his breakfast, uncaring at the sight of lo mein drooping from out of his mouth.

He takes his time to slurp up his breakfast before nodding towards you. “Brown, right? Been a while since you’ve been here.”

You shrug. “Never had any urgent need to drop by.”

“Demons doing well?”

“Well enough and still trucking along. Haven’t got any reason to fuse anyone yet.”

“Hmmm…” He sets his takeout box on an already messy table to give you his undivided attention. “So what brings you to the lab?”

“I had some things that I brought in from the last mission-”

“Ah, right.” He cuts you off, pushing off from his swivel chair to slide from one side of the room to the next. Rummaging through stacks of papers, the technician reveals a black binder. “Lemme just check the log...Brown, Carina…there we go. D-Source of Arachne, Mother of Spiders, and samples of ‘Red’ substance.”

“The hell’s a d-source?”

(cont.)

>>3378977
>Personally separate Vicky from Copland and stop today’s ‘lesson’ for good.
THAT was the lesson? Sheesh. Lesson fucking learned, I guess. I dont think id have ever picked brady before vick, but Im sure it wouldnt end up any better.

>Arachne and red

File: Frederic Bryne, PHD.png (276 KB, 1024x576)

276 KB PNG

>>3379204
“Put bluntly, a crystallization of demonic power, something only the big ones drop upon their deaths,” he explains, “All depending on the demon, of course. Sometimes, it’ll be an artifact significant to their legend, other times it’s a purely semi-biological substance. More often than not, in the shape of a sphere.”

You nod. “Okay…but what can you do with it?”

“It’s a component for demon fusion. Think of it like…here.” He pushes back towards the table, grabbing his takeout box and a onions sauce packet. “Think of demon fusion like this box of takeout, its ingredients the demons, and the sauce is the d-source.”

…weird analogy, but okay.

“So, here, I’ve got my chopsticks, stirring up the mess…” he takes a moment to jab a pair of chopsticks into the box, and the noise it makes as it stirs is incredibly off-putting, “…stirring until I’ve got something else. That’s where d-sources come in.” And he punctuates this by pouring a liberal portion of the onions sauce into his food.

“D-sources can give the new demon additional power. It could be a boost in stats, perhaps a move unique to the demon of said d-source…but it always makes the end result more unique and transformative than what you would have originally got.”

“...makes enough sense,” you shrug.

Bryne smirks. “And I’ve actually been working on something, actually. ‘course, never had the materials to test it out, but with your help, I just might be able to make a breakthrough in demon fusion.”

Hoo boy. “And what would that be?”

“Resurrection of a sorts, or perhaps ‘reconstitution’ would be a more apt title,” he adds thoughtfully, “Given enough magnetite and a d-source, I should be able to create a copy of the demon you killed to get its d-source.”

You give him a weird look. “Gee, I dunno about you, but I’m rather fond of not having a rampaging spider goddess hell-bent on waging war on Mount Olympus running loose in Central.”

“Bah, you worry too much! The demon will be contained and properly monitored. Just like a fusion, the demon will be contractually bound to the one who placed it inside of the chamber.

“And so, I hope you’re willing to help me. Help me prove to those idiot bigwigs who control my budget that my plan isn’t crazy, and I’ll supply you with powerful and unique demons that no one else in the entire force will be able to have at their disposal.”

You frown. “…I’m sensing some kind of catch-”

“There is the risk of a containment breach- hey, don’t give me that look! All you’d need to do is beat the crap out of the demon…again! Not even kill it. If nothing else, they’re a Chaotic[/b] bunch, so they’ll respect a strong and powerful devil summoner.”

(cont.)

>If you are so inclined, you may turn in D-Sources and Magnetite to Byrne to turn into demons.
>The more powerful the demon, the more magnetite will be required to reconstruct it.
>Such a boon is not without risk, as there is a perpetual chance of the reconstruction becoming hostile.
>But you will have unique demons that no one else in the Task Force may possibly have.

>>You currently have [1] D-Source[s]:
>Arachne, Mother of Spiders [Bestows skills Mortal Jihad, Acid Breath, Sea of Chaos, Null Dark]

Nodding, you continue, “And what about this ‘Red’ thing?” There’s no way you’d forget about that, not the way High Pixie freaked out at it when Arachne was about to devour one. Compared to your demon’s usual eccentricities and bouts of freaking out for the sake of melodrama, that fear was very real. “Been hearing a whole lot of stuff about it.”

He cuts you off, bluntly declaring, “Classified.”

Bwah?

Bryne shakes his head. “Sorry, but you knowing about it is already bad enough. I mean, they’re probably going to let you know more about it, but I’m under strict orders to not tell you anything about it beyond the fact that we’re ‘looking into it’. And trust me when I say that we really are. Nothing for you to worry about for the time being.”

>Attempt to convince him to let you know about Reds.
>Pull rank and file and use your authority to coerce him.
>Take him at his word and thank him for his knowledge.
>Custom option.

>>3379225
>>Take him at his word and thank him for his knowledge.
We'll find out eventually.

>>3379225
>Take him at his word and thank him for his knowledge.


>put arachne in your party
>raise loyalty to 100%
>she gives you a handknit sweater, straight from her butt.

>>3379225
>Take him at his word and thank him for his knowledge.

>Ask pixie instead since she seems to know.

>>3379225
>>Take him at his word and thank him for his knowledge.

>>3379225
>>Take him at his word and thank him for his knowledge.

>>3379240
>>3379301
>>3379332
>>3379442
>>3379532

...you decide to leave it for now. Given the fact that you've decided to hide the Triple Goddesses from the powers that be, perhaps it's karma that the Big Wigs might not clear you for Reds yet. Then again, High Pixie seems to know a whole lot about it, so maybe you can ask her later...

"Yeah, that's not a problem," you reply amicably, holding out your hand. "Nice seeing you, Bryne. And I'll definitely be looking out for any more D-Sources in the field."

The disheveled technician grins, pumping the offered limb with a vigorous enthusiasm. "Great! But before you head off, lemme take a few readings...just stand still, assume a T-pose...just need to calibrate the machine to your current power and skillset..."

>Resurrecting Arachne, Mother of Spiders, from her D-source will cost a total of 5000 Units of Magnetite.
>In order to 'resurrect' Arachne, you will need to be level 50, but you may use more magnetite to make up the difference in power., with every level representing 100 MAG of difference.
>At your current level of 30, you could pay a total of 7000 MAG to bypass the level restriction.

>>Choose two activities for the second half of the day:
>Attempt to make contact with the Triple Goddesses.
>Check up on Vicky's condition with Brady in the Carina barracks.
>Confront Copland and Squad Bootes in their barracks.
>Inspect the Division Board for any local quests.
>Speak privately with MacKay about his troubled past.
>Throw the rest of the afternoon away with Sarah.
>Custom option.

>>3379989
>>Check up on Vicky's condition with Brady in the Carina barracks.
>>Throw the rest of the afternoon away with Sarah.

>>3379989
>Check up on Vicky's condition with Brady in the Carina barracks.
>Speak privately with MacKay about his troubled past.

>>3379989
>Check up on Vicky's condition with Brady in the Carina barracks.
>Confront Copland and Squad Bootes in their barracks.

>>3379989
>>Check up on Vicky's condition with Brady in the Carina barracks.
>>Throw the rest of the afternoon away with Sarah.

>>3379989
>>Check up on Vicky's condition with Brady in the Carina barracks.
>>Inspect the Division Board for any local quests.

>>3379993
>>3379994
>>3380393
>>3380612
>>3380878
It’s certainly no small miracle that you have healing magic so readily available. Vicky and Copland sustained injuries that might lay them out for weeks, and take months to recover. In spite of High Pixie’s healing, however, you ordered for her to be confined to bed rest, not for her physical health as much as her mental health.

The mechanic seemed to have gotten away from the fight without looking cowed or otherwise skittish, but there’s a harsher edge to her words, and a sort of tension in her that you can almost see coiled around her. Perhaps it could be chalked up to having her pride injured, or she might have taken the hedonist’s words to heart.

Regardless, you only temporarily set her to bed rest for three days. Why couldn’t you go to the clinic and get this shit settled through official channels is still its own mystery, let alone reporting the incident whole cloth. There are security cameras at every corner, so someone must have seen the altercation…but so far, nothing’s been done about it. Or mentioned, to boot.

You enter the common room, lunch in hand, to find that Brady has already beat you to the punch. No, that is not correct. From the way his files and computer are haphazardly scattered around the coffee table, he’s been there for a long time.

Whatever conversation they were having halts abruptly as they turn as one to face you. “…was I interrupting something?” you ask, tentatively.

Brady shakes his head, deadpanning, “A spirited discussion on twats that drive through the lane like they own the sodding road.”

“…I see…”

From underneath the bandages around her cheeks and jaw, Vicky offers both a jaunty wave and a tired smile. “Hi…oh, is that for me?” Her eyes brighten up as you slide the tray of food towards her. “Oh, yum. Apple sauce, more apple sauce, a soft-serve ice-cream cone…” She stares flatly towards you. “I didn’t get my tonsils removed, and my jaw is in perfect working order-”

“Don’t care,” you cut her off, “Semi-solids for the next few days until you can chew without any pain.”

“But that’s what I have vicodin for-”

“Which we don’t have because we didn’t go to the clinic,” you counter, before halting in your tracks. “…please don’t tell me you stole a bottle from the clinic-”

“The temptation was there, but it passed,” the programmer bluntly answers, swiping a container of applesauce from the pile stacked upon the tray. “She’s just using some of the leftovers from Delaware…that lovely bottle that nurse kindly gave us when that horse demon tore us a new asshole.”

They have at least enough courtesy to not laugh at the distraught face you make, but they completely lose it at the stupid incredulity laced in your response: “You’re what?”

(cont.)

“Don’t…don’t make me laugh,” Vicky wheezes, wincing at something in the middle of her fit. “Still…a little sore…”

Genuine contrition appears on Brady’s face. “Ah, fuck, sorry.”

