Ascendence of the Incarnates

[Lykaios]

Profile Thread - Ascendence of the Incarnates Info & Profiles
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----------------------------HOPE

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The year is 2035, and the place is the American state of California. Twenty-four years beforehand, the entire state, was raised by a strange tectonic shift; that thrust the entire state hundreds of metres into the sky. A war had occurred, that had changed the very course of history, by altering the make-up of the very race that populated the planet: the human beings. The vast majority of the world was unaffected; but a select few, were altered genetically in unfathomable ways, just prior to the upheaval. It was a total of fourteen humans of both male and female in gender, in point of fact. The people affected by this anomaly, would later become known as the Incarnates throughout the rest of the world. The war that followed the rising of the state, left hundreds dead, and thousands more terrified. The Incarnates became a breed that terrified people, and became hunted. Since the initial war, the survivors disappeared, and no new Incarnates have been discovered.

Until now, when stability seems to be returning to the state of California.

The woman was beautiful, anyone could see, and numerous ladies would find themselves incredibly jealous, while the gentlemen desired her entirely. Her golden hair and delicate features gave grace and beauty to her as she exited her apartment. Dressed in a feminine suit, she stepped into her government vehicle, to be driven to her first destination. The woman had a busy day in store, and was looking forward to getting the new recruit later in the day. Buckling up in the backseat, she smiled to her driver.
“Good morning, m’lady.” Her driver said pleasantly, clearly he was happy to be her driver.
“Good morning, Brent. How was your weekend?”
“Excellent, as always, miss Langford. How was your own?”
“Pleasant, thank you Brent. Do you have a file for me, Brent?”
“Of course, miss Langford. Here you are.” He responded with a smile, as he passed a file marked [CLASSIFIED] over to her.

Taking it from her driver, she inclined her head in thanks as she thumbed the file open. It was all personal information both collected and on record of a certain individual in the local community. He was a strong, stern looking young man with fiery coloured eyes. As she read through his folder, Brent drove through the district to the residence of one of her colleagues; Anja Danielsson. Exiting the vehicle, Brent opened the door for miss Danielsson to enter as he had for Godiva. Being done with the file, Godiva automatically handed it over to Anja and looked at her counter-part. Both women being innately beautiful and exceptionally feminine in their attractiveness, was definitely the greatest plus for Brent’s work-life.
“Good morning, Anja. I trust you rested well, last night?” Godiva asked, without missing a beat.
“We have our first new lead, and are to leave for the destination momentarily. It will be up to you, to bring him in for us. Hopefully the event will not need to turn violent, but considering the implications of his nature; violence does seem to be the most natural outcome.” She explained, as she looked over her nearest companion. Godiva, more commonly known as ‘Hope’, was never too pleased with Anja and her incarnation, but she trusted Lust a great deal more than she trusted the rest of the CIA. While Hope didn’t exactly agree with Lust’s approach to situations; she could never fault her for her results, nor her personality. Lust was a strong woman, and Hope needed her fellow Incarnates to be strong, for the upcoming time.

“We also have that intern; Michelle joining the Taskforce today. After we have met with the man from the file, we will part ways, as you bring him in, Brent and I shall go collect her.” Godiva explained to Anja, then turned her attentions to Brent in the front seat. “Is that acceptable, Brent?” she asked.
“It’s perfectly, acceptable, ma’am!” he said with a smile directed at her through his rear-vision mirror.
“Excellent.” She responded, gently returning her attention to the file as Lust read through his details.

The first target for Lust’s first collection assignment was someone who would be particularly suited to Lust’s particular abilities, for without someone like him, he’d be incredibly difficult to bring in. To Godiva; he seemed a man incredibly devout in his own personal anarchy. And she didn’t really possess the ability to match or over-match his warrior’s spirit. Lust had powers quite suited to the task, and Hope was glad for her assistance. She was quietly contemplating her day ahead, as they pulled up outside a martial arts dojo that was named for the man who ran the dojo; who just so happened to be the man that Lust would soon be collecting for them. The name of the dojo was “Razor’s Martial Arts School”, under his nick-name. It wasn’t large, but standard dojo size, and it was perfect for his disciples and class range. Godiva looked at it with contemplation, expecting him to perhaps have less of a gruff and stand-offish nature than he gave off, but knowing his incarnation, it was unlikely.

“Good luck with him, Anja. Play nicely.” She smiled as Lust departed from the vehicle.

After listening to her response, she inclined her head, as Brent began to drive away from the dojo, taking Godiva to the residence of Michelle Bowman. Godiva considered how best Lust would react to the young man’s impulsiveness, as was a major stand-point of his incarnation, but she knew to trust her sub-ordinate, as they had a particularly symbiotic relationship. If Lust messed up, Hope would fix the situation, and vice versa was the same.

Putting thoughts of Lust’s first assignment out of her head, she picked up the car phone, and produced the card she’d written miss Bowman’s phone number on, and proceeded to dial the number written. On the fourth ring, she answered.
“Good morning, miss Bowman. This is Godiva Langford speaking.” She announced, and paused for her response.
“I was calling to inform you that my driver and I are on our way to collect you, to start work this morning.” Pausing, she looked inquisitively at Brent in his rear-vision mirror as he watched her. Knowing what she was asking with her expression, he quickly announced his ETA.
“We will reach miss Bowman in approximately fifteen minutes.”
“Did you catch that?” she asked Michelle.
“To repeat; we will arrive in approximately fifteen minutes to collect you.” She said with a smile, and allowed Michelle a moment to answer.
“Well, I shall let you finish up, and we shall see you soon. Goodbye for now, miss Bowman.” She finished, and allowed for Michelle to respond before hanging up the phone to return to her meditations as Brent put on Hope’s preferred music; some classical Beethoven to relax to.

Fifteen minutes later, Brent reduced the volume and exited the vehicle, opening the door for Michelle when she came out of her home; looking into the back seat at Godiva with a pleasant smile on his face.
“We’ve arrived, miss Langford. Shall I go and knock on her door?” he asked.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Brent, thank you.” She responded with a smile. He was a very thoughtful driver, and she was grateful he didn’t truly know what her and Lust had to do.

She watched as he walked to the door, knocked and proceeded to wait for an answer. Langford knew he would wait politely, introduce himself and his purpose, then escort miss Bowman to the vehicle and close the door for her once she was inside. From there, Hope would be able to establish a connection with a future Incarnate, that didn’t involve finding them on the summit of their first awakening. As she waited, she looked at the personal file of Michelle Bowman, to give herself a bit more of an idea of the girl’s nature. Godiva instinctively knew this girl was going to be Courage, from a previous phone call with the girl, as she learned of her thwarting of a terrorist assassinating a high profile senator. She’d been less than impressed with what the young girl had done on instinct, but had to admit, that she was strong-willed. It was shortly after a quick perusal, that Brent returned with Michelle and invited her into the vehicle. Closing the file, Godiva looked up to Michelle’s face, and exchanged a pleasant smile with her.

“Good morning, miss Bowman. I trust you are well organised for the day ahead of you. Within our business, we have a lot to do.” She said, the smile still there. In offering Michelle an internship, Godiva and her representatives had been specifically vague as to what Michelle would actually be involved with. Godiva still hadn’t even let her in on the fact that she would be working within a division of the CIA. So, that would be a large shock for the young girl when they arrived at their division base in fifteen minutes time.
“We have an interesting day ahead of us, I assure you.” She smiled again.

----------------------------WRATH

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The morning was starting off to be very mild, but the day would be hot. The sun was out, the clouds few and far between; and his first class would be starting in forty minutes. Sean Dane Michaelis was a twenty-four year old martial arts instructor, with his own dojo. It was expensive to run, but he didn’t care. Money wasn’t top of his agenda. He just wanted to train people how to fight, and wanted to learn more on his own terms. Sean was nick-named by class-mates in lower high school, “Razor” and it was a nick-name that stuck. He was in fact, quite fond of the title because it suited him. Razor-edged in wit and combat instinct; Sean was strong. Immeasurably strong, as it were. And it had been a blessing and a curse in his early years; always in and out of fighting, and being quite successful at it. Sean looked around, the grounds were barely up-kept, and the dojo was the only thing he possessed that he kept in as close to perfect condition as he could.

He opened the front door to his dojo and heard a few voices trailing towards him. More than likely, it was a group of street-thugs who liked to hang around his dojo and watch, but never pay for any lessons, and so they weren’t his favourite locals. He couldn’t keep his dojo running, if he didn’t get money for it. But, if it was anyone else, he wouldn’t mind. As the voices neared, he came into the garden area – his dojo being very much designed like a traditional Japanese martial arts dojo – with a wooden practice sword, and began to work out with his more recent Bushido exercises. He was wearing a martial arts uniform and had removed his jewellery, including his iron bracer and was training under the morning sun. It was only 7:30am, so he had another half an hour before his first class would arrive.

Coming around the corner and entering the grounds, came a group of people. The voices he recognised instantly as belonging to a local street-gang who called themselves the ‘Elementals’ and his concentration wavered as his aggression and distaste arose at their presence. Their laughter died off as they watched him roll through various stances and strikes; clearly off-put by his finesse and ease of use. Smirking, Sean launched himself into a back-roll using his free left hand for stability and finished with an upward slash of his sword. Bowing to no one in particular, he turned and faced the group of young men with a look of disdain on his face. He’d fallen into their bad graces a few months ago, as they had fallen into his; so he expected them to be the enforcers for the larger gang as a whole. Checking them over one at a time, he scoffed.

“What brings you back to my dojo, Lenard? I thought that a ban was a universally understood sign.” He growled.
“Yeah, well, I’m here with my boys to ask you to rethink your earlier decision to ban us from hanging out here.”
“Really? Well, that’s funny. Because your boys look ready for that all male gang-bang you promised them. Now get out of here. And stay gone.”
“I’m afraid we can’t take that answer back to the boss. He wants you to…no, he demands that you revoke your decision. And he demands us to use force if necessary.”
“Is that so? My answers still ‘fuck off’, so…fuck off.” Sean said, flipping them off without another thought.

It seemed to Sean, to be a brilliant idea to provoke these guys, as it would be a nice early work-out, but he didn’t count on them pulling out baseball bats, brass knuckles and handguns. It was apparent, that they had mostly been hiding the bats behind their backs, and the knuckles in their pockets. Sean however, did not want to know where they’d been hiding their guns. Sighing, he shrugged and looked at the street-gang, with their weapons and then to his own wooden samurai sword. A sword was fine against a bat, and the knuckles would only be effective if they could grab him…but the guns, were a whole different story.

“Handguns? Really? That even necessary?” he asked, looking at Lenard.
“We’ve been authorised maximum force.”
“And you’re using handguns? You’ve got numbers, so that’s one advantage I lack. You’ve got knuckle-dusters and baseball bats. I’ve just got a wooden sword. How ‘bout, we keep this fair? Beat me in a fair fight, and I’ll reconsider.”
“Reconsider?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
“Fine. Guns away, boys. We’ll kick his arse anyway.”

Those final words brought a smile to Sean’s face, as he got into a fighting stance and prepared to tackle…one, two, three…seven guys. He was going to get a real thrill from this fight, and without guns, he wasn’t going to die. Taking note of who had a gun out, he carefully decided on how he’d take them out, knowing full well, starting with the guys with guns was his best bet. If he let them keep moving while he took out his other threats, their earlier decision for ‘no guns’ could be rescinded; and he could die. He had no desire to die today, so he had a battle strategy planned out already.
“Let’s go, ladies.” He mocked, taunting them forward with a shake of his free hand.

In moments, three guys rushed him, and Sean back-pedalled, twisted and evaded on the right-side, and swung his sword at the back of the left-most guy’s knee, dropping him down onto his knees, and then proceeded with a side-kick to his head dropping him in an instant. Returning his attention to the other two from the initial rush as they bore down on him with a baseball bat, and knuckle dusters, Michaelis ducked back, and rolled backwards away from the pair. What he hadn’t anticipated, however; was being kicked in the middle of his back by a pair behind him. Cursing himself inwardly, he re-evaluated his situation: he would have to begin to keep a better eye out on his surrounding enemies, rather than just focusing on the one’s attacking him from the front.