“Just stop messing with him,” chides the mechanic, “He’s already trying to figure out how to get Copland’s head on the chopping block, so we can’t bother him…” she trails off, looking at you expectantly. “…unless you’ve already sent a message to Commander Alger-”

The programmer snorts. “All of the punishments that Central could threaten her with don’t hold a candle to her. That kind of woman…those are the ones that need to be smacked around before they listen…”

“What a thoroughly enlightened view you possess about women there, Brady,” you dryly quip.

“Says the man who lets his girlfriend smack him around, and vice versa.”

…okay, he’s got a point there.

"That's different though," Vicky defends you, "That applies to protecting someone...and really, is it too much to wait for Alger to come back and teach us himself?"

"When he gets back. Boss didn't specify-"

"Drat."

Their bickering devolves into another fierce argument. Victoria favors a solution performed to the letter of the law, even though she’s the aggrieved party and her temper continues to simmer. Brady favors a more punitive solution, not necessarily involving Central, but one that would cast an unreliable and unfortunate light on Bootes so long as it’s kept on the down-low.

>>Choose one:
>You plan to take the issue to the highest authority.
>You plan to resolve this outside of “official” channels.

well fellas are we gonna go for the arachne rez down the line?

>>3381335
>You plan to resolve this outside of “official” channels.


If we have to choose one? I guess this. Honestly neither sound like a good idea.

>>3381335
>You plan to resolve this outside of “official” channels.
I'm not a fan of either of these either.

>>3381335
I'm confused on why we are trying to get Copland and Bootes punished.

WE took the offer. WE knew what kind of person Copland was. The beating she gave Vicky was uncalled for, but Vicky gave it right back so I feel like that matter is solved.

Doing either of these options makes us look weak, either we are tattle tells that can't handle our own shit between squads or we screw over the entire Bootes squad and we are just petty. Specially since it's implied Central *already knows* with it's surveillance.

>>3381674
So what should we tell Vick and Brady? Keep the pranks harmless?

>>3381680
As long as it's centered on Copland and not the whole squad, most of which weren't even there. And yeah more harmless than I know Brady was going to do. Dude can get extreme when he gets a bug up his ass and his waifu was hurt.

>>3381335
>>3381689
I can back that.

Even if it's just stupid stuff like rickrolling Copland with kenshiro memes.

>>3381335
Supporting this anon's line of reasoning - >>3381674
>>3381689
Trying to punish the entirety of Bootes Squad either officially or unofficially is probably going to reflect badly on us.

>>3381564
>>3381595
>>3381674
>>3381697
>>3381991
“Honestly, if I’m looking at it, we’re pretty much even.” The two of them stopped arguing, turning to look at you so quickly that you might’ve worried about whiplash. “Don’t gimme that look. Last time I checked, you did a pretty good job about getting payback yourself.”

Vicky stares, completely bewildered before she gets angry, “So that means that it’s okay for her to just go off the reservation and beat me nearly to death?”

“What she did was uncalled for,” you retort firmly and emphatically, “I’ll give you that much. I’m just saying that as it stands, you’re just about even with how we left the ring…”

“Didn’t do nearly enough,” Brady mutters under his breath, “You should’ve paid her back with interest, Vicky. Crazy broad was smiling at the end of it…what an absolute nutter.”

How troublesome. Finally, something that they can agree on, and it’s about your supposed lack of interest about punishing or otherwise retaliating against Copland. And to think you’d have more trouble with a priest and former policewoman…

“I’m not saying that you can’t get back at her…yet,” you quickly add as their faces brighten, “And, really, Central would’ve intervened if things got out of line.”

Brady scowls. “I’m half tempted to believe that Mordecai was just spouting off some random shite…but you’re probably right. Cameras in the gym wouldn’t surprise me. They’ve even got fisheye lens in the bathrooms…not in the stalls, thank God, but just by the sinks.”

…you make a mental note to not have any passionate encounters with Sarah in any of the restrooms outside of your own barracks.

The mechanic collapses back on her bed with an irritated noise. Her eyes stare with an intense loathing at the apple sauce in her hands, as if the container held within its contents a miniature version of the one responsible for her current state. “…so does that mean it’s open season on the two of them?”

“Copland only,” you order, “Nothing that strays too close to Bootes, with the exception of myself and Mordeci having some words…and if we’re being honest, I’m feeling like shit myself. I mean…” You pause, gesturing to nothing in particular, “I did order for us to take her up on the offer. And after beating her, I just didn’t expect her to…”

Vicky cuts you off, “I already got over being angry with you.”

“…that implies that you were,” you venture nervously.

“Oh, I was for the first half of the first day of confinement…" Her smile is downright predatory. "But then I decided to channel it to more productive means and more practical targets. I can’t stay angry at friends, especially if they feel really, really guilty about having to do with something that’s screwed me over.”

(cont.)

The hint is about as subtle as a train wreck. “So…we’re good then, right?”

Somehow, her smile grows even wider. “A week’s worth of sashimi will make for a suitable peace offering. And maybe a few day’s worth of painkillers won’t hurt either.

“…only once you’re able to chew without any pain,” you retort. “So eat your applesauce.”

She scowls, but complies with an upbeat affirmative.

>Victoria approves +15.
>Brady approves +20.

The programmer cracks his knuckles. “…I mean, we are doing it again, right?”

You ask, “Doing what?”

“The lessons…because if that crazy bitch wants to face someone willing to maul them, then I’m more than willing to volunteer as tribute.”

How incredibly brave of him, you think to yourself, but you doubt that anyone else would act differently. MacKay had been downright appalled when you explained the situation, followed by a fierce and intense anger. Old Testament style. And Fitz had been ready to shoot and otherwise neutralize Copland to get her to stop.

…certainly a remarkable testament to how the five of you have come since the hospital. From strangers, to awkward recruits, to fire-forged and trial-tested friends.

But you look at him as if he’s grown an extra head. “Not the word I’d use to throw down the gauntlet, because as it stands now, I think she’d eat you like a snack.”

“The hell’s that mean?” he demands.

“It means that you gotta punch her really hard for her to stop enjoying it,” you answer, “Hard enough that you might break your fingers doing it.”

“Or I could just cunt-punt her or punch her in the boob.” Then he realizes who he’s sitting next to, and flashes an irate Vicky an apologetic gesture. “Ah…shit, sorry. Pardon my French…but didn’t you say something about her when you got your licks in? I got ‘gaijin’ well enough, and a little bit of the translation. But the meaning isn’t exactly in the textbooks I had when my old man was stationed at the Tokyo consulate…”

Vicky exhales, mulling over her apple sauce. “…chikoshu-bara…the literal translation is ‘bestial belly’, for twins, triplets, etc. Folk wisdom says that only wild animals have multiple births.” She scowls as you both snigger. “Really? Men…”

Shaking her head as you regain control over yourselves, she continues, “If you didn’t stop me, I think I would’ve shouted umazume…and then I’d have struggled to remember the rest of the naughty words my parents didn’t want me saying.”

“‘Stone womb,’” Brady translates, confused, “But why?”

“Because there’s no way in hell that someone as toxic, individualist and hedonistic as her could ever have a womb that could nourish and support a child,” she spits back venemously, “At least, not without the child miscarrying horribly in the middle of the term or coming out as mizuko...water child. Stillborn.”

(cont.)

>You learned about Vicky’s nasty side that you may or may not have wished to know, and depart feeling very uncomfortable.

Having decided to spend the rest of the day with Sarah, you ultimately decide to…

>>Choose one:
>Listen to more stories about her father.
>Mess around and train with your demons.
>Spend the day outside in the capital of America.
>Vent stress on the sparring and shooting areas.
>Custom option.

>>3383014
>>Spend the day outside in the capital of America.

>>3383014
>>Spend the day outside in the capital of America.
Isn't our family around the area? Boy, should would be a shame if we met them.

>>3383014
>Spend the day outside in the capital of America.

>>3383014
>>Spend the day outside in the capital of America.

File: 12251784553_018a0b3095_k.jpg (177 KB, 1280x720)

177 KB JPG

>>3383022
>>3383028
>>3383029
>>3383030
As a suburbs kid your whole and entire life, the urban sprawl of the steel jungle never really appealed to you. You are too fond of open spaces and zoning areas that prohibit anything higher than five stories. To work in a city? Perfectly normal, if not the current trend. But to also live in one, however, is an entirely different beast. The extortionist price of rent has only a small part to contribute to that sentiment.

For the most part, the traffic in D.C. is tolerable, manageable even if one knows how to avoid it. And even then, gridlock is something that’s only ever happened to automobiles, and the occasional delay on the metro. Pedestrians are usually spared the worst of it, barring the odd tour group or politically motivated protest. Summer was peak for the former, but the latter happen far too damn often.

Today, however, has been mercifully devoid of tourists, and not a single protest, either racially, ideologically or religiously motivated. A notorious achievement in of itself for the city of D.C. Just after six thirty, when the worst of the foot traffic abates, the Mall is only sparsely populated, and scattered across the greenery.

“At least the drivers here can obey basic decency,” Sarah mutters, flashing the stink eye behind the road you crossed.

You readily agree, and not just to flatter her. “No kidding. Way back when I was in New York, I nearly got sideswiped by some punk in a taxi who just had to drive while the crosswalk was still silver. Twice.”

“Yeah, well…some people are just beyond savin.’”

“MacKay would disagree, although for different reasons.”

She chortles at that. “I’m assumin’ that you mean NYC, right? 'cause it ain't Portland."

“It ain’t Portland, though.”

“Or Sin City itself,” you concede, “But now that you mention it, there’s bound to be some New Age, yuppie hipster that’s accidentally summoned a demon.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest, Sawbones…betcha that West Station’s got nine kinds of problems with the folk that live there…but then again, we’ve prolly got Florida in our jurisdiction, so they're laughin' at us as well..."

Wincing and shuddering at the morbid memories of the eponymous ‘Florida Man’, you can only hope that the incidents were only motivated by human error, and not by the hand of demonic interference. “Then let’s hope that they don’t feed relative rookies to Florida Man.”

Settling yourselves on an unoccupied bench, the two of you stare at nothing and everything. Families pass by as your hands and fingers intertwine, congressmen hurry from the capitol as you nestle up against each other. Food trucks close and join the exodus from the capitol. As the sun begins to slowly make its way to the western horizon, it dyes the Smithsonian’s brickwork with a warm and vibrant orange, and paints the sky, buildings and reflecting pool in a myriad display of colors.

(cont.)

The people within this city are but a handful of the millions the two of you have sworn to protect from the predations of the supernatural or otherwise demonic. And both of you are content to watch them go about their daily lives, ignorant of the dangers you shield them from.

>Fitz approves +15

>Squad Carina has unlocked the Team Trait: Protectors of D.C.
>When fighting in the D.C. Metro Area, gain +25 to all rolls.

>Roll 1d100 Encounter.
>Best out of three.

Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>3383579
daaaw. But also what horrific thing are you going to throw into massively dense urban areas?

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>3383579
Time to find out what sort of hijinks can be had in the Capital

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>3383579

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>>3383603
>>3383635
>>3383724
Suddenly, the serene, almost trance-like atmosphere is violently interrupted, pulling the two of you out of each other’s presence and back into the real world. It is through neither fault of your own, but a purely external force that grabs you and forcibly drags you back into reality.

“Oh my gawd…Sarah, izzat you?!”

Or in this case, your girlfriend, by a particularly affectionate, touchy and incredibly loud teenage girl who pulls her into a hug. The only reason that you don’t otherwise tell her to fuck off or lay hands is the better part of chivalry, and the fact that she seems to recognize this stranger.

Sarah’s eyes go wide. “Abby? The hell’re you doin’ up here? I thought you said you had board and research shit to take care of-”

The identified Abby laughs, smirking, “What, you mean I can’t tour D.C. as I please? Please. As if those old fuddy-duddies could keep me from enjoyin’ my summer.”

...a family member or a close friend, you conclude after a brief look-over. The southern drawl is there, not nearly as pronounced as Sarah’s, but definitely Virginian. At least fifty miles west or south after hitting Front Royal.

The girl is dressed as casually a typical American might for the summer. Pink blouse with a thin undershirt, shorts only a few inches from being scandalous and a pair of dirt-streaked sneakers. The glasses perched precariously on her nose are slowly transitioning from a shade of black to something lighter, revealing eyes the color of amber. She could be anywhere from her late teens to her early twenties.

“Oi.” An elbow to the ribs reveals a very stern and cross Sarah. “The hell’re you lookin’ at?”

You blink, before shooting back, defensively, “I’m sorry, I can’t assess random strangers who catch the both of us unawares?”

The girl laughs, lightly smacking her on the arm with a friendly swipe. “Oh, don’t be so hard on him. I know, it’s the shorts, ain’t it? Only pair I had left since the rest are still hangin’ off the clothesline.”

“Yeah, I bet,” your girlfriend crossly retorts, “You know how your mom feels about that kind of thing.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her-”

You cut into their discussion. “I’m sorry, but you’ve got me at a disadvantage. Sarah, do you know this girl?”

Abby ignores the question, only lighting up to a particular thing you said. “Ohhhhh, first name basis, huh? And with your real name, not that alias the chief gave you. Must be a real special guy, eh, sis…unless this dude’s the one you’ve been doin’ ‘private' contractin’ with…”

Even as Sarah sputters indignantly, all the while turning a shade of red to compliment the pink clouds overhead, her words cause you to gape. A notoriously private person, your girlfriend only begun to tell you about her father. But a sister? Certainly unexpected.

(cont.)

Yet you can’t see any familial relation. Where Sarah’s features are hawkish and sharp, Abby’s are softer, almost vulpine. The facial structures are completely different, the hair too wildly disparate, and eyes not even remotely close to shade, even factoring in recessive traits.

“I’m sorry, you’ve got me at a disadvantage,” you say, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. Inquiries about the finer details could be discussed later. “…who are you, exactly?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked, mister! The name’s Abigail Morrison,” she says with a friendly smile, extending her hand out towards you, “Freshman at JMU with the intent to major in engineerin’, I drive a crappy Toyota, and I’m this dope’s little sister. But you are…?”

“…Adrian Brown,” you tentatively offer. Dimly, you’re aware of your phone buzzing in the back of your pants, but you ignore it as you take the girl’s hand. Surprisingly calloused for someone as soft and feminine as she appears. “Medical student and intern for Boroughs Pharmacuitcal-”

“Say,” she cuts you off, “…you ever been out of state recently? Go on a trip to Kentucky?”
Something in your face must’ve given something away, because Abby pumps her fist in victory. “Hah! I knew it!” Then she turns to Sarah. “You really were tellin’ the truth! ‘Bodyguardin’ and security…you really know how to pick ‘em. He’s a real cutie, sis!”

You’ve never seen Sarah wish more like she was somewhere else than at the current moment.

Abby’s attention returns back to you. “So what’s so important that you’ve got my sister protectin’ you? You got somethin’ to hide? Company secrets to protect from rival businesses? And what exactly are you to her, because what I saw before I came and introduced myself certainly don't look like professional bodyguardin’…”

Good Lord, her mouth is a mile a minute.

>"Classified. If I told you, then I'd have to kill you."
>“Friendly coworkers for government contractors.”
>“The cutie is actually her boyfriend.”
>Custom option.

>>3383798
>“The cutie is actually her boyfriend.”
>She’s not MY bodyguard, but we do work together.

>>3383798
>>“The cutie is actually her boyfriend.”
>"We met on my first day and things continued from there. Kentucky is classified."

>>3383798
>“The cutie is actually her boyfriend.”
>She’s not MY bodyguard, but we do work together.

>>3383798
>She’s not MY bodyguard, but we do work together.
>“The cutie is actually her boyfriend.”

>>3383798
>“The cutie is actually her boyfriend.”
>She’s not MY bodyguard, but we do work together.
>"We met on my first day and things continued from there. Kentucky is classified."

>>3383801
>>3383805
>>3383808
>>3383819

"She's not my bodyguard. We just work together." Electing to save Sarah some embarrassment and share the discomfort, you offer, "And I'm flattered, by the way, but the cutie is actually her boyfriend-"

>Fitz approves +8

For a dim moment, you are aware of a warm red settling over Sarah's face, and a twitch of her mouth that isn't a smirk. But then everything else fades away as Abby's face lights up like a set of Christmas lights.

The noise that comes from her throat doesn't register on any known hearing frequency. All you're aware of, coming out of the momentary headache and induced blindness, is the sight of the girl gushing and otherwise loosing her mind, grabbing her elder sister by her arms and shaking her as vigorously as she can.

"Oh my gawd, really?! Sarah, you should've told me!" It isn't the gossipy nature of young women that radiates off of her, but a warm and genuine joy for her sibling. "I would've stopped pestering you about going back to the dating scene. Listening to mom moan and complain about you remaining single-"

"Neither here or now, you got that?" hisses Sarah, wrenching her arms free to cover her sister's mouth. "So quit makin' a scene, you little - OW, FUCK-" She pulls her hand, cursing and rubbing at the little nibble her sister gave her, who adopts an innocent demeanor of 'did I do that?' The policewoman growls, "Abigail Christine Morrison, I swear to God-"

She promptly ignores her sister, sprinting to you to grab you by your hands. With the inquisitive determination of a reporter, she grills you, "So how did the two of you meet? And what led up to your relationship? Who made the first move. I. Need. The. Deats!"

The two of you exchange a look. Her's is full of chagrin, a contrast to your bewildered confusion. The way Abby's approaching you, it's like the two of you got engaged, as opposed to just starting a relationship. You've never experienced anything like this in your prior relations. Maybe it's a Virginian thing...or maybe it's just Abby being Abby. Whatever she's like.

Deciding that it would be rude to tell your S.O.'s sister to fuck off outright, you decide to humor her. "We, uh...we met on the first day of work. And that was...April. Things just kind of...continued on from there. Kentucky is classified, though. I'm legally not permitted to tell you anything about it."

(cont.)

Abby arches a questioning eyebrow. "I thought you said that you work for a Pharma company-"

"That's affiliated with the government," you interject smoothly, ignoring the sharp vibration of your phone. Someone seems really hell-bent on trying to reach you. "So beyond the rigmarole of private NDA's, there's also a whole lot of red tape that prevents me from talking."

"...gee, sis. You really know how to pick 'em." The girl cackles as she dodges an angry swipe from said sister. "No wonder. Private guy like him and your own bullheaded silence? No wonder I didn't hear about until today, and just by takin' a random stroll!"

There's no malice in her words. She really means it and delivers her words in as friendly a manner as ever. And if you squint, you could detect...relief, sisterly love, and a familial concern behind her flippant words. Is this the legendary passive-aggressive pleasant girl you've heard about? With just a hint of the valley and southern drawl? What a terrifying combination.

"Man, speaking about lunch...dinner!" She pounds her fist in her hand, and her eyes light up once more. "We're having dinner. The three of us, tonight. I know this faaaaaantastic place by Pennsylvania Avenue, and they should just be coming off their dinner rush. I'm more than liquid, so it'll be my treat. Don't worry about havin' to pay for us, loverboy, the bill's on Sarah because she's been keeping secrets from me..."

The glint disappears from her eyes, first going to surprise, and shock before ending at visible distress. They move from you and Sarah to focus on something just over your shoulders. Following her gaze, you turn as one...to find a little girl in a blue dress, huddled underneath a tree and crying softly to herself.

"The fuck?" Sarah eloquently puts, but her sister is already sprinting towards the girl. .

Visibly angry, Abby growls, "Where the hell are her parents?"

...you, for one, are quite welcome from the awkward discussion that might have happened later tonight.

Your phone doesn't buzz as much as it tries to mimic a sex toy. Cursing as you sprint towards the girls, you pull out the phone...before you stop, as if pole-axed. A flurry of notifications dominate the screen, and continue to pop up even as you clear and mark them read...with a growing sense of dread in the pit of your stomach.