Knocked face-first into the ground, Sean was in a slightly disadvantageous position, as they swarmed him; moving to kick him until he surrendered. Tucking himself into a ball, to minimise himself as a target, he took a few hits, before lashing out, kicking one man in the kneecap, shattering it from the force of the initial impact. As he screamed, the others stopped long enough for Sean to return to his feet. Immediately, several of his opponents lashed out, and he ducked their swings, and dove out from the centre of the crowd; rolling and jumping to his feet at the moment three of his assailants struck each other by accident. Roaring in anger, they turned back towards Razor; anger and hate in their eyes as they glared at him. He smirked, bloodied and hurt as he was, he spat out the blood, and wiped it from his face and realised he’d lost his sword. Frowning at the realisation, Sean took up the general boxing stance: feet shoulder-width apart, fists at eye level to cover his face and slightly coiled, ready to spring into action.

Three men rushed him once again, and he ducked and began to jab at them individually, in a bid to wear down their separate guards and give himself breathing space. In anger, one man rushed him, swinging wildly, only to be dodged, hit with two consecutive left jabs and a right uppercut, sending the man upwards. Sean switched styles again; kicking him as he fell, then lashing out with a downward striking kick as the man hit the ground, and Razor’s foot connected with his windpipe, winding him enough to drop him out of commission for the remainder of the fight.

Sean had taken out two men, but unfortunately still had five left to take care of. He was fighting the odds everywhere he turned, but what no one seemed to notice was a shimmer in his eyes as they brightened momentarily, then returned to their usual fiery red and orange colour. A man rushed him, baseball bat raised to drop onto Sean’s head; but he was prepared for it, and caught it, as his opponent tried to bring it down on his head. The shock on his face must have matched that of Sean’s, as he tore the bat from his grip and in the process crushed the centre of the bat in his grip. Throwing the bat aside, Sean pulled his arm back, and immediately brought it back, punching the man in the solar plexus, but what nobody expected happened next.

The man was sent flying backwards, into the wall around Sean’s dojo, and his ribs caved in from the impact of the punch itself. The wall didn’t come out unscathed either, an impact fracture caused by the weight of the man, and the strength behind the punch was left as much as the imprint of the man that hit the wall. For all those present, it seemed unreal, but it was, and the man was definitely dead, with the blood spread out on the wall from the impact. But while they stopped to take in what had just occurred, a group was watching the entire fight from a distance.

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“Should we move now, Lust?” a CIA agent in full tactical gear asked the woman that Hope had left in their company. His team and he had been staking out the dojo since Sean left it the night before. It seemed however, that his powers were awakening today. So Agent Edwards was glad for Incarnate assistance, but he was one of the people who was of mind that they were better off killing them, before letting another war begin. But at this moment in time; he was hesitant to send his men in to take on that. He’d been briefed that sedatives would not work on an awakened Wrath, and the only way to disrupt and dampen any Wrath Incarnate came from themselves…or Lust. Edwards was more than hopeful that Lust would tackle this situation on her own…rather than send his men to their deaths. From what he’d heard of Lust’s abilities; she’d be able to drop him, and his enemies. Perhaps even so far as to erase the event from a regular human minds memory. It was horrifying to know that something like that could happen, and he’d much rather not let it continue, but he had his orders.

[Arcane]

Michelle sat nervously in the foyer, checking over her appearance one last time. Suit? Check. Skirt? Check. Shoes? Check. Her hair was brushed, she'd deigned to put on a bit of subtle makeup and she looked like a calm professional young...something. Michelle actually had no idea what it was she was supposed to be doing in this internship she'd been offered, but it had seemed better not to ask. Catching her cool grey eyes in the mirror, Michelle nodded to herself. Whatever it was, she could handle it. She always handled it, everything.

Sitting down to wait, Michelle reached for the newspaper. Reading always calmed her and was certainly better than sitting there fiddling her thumbs. She sighed as she caught another glimpse of herself on the front page, this time talking about her exemplary high school transcript and distinct lack of a college acceptance. Michelle didn't even bother reading it. She was sick of seeing her name in the papers. It had been over a week, why couldn't everyone just forget and move on with their lives? Or at least write something more interesting about her than that she was a good girl, but disappointing.

Michelle was almost relieved when the phone rang. It was Godiva Langford, her new boss. Michelle actually knew nothing about Miss Langford, a fact she didn't particularly appreciate, but she sounded polite enough over the phone. And Michelle would be meeting her soon enough. Good thing Michelle had always been good at improvising.

"Good morning, Miss Langford. How may I help you?"

“I was calling to inform you that my driver and I are on our way to collect you, to start work this morning.”
“We will reach miss Bowman in approximately fifteen minutes.”
“Did you catch that?” she asked Michelle.
“To repeat; we will arrive in approximately fifteen minutes to collect you.”

Michelle smiled. She'd caught it the first time, had always been good at picking up small noises from the phone, but confirmation was always good. She could fiddle her thumbs for another fifteen minutes, "Excellent. I'll see you then. Thank you, Miss Langford."

“Well, I shall let you finish up, and we shall see you soon. Goodbye for now, miss Bowman.”

"Goodbye, Miss Langford," Michelle replied succinctly and returned to the couch and her checklist. Laptop? Check. Cell phone? Check, obviously. Wallet? Check. In Wallet: License? Check. Cash? Check, $400. Should be enough. Credit card? Check. Checklists were juvenile, a child's techniques, but they helped her remain calm, cool, collected and organized. And if it worked, it worked. It was her first day of work, not an ideal time to mix things up.

There was a knock at the door exactly at the expected time. With a final look in the mirror, Michelle grabbed her laptop and her purse and headed for the door. A man stood there waiting for her. After a brief moment of confusion, Michelle laughed at herself as she realized he was Miss Langford's driver. He introduced himself politely and Michelle responded in kind, offering him her hand to shake, "Michelle Bowman, the new intern. It's a pleasure."