>>ALERT: DEMON LORDS HAVE INFILTRATED THE OUTER WALL. <STOP>
>>ALERT: SCANNING...SCANNING...MAGNETITE LEVELS IDENTIFY TWO LORDS OF HELL. <STOP>
>>ALERT: IDENTIFYING...IDENTIFYING...MAGNETITE SCANS IDENTIFY:
>>>BELIAL, ARCHDUKE OF FIRE. THREAT RATING A.
>>>NEBIROS, MARQUIS OF HELL. THREAT RATING A. <STOP>
>>ALERT: MAXIMUM THRESHOLD RATING HAS RAISED TO M2. <STOP>
>>ALERT: IMMEDIATE LOCKDOWN OF THE CITY TO BEGIN. <STOP>
>>ALERT: MONUMENT DEFENSE FIELD HAS BEEN ACTIVATED. <STOP>
>>ALERT: ALL FIELD OPERATIVES ARE TO MOBILIZE IMMEDIATELY. <STOP>

(cont.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqOF1MnZnrc

>>3384127
Ah shit that’s Alice. And they’re looking for her.

I wonder if High Pixie remembers her. Also I hope she doesn’t try to gank us.

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>>3384127
>a little girl in a blue dress

>>3384127

...to whichever deity decided to listen to your plea for a way out of an awkward dinner, you'd like to humbly request your plea back. In hindsight, two lords of hell certainly put things into perspective.

Abby's already begun to comfort the girl, whispering, soothing and drying her tears with the corner of her shirt. Meanwhile, Sarah stands, one hand on the holster at her belt, the other scrolling rapidly down the phone. As one, your eyes meet, and an unspoken confirmation passes between the two of you.

"We need to get them out of here," you whisper urgently, pulling her to the side. "Thing is..."

"Where the hell do we put them," she agrees, shaking her head, "Locking down D.C.? How the hell does the Task Force think they're gonna do that?"

"Beats me. I get the feeling that demons as powerful as the ones in the messages don't regularly appear."

Sarah deadpans, "No shit...think they could hide out in Union?"

"Station's too far away...Smithsonian has a couple of underground exhibits. Abby could take the girl there..." Freer-Sackler's a bit of a run and jog, and while the castle proper is the closest covered structure, you have significant doubts that the two-hundred year old brickwork could withstand demon magic, let alone an artillery strike from a rocket launcher. Shaking your head, you continue, "So who's the kid?"

Said kid's tentatively accepting a lolipop from Abby. Where the girl pulled it out from is anyone's guess, but at least she's stopped crying. In spite of the puffy eyes and mucus running down her nose, the girl's certainly a charmer in her own right. Nothing predatory mind you, but the kind of cute that could make a wrestler blush and swear to protect her. Brady might agree, and Vicky might call it 'moe'.

Sarah shrugs, grimacing, "No fuckin' idea. Says that she was visitin' when she got separated from her uncles-"

"MOMMY!" is the only word you hear before a little bundle tackles you right in the midsection. She weighs more than she looks, and the impact nearly bowls you over. You barely manage to stay upright as Abby gawks and Sarah appears chagrined. "Mommy, mommy, mommy!"

As her sister goes on a tangent about "illegitimate love children", the policewoman notices something. With a frown, she picks it up, tapping the little girl's shoulder as she nuzzles into your stomach. "...hey, uh...kid. You dropped this."

At first, she looks annoyed that someone had dared to interrupt her. It changes to mortification when she sees the little necklace in Sarah's hands. Although "necklace" might be a strong word, considering the fact that it's just a small lump of metal with chains drilled into the thing. "Oh, thank you miss! My uncles would have been very disappointed if I had lost it. It was a gift from my mother..."

"Why didn't you tell me about my niece, Saraaaaaaahhhhh!?" Abby continues to screech. But the two of you ignore both her and the girl, stiffening as your phones go off once more.

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>>3384261
But this time, it's different. Unlike the sharp, punctuated vibrations of official transmissions, the alerts last longer, feel heavier somehow. And as one, the two of you pull out to check, even as you carefully maneuver to avoid disturbing the girl attached to your midsection like a limpet.

And then the pit drops from underneath your stomach, as every single word only causes your unease to blossom into true and mortal terror.

>>ALERT: NEW DEMONIC SIGNATURE DETECTED IN IMMEDIATE AREA. <STOP>
>>ALERT: SCANNING...SCANNING...SIGNATURE MATCHES ONE KNOWN BOUNTY. <STOP>
>>ALERT: IDENTIFYING...RETRIEVING INFORMATION...

>>>ALICE, THE DAUGHTER OF DEATH. THREAT MATRIX RATING - EX
>>>BOUNTY: $800,000,000, 800,000 MAG
>>>CONFIRMED OPERATIVE KILLS: 372
>>>APPEARANCE: BLONDE, PREPUBESCENT GIRL, BLUE DRESS
>>>ADDENDUM: ACCOMPANIED BY 'UNCLES' NEBIROS AND BELIAL. <STOP>

>>ALERT: DISTANCE TO TARGET - >0 M <STOP>
>>ALERT: GODSLAYER HAS BEEN ALERTED AND HAS BEEN DEPLOYED. <STOP>
>>ALERT: EVACUATE IMMEDIATE PREMISES TO CLOSEST SHELTER. <STOP>

...if Alice showed any sign of noticing your alarm, she doesn't notice. As you and Fitz stare at the girl with a newfound horror, as if discovering a bomb set to blow in your midst, she continues to sigh and nuzzle against your shirt. All the while otherwise ignoring or giggling at Abby's tirades and random tangents. It's almost funny. For all intents and purposes, she doesn't seem to realize how much danger she's in.

"Hey, mister," the little 'girl' says, burying her face in your stomach. Her eyes are closed, but they do nothing to hide the inhuman, eerie glow of her irises. "...you smell an awful lot like mommy...but not like mommy...and that lady also smells like you, so she smells also like mommy..."

>"Abby...don't look back. Run, and don't stop running." [Tag-Team with Fitz]
>"Sarah, take Abby and run as fast as you can to Central." [Solo the demon]
>"If I gave you some more candy, could you promise to be a good girl?" [Negotiate]
>Custom option.

>>3384296
>"If I gave you some more candy, could you promise to be a good girl?" [Negotiate]

I shouldn't have to tell you guys to *not* fight her right? Keep cool.

>>3384315
Best option, ask what kind of candy she likes best. May keep us from being gibbed

>>3384296
"If I gave you some more candy, could you promise to be a good girl?"[Negotiate]
TIME FOR DIPLOMANCY

>>3384337
Short term at least.

The issue is that either Fitz or Adrian is related to Alice iirc. It's been a long time since I read that part of the story. Point is, we probably aren't going to be able to get away from her easy due to our connection.

So we got a couple options. Look for her uncles, Nebiros and Belial, to hand her off while entertaining her/trying not to make her upset.

Or buy time until the Godslayer gets here. Well honestly the Godslayer may arrive before we find Uncle Red and Black, but either way our goal right now should be to keep her happy so we don't Die For Her.

>>3384397
I wonder if we'll introduce Alice to Uncle Dante and Uncle Vergil?

>>3384443
Wow I forgot those two were even in this quest.

>>3384397
We smell like her mom. Adrian. Fitz smells like us because we’re making out a lot.


Her mom was that one demon hunter in the old west she killed.

>>3384296
>>"If I gave you some more candy, could you promise to be a good girl?" [Negotiate]

>>3384296
>"If I gave you some more candy, could you promise to be a good girl?" [Negotiate]
"Why don't you tell me more about your mommy too?"

>>3384296
>negotiate
Can someone show me the sign away from shitcreak, I would be very grateful, thank you in advance

Also, here from binging the archive, enjoyed the ride and hungry for more
Which will probably kill us

>>3385349
>Can someone show me the sign away from shitcreak, I would be very grateful, thank you in advance

Uh keep cool, don't provoke or try to fight her, keep her happy/entertained, maybe try to find her Uncles.

And also keep in mind this by far the most dangerous scenario that this quest has ever been in and probably the most dangerous for quite awhile.

>>3384296
>Negotiate
>"How about we look for your uncles then, and maybe they can tell me about your mommy?"
>"Abby....go home. Now."
What are the odds that her candy is made of people?

>>3385421
>>"Abby....go home. Now."

Might want to hold off on that for right now. As far as she knows nothing is wrong and she doesn't seem like the kind of person to just be told leave without making a fuss. Taking Alice's delicate temperament into account any kind of strife might set her off.

>>3385631
>any kind of strife
She can be insulted by bad candy. Being TOO nice to her can ALSO make her want to kill things.

It's not a matter of if, but when she blows up. And being nice to her isn't even guaranteed to buy more time.

>>3384296
>"If I gave you some more candy, could you promise to be a good girl?" [Negotiate]
Nonononononono.

Also, I'm new to the quest. Going through the archive to read up on past threads, and I noticed that some are missing from the listing, specifically thread #35.5. Still not done yet (I just started on 37.5), but I figure I'd throw my hat in on a decision that should be glaringly obvious to not fuck around with.

>>3386865
Right, I think that one was just misarchived. I'll shoot an email to LL about fixing it.

Writing...

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>>3384315
>>3384388
>>3384518
>>3384888
>>3385349
>>3385421
>>3386865
If the report isn’t some sick and twisted joke, then Alice has more power in the entirety of her pinky nail than in your entire body and COMP roster. Hell, she’d probably be able to take out the entirety of Bootes and Carina squads without breaking a sweat. You have no desire to contemplate her otherwise breaking the masquerade and attacking civilians wantonly.

At the very best, keep her calm and nonviolent. If push comes to shove…focus the entirety of her attacks on you alone…at least until backup comes. ‘Godslayer’, they said is on their way. The epithet is both a balm against your fraying nerves. Whoever this ‘Godslayer’ is must be an incredibly powerful Devil Summoner to have gained such a title.

On the other hand, deployment of such a unit must mean that the situation has truly, and utterly, gone beyond pear-shaped and FUBAR. And that only makes engaging with the demon in your immediate proximity all the more nerve-wracking.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lower yourself down to her level. Alice pulls away, tiling her head in curiosity as she studies your approach. Just keep her calm and talking, just keep her calm and talking…

…how do you approach an eight year old with an offer for candy without looking like a pedophile creep? There really isn’t any good answer, and not all the “hearts and minds” training for demon negotiation could have prepared you for this. Especially for a demon whose kill count is in the hundreds, and has stats that fly just right off the fucking threat assessment rating.

On the plus side, if you do survive this, you’ll at least have a story to share at the kegger with Bootes.

”I gave one of the Task Force’s Most Wanted a chocolate bar in exchange for my spine.”

”Cool story, brah.”

“…if I gave you some more candy,” you say, meeting her gaze directly, “Will you promise to be a good girl?”
Alice giggles, and the hair on your arms somehow manages to stand even straighter. “You’re silly, Mister! Alice is always a good girl. My uncles always say that a young lady should always be on my best behavior.”

Fuck. “Oh, I don’t doubt that…but I saw the lollipop my associate gave you, and I think I could do better. You look like a young miss of candied culture.”

“What’s that supposed to – OOF!” Abby’s indignant retort becomes a hoarse wheeze as Sarah drives her elbow into the side of her ribs.

“…okay!” Alice extends a tiny hand out, nearly inhuman in how perfect her skin and features are. “Do you have any Whitman’s? They used to have a store on Third and Market Street in Philadelphia that my uncles would take me to…but some stupid humans knocked it down!” She stomps her foot indignantly, and you swear that you felt a tremor go deep into the earth. “…I haven’t had one of their Sampler’s for fifty years…”

(cont.)

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Uh…no, I don’t have any Whitman’s.” The revelation of her age is noted, then shunted off to the side of your thoughts as you prepare for the worst.

Her disappointment is immeasurable, but her day isn’t ruined. Yet. Hopefully. Still holding out her hand, she concentrates hard before deciding, “Do you have any chocolate-”

“You know, there’s this really, really fantastic store on 9th Street that has the best cakes in the capitol,” you counter quickly, hoping to distract her from asking for something that you very much do not have. “Better than candy, doesn’t immediately rot your teeth…I’d say superior to candy.”

Her cheeks puff out, an otherwise childish display that sharply contrasts with the intelligence of the report. “…fine! But you better not be lying, mister…my mommy always said that only bad boys and girls lie…”

Alarm breaks out on Sarah’s face, but you gesture for her to step out of Alice’s peripherals. “…oh, no, I wouldn’t dare to lie. I’ll pinky promise, shake and spit on it, cross my heart-”

“…and hope to die?” the demon finishes, with a sweet smile, golden eyes wide open with a fiendish delight. Your heart stops for what feels like an eternity, and Sarah’s ready to draw her gun and push her sister out of the way. But as your life begins to flash before your eyes, Alice bursts out into an uncontrollable laughing fit. “Mister, your face! It was…” She’s unable to finish before she starts laughing one more.

Struggling to get the jackhammer of your heart under control, you roughly exhale, “…okay…then, uh…we could go look for your uncles after we get you a snack…and maybe you could tell us about your mother?”

>Roll 1d100+30 (+20 Social, +10 Ladykiller)
>Best out of three.

Rolled 15 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>3387037

Rolled 45 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>3387037

Rolled 13 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>3387037

Rolled 44 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>3387037
I ain't liking these odds, Tim.

Man I should have said something about bringing up her mother being a dubious idea but I forgot to.

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>>3387054
>>3387046

>>3387047
Here's hoping a 75 won't see us all violently murdered. Also, been meaning to ask: any of you guys enjoying DMC5? It's surprisingly relevant, and having read the earlier threads I couldn't help but chuckle at the depiction of Vergil.

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>>3387046
>>3387047
>>3387054
Her face scrunches in intense thought, placing a hand to her chin in a pensive pose. “…uncles always never to go alone with strangers, especially when they offer sweets…or if they’re devil summoners…”
Even as you and Sarah jolt in alarm, Abby somehow looks even more confused, trying to ask something before a stern look from her sibling snaps her mouth shut. The freshman pouts sourly at that.

But Alice makes a decision. Nodding emphatically, she places her fist in the palm of her hand, declaring, “Oh, they’re such fuddies, fussing and fretting even though I’ve dealt with summoners even more powerful than this one…”

Threat received and acknowledged.

She suddenly grabs your hand, dragging you away from Sarah and Abby with a surprising strength. Her grip is like iron, and the sensation of her skin is like holding cold, polished marble. “Okay, mister! Let’s go to the cake shop! Someone who smells like mommy can’t be a bad boy…right?”

“…’course not,” you reply, and you’re amazed at how level your voice is as you stumble along with her. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman.”

Alice waves a cheery goodbye to a gobsmacked Abby and an alarmed Sarah. To the latter, you direct an apologetic shrug, a strained smile and a gesture for her not to follow. Her response is a look that questions your sanity. As far as she’s concerned, she probably thinks that you’re being lead to your death, and that she’s all but helpless to stop it.

Whether or not Alice intended for this action to separate you from Sarah is still being debated. But until the jury gets back with a verdict, then it’s probably best not to antagonize Alice by attempting to bring her along for the ride.

…and better you than her, you suppose. What kind of squad leader or boyfriend would you be if you didn’t make the occasional sacrifice for your squad or significant other?

...you make a note to make it up to her after it's all over.

Even as the distance widens, and you’re dragged further down Constitution, you’re dimly aware of Abby saying to her sister, “What the gawd-damned hell just happened?”

>>505 7th Street NW

Face pressed against the glass display of the cakes, cupcakes and cookies, the demon is too enraptured by the sight of the desserts to pay you any close attention. You take the time to slip in a discrete earbud, and dash a quick message on your phone to Central. Within seconds, the reply comes.

>>Confirm handsfree communications.

You hit the button, and your headset crackles to life. A gruff voice says, “Carina-Actual, this is Tailpipe-One, do you read me, over?”

“Reading you five-by-five,” you discretely whisper. At the cashier’s annoyed look towards Alice, you thrust a handful of bills on the counter and gesture for the demon to pick whatever she likes. “Tell me you’ve got a plan that has me getting back to Central. Alive and in one piece, preferably.”

(cont.)

>>3388500
>Alive and in one piece, preferably
wow, greedy

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>>3388500
“Confirm the demon’s presence, Carina-Actual.” The voice brokers no room for levity. Stuck-up jerk. you think sourly to yourself. Not like Tailpipe-One’s the person dealing with one of the most dangerous demons you’ve ever come across. But you confirm that, yes, Alice is no less than two feet away from you.

“We’ve got eyes and ears on the street as best we can, and your operation has been given top priority. Currently, Belial is being engaged by Antlia Squad in a Domain by Foggy Bottom, and the Godslayer is on standby two hundred meters from your location.”

That’s a relief, but there’s still one demon still unaccounted for. “And Nebiros?”

“Last spotted around Union Station. Brown, your current standing orders are to lead Alice towards Constitution Gardens. Keep the peace, buy her whatever she wants, keep her happy enough to follow you wherever you lead her.”

You cast a glance to Alice, who’s already filled a box with a dozen gourmet cupcake, and is halfway to selecting her cakes and cookies. Dear Lord, they actually want you to pretend to be some kind of child predator.

“And what’s at Constitution Gardens?”

“Ambush. Bootes and Carina Squads have been deployed alongside our elite DEMONICA teams, and we’re flying in reinforcements. More Godslayers have been activated, and we’re trying to raise Commander Sparda.”

Oh, great. The stuck-up ponce back from boot camp is gonna save you. And to think that you promised Alger not to otherwise attract his attention.

The analyst mistakes your silence for unease. Which isn’t otherwise untrue. “Don’t worry. Play your part. We’ve got enough covering fire to give you time to withdraw safely.”

You cast a look towards the demon, already munching on one of the cupcakes with a look of awe and wonder on her face. Frosting and chocolate streak the corner of her lips, and her fingers threaten to make a mess of her dress.

And in the light of the sunset that falls through the window, you do not see a demon, one with stats beyond the pale of logic and a kill count in the hundreds. You see a little girl, no older than one of your sisters, enjoying the simple pleasure of a sweet dessert.

>Follow Central’s orders and lead Alice to the ambush site.
>Ignore their orders and entertain Alice without imminent violence.

>>3388512
>Follow Central’s orders and lead Alice to the ambush site.
She's totally gonna spot them in hiding. But just staying isn't better. Fuuuuuuuuck.

Does alice ever play nice with faeries?

>>3388512
Tough call. Disobeying orders is a big deal, but the ambush is going to get some people on our side killed and make DC a warzone. Not to mention that if Alice survives that attack which is entirely possible she'll know who led her into a ambush.

>Ignore their orders and entertain Alice without imminent violence.
I'd say head to Union Station to find Nebiros. I'll take the court martial if it means we can not nuke DC and settle this mostly peacefully.

>>3388512
ask central how the fuck they want to deal with the fallout of that ambush

we have seen what a powered up pixie(!) could do, what the fuck do they think a demon of this caliber can throw around, in one of the most populated cities in america and the capitol to boot
the fallout of an engagement of that magintude is gonna be insane

>>3388512
>>3388738

Building off this, why don’t we just offer to negotiate? We bring Alice to her ‘uncles’, they get her back, and then they leave.

If they refuse to leave, we’ll have all our field assets nearby, potentially even Virgil, and simple weight of fire might make them back off at that point.

>>3388787
good point, even they will want to avoid a direct confrontation with the taskforce

>>3388738
>>3388787
Sounds like a good idea - broach the idea of a negotiation with Central on top of asking how exactly they plan to deal with with scale of engagement directly confronting Alice and the 'Uncles' would involve

>>3388512
>Ignore their orders and entertain Alice without imminent violence.