Following Brent to the car, Michelle gulped as she spotted Miss Langford. She looked more like a supermodel than a business woman. What was it she did again? Had she ever said? Go with it, Michelle, just go with it. Miss Langford's introduction was as vague and enigmatic as everything else had been. Shaking her head ruefully, Michelle slid into the car and smiled politely at Miss Langford, "Excellent. What would you like me to do first?"

[Tifa Lockhart]

Anja Danielsson woke in a VERY good mood this morning.

Not that it was a hard feat to achieve when one opens their eyes to find the exquisitely naked body of last nights entertainment still sprawled out beside them. She sat up, running hands through her long blonde hair to tidy it before she slipped out from under the covers. She moved straight over to her wardrobe, shuffling through her vast collection of clothing before picking something comfortable and practical, but of course still glamorous, such was her style.

A quick dab of makeup and a spray of her favourite perfume, and then she was ready. No doubt they'd be here to get her soon.

She'd leave a note imprinted with her favourite shade of rose-red lipstick on the sideboard in the hallway where her night-companion couldn't possibly miss it. It thanked him for his time, wished him a good day and then invited him to grace her bed again whenever he got the inclination. She wasn't the type to stay with the one guy, but she certainly wasn't going to say no to one who was just THAT good. It wasn't often she found a man who could keep up with her.

So she descended into the lobby of her elaborate manor-home, fetching herself a jacket from the coat-rack by the door and a pair of purple-tinted sunglasses, before stepping out into the morning sunlight. So took up a patient seat upon the house steps, long bared legs draped out across it without giving much consideration to the position. The moment Anja sat down, no matter where she was, she looked like she should have been getting her photo taken for some sort of magazine. She didn't have to wait long though, and soon the sleek car was pulling up and she was getting to her feet and approaching the vehicle.
The driver - who was familiar to her - got out to open the door for her, and she couldn't resist an opportunity to have a tease.
"Good Morning," she greeted him in a smooth tone, tilting her glasses down her nose so that she could wink at him over the top of them. She then slipped into the car, not afraid to give him a shameless view of her long bare legs as she slipped them into the car.

She then turned her attention to the other passenger in the vehicle, offering a glittering smile to Godiva.
"I trust you rested well last night?" she asked after her customary greeting. It made Anja giggle softly, aware that there were probably many implications beneath the question.
"I would use the word refreshed," she replied, a crooked smile angling her beautiful lips. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."
She inspected her fingernails then, glad to find they were all still perfect. She then accepted the file from Godiva, giving it a very brief cursory glance before she handed it back. Her target wasn't an exceptionally good looking man, but he was certainly built with desirable muscle definition.
'No doubt a real charmer,' she thought.
"Violence or no violence this shouldn't be much of a problem," she assured, reaching up to fluff her hair up a bit more. The car pulled up outside the quaint little dojo, and Anja wasted no time in opening the door to step out onto the sidewalk. She heard Hope instruct her to play nicely, and she turned back to give her a sultry sort of look over her shoulder.
"Play nice? When don't I play nice?" she asked, amusement in her voice.

As the car pulled away behind her she regarded her destination with a sigh. She never got to go to nice places like clubs or offices while she was working... they seemed to always be these little dives. With a sigh she approached the CIA agents who were waiting for her outside, ignoring the awful racket that seemed to be coming from inside the building.
'Should we move now, Lust?" their leader asked her, but she'd reach over to shut his mouth with a fingertip.
"Just have your men wait by all the doors with their little guns, mmkay?" she ordered, already heading towards the front door herself. "Men in suits are just a distraction when I'm working."

Without further ado, the beautiful woman pushed open the door and stepped inside, her heels clicking loudly on the dojo's polished wood floors. The inside of the building itself was very empty, but she could hear the sounds of fighting coming from out the back of the building. So she crossed the floor to the back door and exited into the garden.

'How brutish and unseemly,' she muttered to herself as she saw the tussle.
She watched in silent amusement as one of the fighters got violently ejected from the fight and impacted with the wall in an impressive spurt of blood.
Feeling congratulations were in order, she began to clap slowly.

[Renegade]

----Sloth----

The only thing lighting up Markyss' shop at this late hour was his computer screen. He let out a bored sigh as a loading bar crept across the screen. He moved the mouse pointer over the minimise button and moved it from sight, bringup up instead a game of online poker. "God dammit." He lost to a pair of kings. "That's the second lot of Ten grand I've lost this week," he shrugged it off and closed the game, by now the bar had reached one-hundred percent.

He went to work, tapping at his keyboard rather calmly, as the letters "CIA" came up on screen in a large white font settled on a plain blue background. He hit the keys faster and faster as he went untill - "Fuck!" he shouted,"I will get in you bastards." They had shut him out again. What was odd was that this was not the first time he had tried getting into their systems, yet they had not done anything about it. It stirred him with a confused feeling, a mix of curiosity and anger. Were they toying with him? Did they not see him as a threat?

As if things were not bad enough his shop window suddenly shattered as a rock was passed through it. Markyss instinctively ducked, he looked over his desk as watched as four men marched across the room towards him.
Markyss stood up and looked at the men, all dressed in generic 'gangbanger' clothing.

"You dat info guy, yeah?" One of them asked him, pointing a crowbar at him.

"Well I've already guessed you can not read," said Markyss with a straight face. "Yes, I'm the one you are looking for, or were looking for, because quite obviously you've found me so It's now past tense rather than... Y'know what, doesn't matter. What do you want?

The men stood there for a full three seconds, just staring at Markyss."The fuck?" one quietly said to the other in the back.

"You've been telling people things we don't wanna be heard, una'stand?"

"What, like that your mother has herpies? he teased them, still carrying a bored expression. "Don't worry, I'm sure your cousin is really sorry for that."

The leader looked behind him at one of the others who was coincidentally his cousin. "You know what, forget orders, kill him!"