I just can't do et

>>3388512
>>Follow Central’s orders and lead Alice to the ambush site.

>>3388512
>Alert then that her behavior is anamalots because she believes we smell like her mother. Also ask about fallout. She knows we’re a summoner and probably is watching for ambushes.

>>3389163
>she believes we smell like her mother.
I'm not sure I want Central to know about that just yet. Seems dangerous

>>3388528
>>3388558
>>3388738
>>3388787
>>3388918
>>3388970
>>3389163
Hold the fuck up.

Frowning, you whisper, “Confirm that last statement. Did you just say that the ambush is at Constitution Gardens?”

“Affirmative.”

Even with Alice distracted, the immediate company of other people and the staff of the bakery prevent you from otherwise screaming into the mic. As it stands, you have to struggle not to otherwise betray anything but annoyance at the bill as you hiss back your reply.

“Are you guys insane?! I get that the observation room doesn’t have much in the way of windows, but maybe you should step out for some fresh air. The choke point is smack-dab right in the middle of the fucking capital! The collateral damage-”

“We are more than well aware of that,” comes the terse reply, “And have prepared effective countermeasures to otherwise mask any presence or sight of the battle.”

“And what the hell are those? Because I’d really like to know what I’m walking into before I walk into it and have half the city burning. Over,” you add acerbically.

“A powerful demon under our control will create a Domain as soon as you reach the site, trapping her inside. It will be in this dimension removed from reality and the demon world that the mustered forces will engage Alice.”

…maybe they missed that in boot camp, but even this newfound revelation does nothing to otherwise make Tailpipe-One’s case. You dryly note that they neglected to mention any otherwise obvious backup plans or escape routes in the event that shit really hits the fan. And that’s only for Alice!

Your tone is terse and unyielding. “And what if Nebrios should force his way in? Or Belial?”

“Impossible. No less than two DEMONICA squads are hunting the Marquis down and patrolling the perimeter. Only the strongest magic could fool our sensors. And as for Belial…the lizard is still preoccupied when last we heard from Antila.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Thirty seconds.”

In the corner of the store, a security camera captures footage of the customers at the bar. You have little doubt that someone hasn’t hacked it already, and has the display of Alice stuffing her face plastered on the jumbotron. And maybe, just maybe, if they zoomed in onto your face, they might be able to see the complete and utter unease you have about your current orders.

“…I suppose diplomacy is out of the question? Or reuniting Alice with her uncles?” you dryly ask. “I mean, I don’t see any rent kills from either of them…granted, that could change, but-"

Tailpipe-One’s voice is stern. “They broached our protective barriers and waltzed right through like they owned the place. Failing to retaliate properly would weaken our station’s international standing amongst the other divisions. Demons will be emboldened to simply attack en masse and more agents will perish in additions to the one’s she’s claimed.”

(cont.)

...stuckup bastard has a point. But you counter, “So it’s a pride thing, then, is it? And eight hundred million dollars spread across everyone…not a bad prize.””

“As well as revenge,” the analyst responds frostily, but truthfully, “That damned monster’s been killing operative after operative since longer than our official founding. So both money and principles, Agent Brown, and unless you have anything else to say-”

“I was thinking we could bring her back,” you cut him off, “We could go back and find that to be the best suited for their needs. Find her Uncle Nebiros, find Belial and asking them to fuck off politely-”

“Impossible,” Tailpipe-One cuts you off in turn. You hear a sheaf of documents being analyzed, flipped and scrutinized. “It’s been thirteen years since the Task Force has been this close to dealing with them both. The bigwigs know that another chance might take just that long. Their orders and statements, not mine...”

>tl;dr - Collateral damage will be kept to a minimum by trapping Alice in a Domain with the Task Force operatives and Godslayers, the Task Force is resistant to the idea because of how well the trio can hide and how many operatives' blood is on their hands...

Bleah, I need to sleep. But it looks like things are being aimed towards otherwise just ignoring the orders. Please let me know otherwise so I can write the next update before going to work tomorrow.

>>3391214
Well they have a better plan than I originally thought and some good points.

I'm a little indecisive now. What do you guys think?

>>3391513
I say go with it, this is fucking Alice and two Demon lords

>>3391214
I kinda want to straight up ask Alice how she made Adrian and Sarah as Devil Summoners and how easy it is to sense them for her.

See if this ambush has even a remote chance of even being a surprise.

>>3391214
The revenge reasoning is a bit iffy, but everything seems as sound as it can,
No reason not to trust them with it
And Alice seems terrifying, we'll done kaz

>>3391214
So a matter of pride, then, for the sake of projection? Maybe greed, considering the reward offered for the demon’s head. Eight hundred million, even when split across two squads and an elite team, goes a very long way.

Or perhaps they wish to have vengeance for...three hundred and seventy two operatives whose blood is on her hands. And that’s only over the course of just barely over a hundred years. Doubtless there are some people, both field agents and desk jockies, have lost someone dear or precious to her.

...ah, screw it.

“...hey, Alice.”

The little demon’s cheeks are stuffed with food, not to the point of obscenity, but just enough to give her the appearance of a squirrel. “Hmmm? Wah iff it, mishter?”

Your lips twitch in the ghost of a smile you don’t entirely feel.

>>The choice you make offers severe and permanent consequences, with no right or wrong option.
>>Think carefully and choose wisely one of the two:

>>Choose one.
>“I know this great spot for a picnic...” [Lead her to the ambush]
>“Let’s pay for this and go find your uncle.” [Find Nebiros]

Prolly best for me to offer a revote given the caveats you guys put in the last vote. This one, however, will be final, in terms of how you wish to deal with Alice.

>>3391566
>Who's your mother?

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I think we should completely break this down before we vote.

>>Ambush
>If Success
+Alice, Nebiros, and Belial threats removed for good
+Adrian gets commended by command
+This 666 Branch gets a lot of rewards
+Adrian doesn't get shit on by people wanting revenge
-The Alice relation story-line dies with her
-Even with the revive, probably won't be able to summon her due to unloyal
-Still potential for casualties in the fight

>If Failure
-Massive casualties potentially including members from Bootes and Carina
-Containment may fail leading to civilian casualties in DC
-Adrian is on Alice's shitlist if he survives
-No back up plan (at least as Adrian is aware)
+Adrian still in good standing with the Task Force since he obeyed orders


>>Hand off
+Situation resolved without bloodshed, both civilian and TF
+Adrian in good standing with Alice (and maybe the Uncles) for future encounters
-Adrian in bad standing with the Task Force
-This TF Branch looks weak internationally? And I guess to demons too? (Not sure if the analyst was pulling shit out of his ass for that last one)
-Alice and crew can go on to potentially kill more people later

Let me know if I'm missing anything.

>>3391566
>>“I know this great spot for a picnic...” [Lead her to the ambush]

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>3391566
I am gonna let rngesus decide for me, both options have their merrits

1:the ambush site
2:give her back to her 'uncles'

>>3391582
372 is honestly not as much as expected for a hundred years.

I'm gonna try speculating on the possible rewards we can get:
>>Kill Alice
>auction= overall demon upgrade for everyone willing to do it(probably everyone except Brady. I'm fairly certain that Mackay would still go through with buying more angels)
>magic item= some mass produced drop from Alice. Like a fucking teacup that moderately boosts dark damage and allows dark attacks to drain.
>Probably enough leftover resources to summon and beat the crap out of Arachne
>allll dem grimoires for pixie

>>Friendo Alice
>Potentially more demons showing up in every mission from now on, and/or pulling some real shit jobs.
>Access to Brown storythread
>Probably going to get marked by Alice somehow. I don't know what it'll do, but I'm CERTAIN it'll be a headache for Mackay
>Fuck Central if they think what happened with Bootes was okay

From an honest, completely personal gain-oriented point of view, the gains don't apply too well to Adrian specifically. Pixie would take a LOT of work to spec into dark OR light, and Arachne isn't important enough to make the whole decision. Pixie would gain more just killing things the old fashioned way instead of relying on grimoires.

Side sidenote
>lizard is still preoccupied
That is incredibly suspect to me. Why aren't they confident about killing Belial? The way this is all set up, it's looking like MAYBE Alice will die, but the other two will get away to do their ritual thing again with another poor girl.

>>3391657
What do you think about Alice being able to sniff out the ambush ahead of time?

She was able to tell Sarah and Adrian were Devil Summoners easily enough.

With the amount of Devil Summoners and raw power at the park would she get wise or be too distracted by sweets?

>>3391669
She'll definitely sniff out the devil summoners. But I don't think she'll expect the Domain. Given her whimsy, she might even purposely get stuck in the domain if she DOES see it coming.

While a super sniper killshot is probably our best bet for taking her out, I just can't see how the task force is going to set it up.

>>3391676
So which vote are you leaning towards? I think I'm going to wait a little bit to see if anyone else has some interesting takes, but I think I'm leaning towards Hand off.

>>3391566
>“Let’s pay for this and go find your uncle.” [Find Nebiros]


>>3391696
a little bit metagamey, but I'm fully leaning on the sidestory for this decision. This isn't the first time "Alice" has been made. We've tried bullet and blade, now it's time to figure out what Alice's deal IS.

Not that we necessarily want happy funtimes with Alice, just that if we can identify what fuels her relatively infrequent drive to kill, we'd be in a much better position to permanently end this.

>>3391566
>“Let’s pay for this and go find your uncle.” [Find Nebiros]

See you on the other side boys.

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>>3391600
>>3391714
>>3393231
“Brown, what are you-” Tailpipe-One’s voice cuts off as you deactivate the link. Alice doesn’t notice you removing your headpiece, too giddy at the boxes you lift off from the counter. Hopefully, Central won’t go and cock up your plan to get everyone out of this without dying. Unless the Godslayer on standby decides to throw caution to the wind and just attack you outright.

Hopefully this won’t hurt too much later...

“...let’s go find your uncle.”

>>+5 to Chaos

The demon steps in line, following you out of the shop. Between taking bites out of a cupcake, she somehow manages to say, “Which uncle, mister?”