The four men rushed Markyss, who stepped very quickly into the back room, where all his gadgets were. It was a maze in there and he quickly lost his pursuers.

They spread out to look for him - the rooms was set up so that the shelves create isles of junk, with twists and turns that Markyss knew like the inside of his eyelids, and it was not the first time it had come in handy like this either.
As one of the men went down one of the isles, he tripped over a wire that Markyss had set up earlier, just in case. The man fell to the ground with a massive 'thud'. He did not move after that, he looked like he was either dead or unconscious. Markyss knew he was dead though because the wire was razor sharp, and laced with a histrionicotoxin, if he was unconscious he would be dead before he had the chance to wake.

Markyss watched two of the thugs who were searching for Markyss, ironically it was them who were being watched. He waited patiently, a small remote in hand. The two stepped over the a tile that had the letter 'Z' tapped onto it with black masking tape, he pressed the button. Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then in the blink of an eye, the two thugs were impaled on the nearest wall.

"Three down, one to go," he said loudly, making sure the last guy could hear him.

Markyss walked through the maze for a good five minutes before the leader of the group found him. He was kicked the the ground, and then picked up again by the brute. "You are going to pay for that!" he snarled.

Markyss retaliated by grabbing the man's shirt, trying to push him away. The man stopped mid punch and a look of pain swept over his face, and then a moment later his features relaxed, and he fell dead on the floor.

"Hm," Markyss mussed as he looked over the body. "Heart failure. Must of been too much for him..." He then walked out of the room, pressing a button on the wall near the door on the way out. A handful of small robots seemed to come from nowhere, and started to dispose of the bodies by dragging them out of sight, where they would be dissolved later. Markyss went back to trying to fix his computer.

[Elario Luminus]

Clayton sat on his recently acquired Lay-Z-Boy chair, reclining comfortably while his top shelf Sony entertainment system played some gentle hip hop instrumental music. Satisfied for the moment with his most recent heist, which included said chair and sound system, he sighed as he put his hands behind his head and crossed his legs, closing his eyes to catch some sleep, the warmth of the morning sun filtering through the windows of his apartment. Just as he started entering Sandman Land, Clayton was ripped back to reality by a harsh knocking on his door. Growling and muttering about his lack of sleep and inconsiderate people, he looked through the eye-hole to see who it was.
"Burly men with bats, three of them, all wearing angry looks. Someone must've pissed them right off," he mused as he unlocked the door and opened it wide. "Morning, gents. What brings you to my humble abode this fine morning?"
"You stole from us, you bastard. We've come to take back what's ours, with interest."
Clayton raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, knowing full well what they were talking about. "What, you guys represent the bank, do you?"
Without warning, the men attacked, the closest swinging wide with his bat. Clayton dropped to the ground and rolled backwards, launching himself to his feet. While the men chased after him, he turned the hip hop up with the remote and faced the men.

The biggest, easily the leader, charged forward, swinging at Claytons head. The thief stepped back and applied three quick punches to the mans stomach and chest. Groaning, he fell to the ground, temporarily winded. Without missing a beat, Clayton span kicked the second man in the knee, bending it backwards with a sickening crunch. The last one opted for a different weapon, namely one of the kitchen knives nearby. Clayton sighed, bored with the combat. "You lot always go for the biggest weapons. Why'd you pick the meat cleaver?" He vaulted the kitchen bench, narrowly dodging a slash from the blade. ' you dare dirty my things.
Clayton grabbed a nearby wooden cutting board and blocked another attack, catching the knife in the wood. Grinning, he flung the board away and swiftly punched the man in the jaw, dropping him. Satisfied they were dealt with, he pressed a button nearby to open the windows right up and grabbed the still-winded leader. Holding him up over the ledge, a cacophony of screams and shouts opened up from the ground.
"Consider this a subtle warning. Come after me again, and what I did to Lorenzo will be child's play to what I'll give you. Do we understand each other?" The man nodded frantically, sweating like a pig. "Good. Now have fun cleaning your mess."
Clayton placed the man back on his feet and watched while he collected his injured friends and scattered from the apartment. Taking a deep breath, Clayton sat back down after closing the windows again, promptly falling asleep in the comfiest chair ever.

[The Painted Lady]

---Charity---

"... If only this government would eliminate all corruption in its ranks and tighten its budget, I just know we can find a way to lend a hand to those who so desperately need it. The lost children of California are not a lost cause yet. I won't silence my voice until the Government of California stands up and finally brings some action to end this epidemic of street children who have been suffering and have been ignored ever since the end of a war from before my time."

"That's great, Miss Hart. I think we got everything we needed."
The camera operator smiled to her from behind his bulky device, the red blinking light turning off.

She gave him a relieved smile in reply, feeling the nerves she had pushed away for her interview flood back to her briefly.
"Thank you so much, Dave..."
"But can I ask that you refer to me by both of my surnames in your story?"
Her free hand rose to touch a locket on her collarbone.
"Hart was my father's surname. Casey was my mother's. I just like to remember them both is all..."

The journalist looked a little surprised, but then offered her a smile and a reassuring nod.
"Uh, of course!"
He patted his camera, support crew already moving to remove the portable lighting and microphones to pack up into a small-scale news van.
"Thanks for being so co-operative. That's one of the more easy interviews I've had in a while," he grinned.
"Keep an eye on the news tonight! You'll be one of our top stories."

The girl smiled, not having the heart to remind him that it would be highly unlikely that she would be watching any television at all. She turned away as the journalist began to pack away his camera too.
"Noa?..."
She looked down to the young girl on her hip from whom the small voice had come from.
"Are we really going to be on TV?"

Noa smiled to the little girl, tapping the end of her nose with a gentle finger.
"That's right, Lily. You'll be famous," she laughed softly, watching the little girl's eyes grow wide.
"Now come on; let's get you back to the others. Before your brother gets worried about you."

Lily wrinkled her little nose.
"Like he'd be worried," she scoffed as Noa adjusted her hold on her. The older girl laughed outright.

"I think you'd be surprised, Lil..."

[Sparkles]

---Peace---

Smooth and powdery. That's what the wall felt like as 9 year old Kyra ran her hand along it as she walked slowly down the narrow hallway, Moses a steady comfort moving at her pace by her side. Normally walking about her house wasn't a problem, it was second nature. However, this house was new to her and there had been a worker or two about the day before, plastering the walls. Kyra didn't want to walk around the corner and have anyone rush into her.

Coming into the sitting area, Moses led her over to a chair before nudging her towards it gently; though she was already aware where it was from the dull grey shadow that she could make out. But Moses was just like that; looking after her past what she needed. They'd been together for over four years, and he was her centre. She knew when she had had enough straining her eyes to see where things were, that he would tell her.
Moving about a fraction, Kyra made herself comfortable. Once Moses was content with Kyra, he jumped up on the couch right beside her and lay one paw and his head on her legs; a comforting, protective weight. She lay her hand on his head and ran her fingers through the soft short fur there.

Everything was different now. They'd been here for almost a week already; her, her Mum, and Moses. The problem wasn't the freedom from her father, which would take some getting used to as it was, assuming it lasted. The problem was that everything was so very new. Without Moses, she wouldn't be able to do it. It wasn't even that everything was new, because some things stayed the same even when they changed.
Grass still felt the same under her feet, though she hadn't left the house many times since they'd arrived.
Her Mum was still working late, had already left for work earlier in the morning.
And yet she still felt a sense of acceptance. Of peace. Not that it was great enough for her to push past her comfort and start attending a school again like her Mum wanted her to. And her Mum wouldn't force her to. Not after what she'd been through. Not after what she'd been unable to stop. Not now that the newest bruises were finally beginning to turn from a horrible combination of red, purple and blue to a brown-green colouration. With her top off, anyone would think the worst; and they'd be right. And anyone who touched her would hurt her.

And so as a result, this house with its smooth powdery walls, plastic rubber floor and roof low enough that if she dared climb onto the couch and reach for the ceiling, she wouldn't be far from touching it, was, for now, the place where she would feel the most at peace; even if that peace was skewed in many, many ways.

Nudging Moses to let him know what she wanted, Kyra lay down on the couch and brought her legs up and, with Moses laying in front of her, she found it a simple task to lay her head on his neck and close her eyes, letting this strange sense of peace search its way inside of her and ease out the pain while it softly lulled her into sleep.

[Yuna Braska]

~~Prudence~~

Mary sat in the passenger side of the black mustang that reaved around the streets of her hometown. With a hand on her Sunday white hat and another clinging to the handlebar that was attached to the leather coated side door, Mary closed her eyes and cringed at the reckless driving that Luke was inflicting on the road.
” Slow down Luke! Please!” Mary panicked almost feeling most of her insides swaying to the turns of the vintage black American car. The moment she had seen her boyfriends new toy Mary knew that she might have to try and convince this childhood friend turned reave head to buy a more safe and secure vehicle. Luke had been her church friend ever since she was in diapers. The two always would attend Sunday school together and get along great. Lately however the boy that now calls her ‘girlfriend’ had began on a rampant year of rebellion and mischief.
” Luke!” Mary tried to call out again as the tall blonde haired male with dark sunglasses turned to approach the street that she lived on. The street was lined with elm trees upon perfectly maintained lawns and double story houses. In no time, the black mustang rumbled into the driveway of a white home with ivory windowsills. Mary's face had gone paler then usual and her hand still clung to her white wide-brim hat, scrunching at the wavy locks beneath.
” Doesn’t look like your mum is home” Luke said after turning off the loud, unbearable roar of the engine. He turned to her removing his shades to reveal pale blue eyes above his naughty smirk. Mary removed her hat, throwing it at the boy with force.
”Luke, you…! “ She yelled opening the door and slamming it behind her. ” That was reckless! And dangerous! “ she continued making her way to the front door of her house. ’You knew I had work to do before tonight and you waste my time in that … thing!”. Luke quickly opened the drivers door obviously now seeing the stress which he put his girlfriend through.
”Come on Mary, It’s not dangerous… I’m putting in the seatbelts tomorrow for you!” Luke tried to reason while following the longhaired blonde to the door. ”You’ve been working so hard on trying to promote your new project that I thought a little break would be nice” He spoke more softly as he approached her, his hands travelling on the soft curve of her hips under the white straight cut dress. Mary froze and dropped her house keys to remove the hands from her.
” Not now” Mary grumbled at the physical affection, she wasn’t in the mood.

Once inside, Mary placed her keys on the hook near the door and tied her waist length hair in a ponytail.
” When will your mum be back?” She heard Luke say as she walked into the lounge room.
”Not until tonight since she had a book club meeting and they don’t…” Mary was cut off by the feeling of the same pair of hands creeping running down the sides of her arms. ” Luke I told you not now!”. Mary had been allowing Luke to present physical affection in only a few moments, she sees no reward from the contact but it seemed to make him happier. Though he had to listen to a long list of ‘no go’ rules before their relationship went further then friends. It had only been the past year though that Luke had wanted more off Mary. Church days she found his hand resting on her thigh, and in public he would try to anger her by nibbling on her neck. Ridiculous behaviour she thought of it, she was not married to the boy so why does he continue to treat her like his wife. She talked to the Father at her family church once about Luke and she was told exactly what she had been taught for years. It is good for a man not to have sexual relations with a woman, But because of the temptation to sexual immorality, each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband .
” Alright Mary” Luke reluctantly said. ” Don’t want to make you more angry then you are now” he chuckled lightly before giving his girl a soft kiss on the cheek. ” I’ll be back tonight? “
Mary huffed but smiled, she couldn’t stay mad at him for long. With that, Luke left leaving Mary finally to have time to prepare. With an exhausted sigh she rested on the cream coloured couch in the lounge room with her laptop on the coffee table. Her speech was coming along fine but she was nervous.
Pulling out her phone, Mary typed in a memorised number and put it to her ear.
Four phone rings went before it was picked up.
” Hello Noa” she greeted her friend. ” How did it go? “