Hopefully the uncle that won’t kill me on-site. But you don’t say that. Instead, you offer her another cupcake, and the words, “The one at Union Station.”

>>Later

There is seldom a moment at Union Station where everything is not hectic. At any time, there may be a train or bus coming in from out of town, or otherwise departing from the city proper. Cars circulate the roundabout, fighting with other drivers as much as the sidewalk pedestrians, jostling for space to deposit their passengers or pick up a guest.

The interior offers at least some solace from the noise of the city, replacing the bustle of D.C. with the dull roar of a shopping center. Overhead, the statues of semi-forgotten individuals stare down from their perches as commuters go about their business, but not all are necessarily here even to catch an Amtrak or a Metro. The shops on the Mezzanine and Ground Levels are only just below the exorbitant prices that one might find “duty free” at an airport. And God knows how many just head straight to the basement and towards the food court.

The station has always been a prominent fixture in your life. Growing up so close to D.C., it would’ve been impossible to use what it had to offer at least one time. Your sole gripe would be the inane amount of renovations that just always seemed to be happening whenever your family took a weekend off to visit whatever museum or monument.

Nothing has changed. The faceless and unorganized dull roar of the commuters is something more used to. Although given recent events, you can appreciate them, even if they jostle or otherwise shoot you dirty looks for just standing there, holding boxes like some errant delivery boy. No shortage of human shields, and X plus at least one hundred reasons for the Task Force to not otherwise intervene.

The little demon shares your appreciation, but in a different vein. With eyes wide as dinner saucers and the confections forgotten, it seems that the Station is its own wonder for her. Alice runs around, shrieking or otherwise giggling as passerby frown or glare whenever she gets too close. At their pointed looks, you merely shrug. No way in hell are you about to scold a demon with an EX rating on the threat matrix.

(cont.)

“Hey, mister! Mister!” Alice points towards you, then wildly veers towards the direction of the train platforms. “Do they have any steam engine trains here?”

Of all the questions to ask! Shaking your head, you reply, “No, I don’t think they do...you’ll have to go out to the countryside to find something like that.”

“Booo...” she deflates, sullenly looking down towards her shoes. “...then how do the trains move?”

“Gasoline. Or electricity.”

“Boooring...” Her attention shifts, this time pointing towards the statues. “And those? Who’re they? On the outside and inside?”

Thank God for years of random D.C. trivia. Squinting as best you can in the light provided overhead, you answer, “Nameless Roman legionaries for the East and West hallways. On the outside, six Greek gods-”

Alice cuts you off. “Why would anyone want to make statues of those guys? Those guys are meanies.”

Oh, you don’t know the half of it.

“They’re not all gods,” you continue, gesturing towards where you might have remembered the position of the sole human. “Archimedes is there.”

“Archimedes?” She struggles to pronounce the world.

“A mathematician. And an engineer.”

The demon stills. For a worried moment, you thought you said something to offend her. But Alice simply turns around. To your shock, her eyes are no longer eerie, but...melancholic? A surprisingly human expression on a demon.

“...my papa was an engineer...”

Alice had a father? Well...given what she said about you smelling like her mother, it only makes sense that she would have both units required for a heterosexual rearing. You’ll unpack that question for later, though, and hope that the demon’s mother uses men’s deodorant.

But you decide to humor her anyway. Sitting down on a nearby bench, you offer, “An engineer? What did he make?”

“...i don’t remember a lot, but it had to do with steam...”

“ALICE! Alice, there you are, you naughty, naughty child. Do you know how worried we were about you?”

The man approaching you doesn’t stand out from any other Washingtonian, or at least the city’s upper echelons. His suit is immaculately pressed, a uniform light grey that would alleviate the worst of the summer heat, and he would look right at home in a business high-rise or on Capitol Hill.

“What did I tell you about running off on your own?!” the man demands.

“But you were taking too long, uncle...” Alice moans, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated display of boredom. “...and I was so hungry...but he was kind enough to buy me cake!”

For the first time, the man notices you as he follows the direction of Alice’s finger. Behind the glasses, you could see the gears turning, weighing and otherwise judging your intentions. In his place, you suppose you’d feel the same way. Demon or not, you’d be extremely concerned about a man in his twenties taking a kid not related to them out for a day in D.C.

(cont.)

You might not have even been this pleasant if it was your kid (ha!) on the line. You might’ve skipped the pleasantries and gone straight for the haymaker or lariat, and damn whoever was there or tried to stop you. And God have mercy on them, because your friends certainly wouldn’t. Or your wife, whoever that unfortunate woman that would be...

But whatever he sees in you, it appears to exonerate you of any crimes, perceived or otherwise.

“Ah, my apologies. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nikolas Nebiros, and this impertinent little rascal-” Alice giggles “-is my beloved niece. Sir, if you do not mind me asking, where on Earth did you find her?”

You see no point in lying to him. “The National Mall.”

The man looks down towards a suddenly bashful Alice. “And what were you doing there, young lady?”

“...looking for something to eat?”

The man suddenly notices the boxes right beside you, and the stains on Alice’s hands and mouth. It doesn’t take him to put two and two together. Pulling out his wallet, her uncle says, “You’ve done me a far greater service than most would. Please, if you would allow for me to repay you for the sweets and for keeping her safe-”

“I know who you are,” you cut him off in a low voice, “...and I know what you are...marquis.”

In an instant, the man’s demeanor changes. Even as he continues to pat Alice’s head, the only sign of any tension is the predatory glint in his eyes. Behind the sunglasses, you can just make out something smoldering where the man’s irises would be.

The demon chuckles lowly, lips parting to reveal unnaturally white teeth. “...I see. Then allow for me to cease with the pleasantries...Devil Buster. You are certainly a brave and odd one. Not a single man has gone closer than one hundred meters, and they were either usually about to die or suffer a mortal injury...”

Staring directly at the marquis of hell, you answer, “I’m not like most.”

“A fair point,” the lord of hell concedes, before wagging his eyebrows, “Still, you’ve certainly caught me by surprise. And given what’s happened, I’m not in the mood to bedevil myself with the White Order.”

Shaking his head in wry amusement, he hops onto his stool, peering down at you with a lackadaisical grin. Almost like he’s smirking and waiting for you to answer.

>Ask about Alice’s parentage, specifically her mother. [Question]
>Demand something in return for Alice’s safety. [Barter]
>If he walks right now, nothing bad will happen. [Promise]
>Threaten him into never setting foot in D.C. again. [Intimidate]
>Custom option.

>>3397412
>Ask about Alice’s parentage, specifically her mother. [Question]

>Custom option.
"Look, I'm doing this because I don't want to see my city become a warzone and I get the impression you don't want things spilling out of control either. My peers are aware of your presence and I can't promise they won't do something rash the longer you all stay here. The sooner you get out of D.C. the better. For all of us."

>>3397412
I'll support >>3397450

>>3397450
Supporting this

>>3397450
>>3397412
Agreed
Maybe ask them why they are here in the first place, shouldn't they be able to jump dimensions or something?

>>3397450
>>3397500
>>3397510
>>3397566
“So her father was an engineer, eh?”

The demon blinks, perplexed at the statement. “An engineer?”

You shrug. “She seemed fixated on the trains, as well as the statue of Archimedes in the front. And she said that her father worked with steam...least, that’s what she was telling me before you interrupted her.”

“...I see. Where exactly are you going with this, child of Adam?”

“Can I not be curious about the origins of one of the Task Force’s most wanted?” you counter. “She seems...awfully human for one of the most powerful demons in the world. And to have two uncles literally from hell.”

Nebiros smoothes his suit. “Appearances can be deceiving...and it’s all too easy for a demon of our caliber to put on a façade of powerlessness or docility. Demons, young buster, are simply reflections of humanity’s desires.”

“And what is it that she desires?”

The marquis turns towards Alice, who’s ignored the grownup-talk and happily gorges herself on the pastries. “As of this moment? A meal. But in the long term, she yearns for family. My colleague and I are but guides to help her find what she wants.”

“Fascinating,” you murmur, “But that doesn’t really answer my question.”

The demon chortles, low and sinister. “Indeed...but, I’ll deign to answer that for courtesy’s sake. From what she’s told me, her father was an engineer. Worked extensively with mechanical contraptions and steam. And her mother...” Nebiros pauses, clenching his teeth tightly, “...was a royal pain in the ass.”

Hmm? That’s certainly unusual. For all accounts and purposes, the woman Nebiros refers to must have vexed him greatly to elicit such a response. A Devil Buster, perhaps?

“But those individuals are neither here nor there, and very much dead for the last hundred years,” the demon continues, “And the Miss doesn’t seem to be troubled by it as much as a human child ought to be.”

Your mouth turns into a severe, thin line. “...she was human once, wasn’t she?”

He makes no intention of hiding the truth. “A very long time ago, yes she was...but you’ll not be asking for the secret of how she became what she is today. You’ll have to ask another time, perhaps when I’m in a better mood or when the world’s come tumbling down.”

Quite the unique set of circumstances, you think to yourself.

“Still...” the demon strokes his chin pensively. “I must ask. What compelled you to bring my niece back to me...and not simply turn her over to your order or attempt to fight her? My business partner has certainly received the welcoming committee that we’d expect for the price on our heads...”

(cont.)

You match his gaze, answering in a resolute voice: “I’m only doing this because I don’t want my city to become a warzone, and I get the impression that you don’t want things to spill out of control either. It’s like you said – my superiors know that all of you are here, and I can’t promise that they won’t do something stupid the longer you all stay here.”

“A fair and reasonable answer.” Nebiros has the gall to applaud you with a polite clap. “Well done. Kudos to you for being the most sane human I’ve talked with in the last thirty years...most try to just kill me without any fanfare.”
“I told you...I’m not like most.”

The demon laughs. “No, you clearly are not...so, what is it that you wish of me?”

“The sooner you get out of D.C., the better it’s gonna be for all of us. Both of us don’t want to fight for our own reasons...me for my city, you for your niece...”