[Yuffie Kisaragi]

Jumping slightly as the harsh screeching of her alarm woke her from what had been a rather pleasant dream, Nyx rolled over and slammed an irritable finger down on the button to shut the alarm up and cease its raucous squealing.
Ahe lay there for at least 13 minutes, by what the clock told her, before she forced herself to get up and get dressed, pulling on a black shirt which sat off the shoulders and had a grey, stylised picture of a cat printed on the front, with its tail wrapped around an empty birdcage and a big white grin on its face. She then retrieve a pair of really dark blue denim short shorts from her meticulously neat drawers (she never liked being unable to find her clothes, after all) and pulled them on as well, before moving to her mirror-cabinet to retrieve a large quantity of accessories from the hooks and boxes. Amongst them were the black lace choker she always wore, to which she pinned the dark blue rose today, a chain bracelet that she often wore as well as a spiked black cuff, and her collection of silver rings. She also made sure she was wearing her favourite bat studs, before selecting a few other pairs of earrings as well. She then flipped the cabinet shut and locked it, staring impassively at the face she despised so much in the mirror on the other side. Recently replaced mirror, in fact. She huffed slightly and turned from the cabinet to find some shoes to wear, deciding on a pair of black, gothic, buckle-up boots that went halfway up her calves and had a small heel.
Leaving her bedroom, Nyx then strolled into the kitchen, pulling the milk carton from the fridge and pouring a glass, stirring in a little bit of cocoa and passing it as breakfast, since she could never be bothered with breakfast. Lunch and Dinner were the extent of her daily meals on most occasions. After finishing her sad excuse for breakfast, she went to the bathroom to begin her favourite routine of the day besides her work: styling her hair, which was the only thing about herself she liked these days, ever since she dyed it the deep red. She fiddled for a while, finally deciding on a purposely messy bun that left some of her long hair out at the back and the front, the fringe curling slightly around her face now that it was brushed. She then dusted a bit of basic makeup on her face to give her pale skin a bit of colour before she moved back to the main room to locate her handbag and prepare to leave.
She grabbed her cell, shoved it in her bag and pulled the keys from the bowl she left them in beside the door, leaving for work and locking the door behind her. With that she began the walk to the tattoo shop that she worked at, one of the few places she could feel happy with herself. As soon as she stepped through the door she was greeted cheerfully by her fellow artists, whom she greeted back, equally cheerful now that she was here in the shop that felt more like home than home did.
"so, how are you, boys?" she asked as she settled in the chair beside her work desk, where she drew the designs for customers before they were applied as permanent tattoos. Her two work companions, Stephan and Daniel took their turns to answer to her, both busily working away on designs they had been paid to make.
"been good, Nyxie, how about you?" Daniel replied, his eyes remaining on his work even as he spoke.
"eh, well enough" Nyx answered, with a noncommittal shrug, "and what about you, Stephan?"
Stephan replied with only a grunt at first, concentrating hard on his work, before turning a moment later to answer properly.
"pretty good, me bike just got out of repairs this morning, she's working a charm again" the burly, heavily tattooed man replied, seeming pleased to be able to say he had his bike back.
"that's good to hear, Stephan! I'm sure you're very happy to have your baby back, yes?" to that, the man nodded in confirmation, before he turned back to his work. Nyx then also turned to her desk to draw up some new designs for the shop's selection.

((hope this is okay XD wasn't sure what else to do ))

[epsilon]

------JUSTICE------

"Come on Chris, can't you just blow it off for another day?"
"Mandy, I'm currently standing in the man's guestroom, and the villa is on the other side of town. How do you suggest I blow this off and get to mum's for dinner before seven?"
"I don't know, catch a cab? You've got plenty of time."
"It's half past six, Mandy. It's almost an hours drive and the traffic is still packed from rush hour."
"Oh well fine then, but you better come to my birthday tomorrow!"
"Yes, yes. I promise, bye."
"I love you."
"Love you too sis."

Chris sighed as he snapped shut his mobile phone and slid it into his pocket. One of these days he was going to buy a damn wireless headset for the bloody thing. However right now he had bigger issues to contend with, such as the sound of heavy footsteps getting louder. Three guards, maybe five, were approaching rapidly. Now doubt bolting towards main foyer that was probably choking with smoke by now. Then again a half dozen military smoke bombs would do that.

"Alright, time to get to work," he grunted as he hoisted up his silenced MP5 and locked in a fresh clip. He had to act fast before things got messy. With any luck the smoke will keep most of the guards busy for a while. Taking a deep breath he slipped out of the guest room, carefully shutting the door behind him, and sprinted down the hall. Behind him he could hear shouting from the foyer, however what made him nervous was the lack of sound coming from in front of him. He was expecting to hear shouts of anger and confusion to float down the hall from both ends. The master of the house wasn't as daft as to not immediately double his private security during a possible break in was he? Perhaps not, though it didn't matter much to Chris.

----------------------------------

"Three, four, five, six. Here we go!" Chris muttered to himself, taking a step back to quickly double check his count. With a quick nod to himself in confirmation he went about examining the door in question. Simple handle, with a keyhole, and above that a card and code device. A devilish piece of security technology that was more trouble than it was worth, for owner and thief alike. Not that Chris hadn't come planned for it. He wouldn't be much good at his job if he wasn't prepared for such things. He smirked to himself as he pulled a small lump of plasticine from a pouch that hung from his belt.

"I hope this stuff is as quite as they package says it is," Chris crossed his fingers as he pressed the detonator. A small, and thankfully quiet, bang was followed by the slight creaking of an open door. Things were going smoothly, and there was no sign of the guards looking for any would-be intruders. Now if it could only stay this way for a short while longer. Chris mused with the idea of an easy exit as he popped back around the nearby corner and quickly rushed into the open room. For a moment he was stunned, the room shone with trophies, medallions, jewels and gems of all shapes and sizes. He new mobsters had a bad habit of hording valuable items but the lack of paintings, and other such non-shiny objects, just made him feel like he had stumbled into the biggest Magpies nest in history. However now was not the time to admire the collection, he had a job to do!