“How observant of you...very well.” The demon claps his hands together. “I shall take your advice and depart. I can’t promise that my partner will leave peacefully on his own volition, but he will listen to me. Hopefully. I trust that you’ll not attempt to ambush us on our way out, hmm?”

“...I can’t make that call, but I think that given what I just did...my bosses aren’t nearly that stupid.”

“You’re a dangerous one, Devil Buster...no man in power likes of his subordinates to have the ability to reason or think...”

“Yeah, well...they got what they paid for.”

The demon smiles. “You are certainly a most interesting human...and I will be paying attention to your career with great interest. But before my ward and I depart...I must reward you for your services to the Marquis of Hell. Ask of me what you would wish for.”

>>From Nebiros, the Marquis of Hell, you would ask of him...
>A large quantity of Magnetite.
>A magical artifact, weapon or armor.
>A powerful demon to join your ranks.
>To hold that reward for another day.
>To never step inside of D.C. ever again.
>Custom option.

>>3397827
>To never step inside of D.C. ever again.
>Unless the Task Force officially rescinds it via abolishment of thier bounties.

>>3397827
>>To hold that reward for another day.
I don't think we should come out of this situation with any physical profit else the Task Force starts thinking we did all this for a boon getting us in deeper shit.

>>3397827
>To never step inside of D.C. ever again.
>Unless the Task Force officially rescinds it via abolishment of thier bounties.
This will do the most to get the Task Force off our backs.
>We also may be able to work out a deal if you're in search of sweets

Demons don't permanently die, but oaths? Weeeell, in many ways that's more impressive than a kill.

>>3397871
>This will do the most to get the Task Force off our backs.
Dunno about that. They seem to have prioritized threat removal, revenge, face, and cash.

We'll see though.

>>3397872
I said "most", I didn't say "a lot".

But if the purpose was about pride and not letting other demons think they can walk all over human territory, than getting an oath that recognizes human sovereignty is pretty big.

>>3397876
>>3397827
Agreed, he seems the type to honor that deal and we have won some information, that won't get us out of the hole we dug, but it is a start

>>3397827

>To never step inside of D.C. ever again.

We’re gonna need to do some Exact Wording here, just to make sure things don’t get fucked later on, but I full expend this get thrown in solitary for this.

>>3398145

*expect to get thrown in solitary for this.

>>3397833
>>3397835
>>3397871
>>3398145
>>3398075

For a moment, the demon seems to be taken aback at the blunt declaration. But he recovers quickly, masking his surprise with a quiet chortle.

"Oh, you are a very interesting one, Devil Buster. No," he pauses, correcting himself as he considers you in a new light. "Son of Adam...your talents are so very much wasted to be at the whims and beckoning of the White Order."

"It pays the bills," you shrug.

"Indeed...very well. The pact is made and struck, so far be it for my family to never set foot inside of your city again once I depart. But if you will allow me time to extract my partner..."

"Thirty minutes. Don't push it."

Nebiros smiles thinly. "Of course...Alice!" The demon girl appears at his side, somehow managing to balance two large boxes of pastries."We are leaving...do take the time to thank this mortal who so graciously kept you company."

Nodding dutifully, Alice curtsies towards you as best she can. It's an awkward gesture, but almost adorable on anyone else. "Thank you, mister!"

"Think nothing of it," you wave at her. "Take care now, and don't stray away from your uncles."

Alice seems to almost shift into the crowd, continuing to smile and meet your gaze with those eerie, golden eyes. You blink, and as a large group of tourists pasts between you, she disappears once they leave your sight unobstructed. Even the boxes have vanished with her!

"And then there were two..." The marquis extends something towards you. A business card? You cautiously take it, palming the thing and inspecting it for any sort of curse or hex. "Please do not think of me to be some kind of rogue or scoundrel that would do something like that."

"Then what is this?" you demand.

He ignores your irritation, checking the watch on his hand before he begins to walk away. "Should you ever find yourself tired of being a pawn in the White Order, or you wish to challenge me...then seek me out with the card. Be it a job or death, I would be more than willing to offer you both, though not at the same time."

Ha. "That'll be a cold day in hell before I consider working for a demon."

"It's actually quite frigid on the lowest level..." You can hear the smirk in his voice. "...but we will be following your career with great interest, Son of Adam..."

...okay, you weren't sure at first, but with that line...

As if detecting the indignation, the demon laughs. "I am a marquis of hell and scion of evil, but I am far from uncultured. Human literature and media fascinates me, especially your cinema."

...behold! The definitive proof that the prequels were a mistake. It takes the likes of a demon, a lord of hell no less, to enjoy them!

(cont.)

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But just before he disappears into the crowd, he snaps his fingers, and a sudden weight appears in your pocket. By the time you fish it out, he's already since vanished, leaving you with a small, heavy bag in the palm of your hand. "A Courtesy from his Most Honorable Marquis of Hell", reads the tag on the top holding the bag zipped shut.

>>You receive a nugget of Magnetite worth 2500 MAG.
>>You receive the Nebiran Medallion, an accessory that confers Resists Dark!

However, you have no time to contemplate your victory. A sudden presence appears behind your back, before you feel something cold and hard jam into the small of your back.

"...you've got a lot of guts, kid..." comes a low and gravely voice, rasping just behind your ear. An elderly man, just advancing into the years beyond his prime, but still far away from complete degradation of his mind and body. "...not sure about your brains, but lots of guts and a pair on you..."

Resisting the urge to put your hands up, you merely quip back, "...I take it that you're the Godslayer?"

The voice grunts, "Right on the money...and I'm not gonna lie, kid. I really, really, REALLY don't like it when I get called out and decked out to fight a Lord of Hell and his niece...only to find fucking nothing except for a punk ass who thinks he can disobey orders."

"...and I like it if there aren't any open battles between demon lords in the middle of D.C."

"...smartass..." But you can detect a trace of humor in his voice, wry and dark as it is. "Sandman?"

Then, a new voice, a honeyed, sickly tone in the back of your other ear crones, "~Make her complexion like peaches and cream~"

The last sight you have before you fall into darkness is the sight of the godslayer: a grizzled old man who looks way beyond tired with the shit he has to deal with...and a moon-faced demon, hovering over his shoulder...

>>And emerging from the darkness, what is it that breaks your fall?
>The gentle, smooth hands of a little girl.
>The warm, ample bosom of a woman.
>The dry, reedy frame of an elder.
>The coarse and withered skin of...something else.

>>3398357
>>The coarse and withered skin of...something else.

>>3398357
>>The gentle, smooth hands of a little girl.

>>3398357
>The coarse and withered skin of...something else.
One of these things is not like the others...

>>3398357
>the coarse withered skin
As much as I want talk to the crone and get that talk out of the way, I am curious whats trying to intimidate us into serving them now

>Tfw Fitz and Adrian wake up, get ready for work, get their daughter ready for school, drop her off, get into the task force, chat with everyone about what silly things Alice did yesterday
>Everyone seems uncomfortable, you guess it's just issues with a new couple. Some people aren't ready for kids.
>Sorry guys we'll keep family life at home.
>Everyone always seems busy on her birthdays.

>>3398357
>The coarse and withered skin of...something else.
I'm guessing this is the godslayer's demon?

>>3398357
>The coarse and withered skin of...something else.

>>3398357
>The gentle, smooth hands of a little girl.

>>3398856
Wouldn't Alice be Adrian's great-great Aunt or something

>>3399440
Reanimated half sister demon of the great great great great and so on father/mother technically
And that is only if you ignore the different soul (?) That is occupying the body ...

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>>3398371
>>3398541
>>3398577
>>3399145
>>3399325

A voice whispers in the void: "Well now, it's certainly been a while since we last spoke...although I can't begrudge you for not returning my calls..."

You are not in that place. There is no sensation of wet soil beneath your toes, and the scent of raw and open earth. This is a void, a barren and empty space. It is not the warm darkness of closed eyes, but a sheer expanse of nothing. There is no horizon line, no point of reference beyond your own limbs and body. There is only the howling emptiness in the desolation of...your mind, presumably.

Because given your tendency to be summoned by angry goddesses upon being knocked out, where the hell else would you be?

"A good question...maybe Virginia Beach, cocktail in hand and impressionable college freshman in the other had you not decided to work with the Task Force."

The being before you is not one of the goddesses. You know for a fact that there is something that has caught you and set you before itself. But to discern its features or outline is a futile endeavor. The only thing that separates the entity from the landscape is the wide and open expanse of its teeth, a leering grin that teeters perilously between the macabre and the predatory.

The entity shrugs. "You always did like them young...Leandra, Jessica, Corey, Katherine and, your latest 'conquest,'" he says the words with a condescending derision, "Alyssa...certainly a surprise that you've taken up with a woman two years your senior."

"You aren't one of the goddesses," you declare with a scowl.

"An astute observation," the being notes.

"...the highway. You were there, when we were attacked-"

"By a weak and relatively unimportant duke of hell," it finishes, crossing its arms together. "...but just enough for you to slip into where I reside. Perhaps that's what it took to trigger at least YOUR attack...fire and smoke caused by demonic magic..."

Memories flood into the forefront of your mind. The swing and playground, the taste of honeysuckle on your lips and grape juice staining your shirts, laughter and cheers as you raced across the soccer field...visions of a better time, visions before you lost your faith to a fiery conflagration of literal hellfire.

"What are you?" you demand of the creature, bristling with hostility. "If not a goddess, are you a demon? I've had it up to here with entities trying to dictate their demands-"

The figure holds his hands in placation, the coarse and withered hands that caught you as you fell. "I am neither demon nor goddess...but I do not know what I am either. You may consider me...an observer, a sort of passenger latched onto your soul. I am merely along for the ride that is your life, Adrian Brown...and thus far, I have been very entertained.

"And as for my name..." the entity smirks, "Well, there's no point in that. But for the foreseeable future, you may call me 'The Other One.'"

>>Do you have any questions for The Other One?
>Write-in.