“Nope, nope, nope, BINGO!” he chirped to himself as he quickly made his way across the room, quickly scanning the more heavily protected item cases. At the far end of the room, just before reaching the back wall, was a smallish case on a waist high pedestal. The object inside wasn't a particularly fancy or valuable one but it wasn't it's financial worth that made it special. Or so he was led to believe.

“All this fuss over this stupid ruby. I just don't get it,” Chris sighed to himself. Thinking back to his mission files it was listed as a rare specimen that was meant to be shipped off to the local museum. However it was stolen from the mine site that unearthed it before it could be shipped off. Chris grimaced, looking over the glass case thoroughly, to him stealing from a museum was like going poaching at the zoo. It was a terrible crime, and one too many thugs were allowed to get away with. If he could he'd have returned every stolen item in the room, but he had no idea what was stole and what wasn't.

“Heh, I'll just come back later then?” he chuckled to himself, standing up again. The case wasn't as well defended as he had thought. With a flick of the wrist he shattered the side with the butt of his gun. Almost immediately a high pitched alarm sounded. He grabbed the ruby without a second thought and bolted from the room, racing back towards the guest room.

“There he is! Get him!”

Chris cursed as he saw several guards appear at the top of a nearby stairwell. Bullets started to fly, Chris raising his own weapon to let of a few short bursts at his assailants. As they ducked behind cover Chris started looking for a new way out. The guest room was further down the hall, closer to the stairwell. He wouldn't make it without getting badly injured at best, and he already almost caught several bullets. He frowned quickly at the small group of cuts that had appeared on his arm, and the several bullets that were now lodged into his SWAT jacket. Thank god for bullet proofing.

“So much for my easy exit eh?” he muttered as he turned to the door beside him and opened fire on the lock. He kicked the door in and ducked inside the room beyond just as more bullets peppered the wall he had just been standing in front of. Chris cursed under his breath as he quickly scanned the room, shouts from the hall informing him of the minuscule amount of time he had to make a move. Judging from the bed, closet, lack of anything else, and balcony, this was another guest room. Better than nothing he figured as he shattered the glass door with a few rounds from his fire-arm. Below the balcony was the pool area, above it was another balcony, to the side there was... a thick wire that sloped down over the pool and into the villa's private industrial power generator.

“Oh fantastic, a zip line. I hate zip lines,” a fact that was to be temporarily overlooked as several guards burst into the room behind him. Chris quickly stuffed the ruby into his pocket and lunged at the wire, hooking is gun over the top of it and praying that it supported his weight. It didn't. Half way down the wire the silencer snapped off, dropping the freelancer into the pool.

“Oh FUCK,” he shouted as he scrambled for the side of the pool and heaved himself out, now drenched head to toe. Well this was making for a fine escape but at least he outside now. Throwing a glance up to the balcony he decided he had wasted enough time. The guards levelled their weapons and opened fire. Thankfully their crappy aim was worse when they had a moving target. Chris leapt over tables and chairs, busting his hump to reach the rope ladder he had concealed in the nearby exotic garden. Within moments he was swinging himself over the top of the tall sandstone wall, dragging the ladder with him, and making his way over to his car. It was two lots over, but it was unlikely the guards would pursue him this far just for a ruby, even if it was naturally in the shape of a heart.

-------------------------------

“God damn I hate mobsters,” Chris panted as he slouched into the driver seat of his custom Mustang GT. His clothes were finally starting to dry out but they were still fairly heavy from being water logged. On the happier side of things he had managed to get out with his life and the ruby. A mission well done if he ever saw one at the very least.

[Lykaios]

----------------------------HOPE

[/u]----------------------------[/center]
Hope was infinitely relieved, and thus smiled at miss Bowman’s willingness to proceed with her internship, even though she knew none of the details of what her job would entail. Godiva thought the girl had grit and merit, for sure. Scanning the girl with a practiced eye, Godiva searched for insecurity; finding none, she nodded with satisfaction. Langford’s eyes were focussed on their golden hue, for the moment, with a very fine edging of silver, so fine; it was near imperceptible. Meeting Michelle’s gaze and her own uniquely coloured eyes, Hope smiled briefly.
“Your eye colour, Miss Bowman, is definitely no trick of light. Such an unnatural shade is rare, to say the least. They are beautiful.” She stated.
“Miss Bowman,” Godiva started, eyeing her intern carefully, “You are aware of the historical ‘Incarnate War’, are you not?” she asked.
Allowing Michelle to answer the question, Godiva tented her fingers as she listened. When miss Bowman had finished, Godiva smiled again.
“An excellent answer, Miss Bowman. But what is touched upon in school, is as far from the complete and unbiased truth, as to what they also teach you in regards to, say, the bombing of Hiroshima, or the British expansion. The first thing you must understand about history, Miss Bowman, is that the victor always writes the story of what happened. The defeated do not usually get to have any say in historical fact recordings, as they lost. It’s often an attempt for those allied with the victorious to continue to believe that they had the just cause, that they were correct in their course of action.” She explained.
“For example; did your teachers ever mention that the eldest Incarnate at the time of the war was only 25 years old? Or that that was the one known as ‘Wrath’?” she asked.
After Michelle had responded, she continued in her explanation.

“Mankind was only victorious in the Incarnate War, as the Incarnates wiped one another out, and that human casualties and fatalities had been minimised. Now, the CIA are investigating the origins, the existence and the possibility of more Incarnates being born into this world. I know this, because I head the ‘Incarnate Taskforce’; dedicated to doing just that: finding and understanding – and to ultimately attempt to prevent another war, with the Incarnates. This is where your internship begins, Michelle Bowman; as such, you will be my off-sider through the day to day, until I can grant you other responsibilities.” Godiva told her, gauging her reaction.

“It is time I properly introduce myself to you, Miss Bowman. My name is Godiva Elizabeth Langford, and I am also the Incarnate ‘Hope’. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Michelle. And I would like to welcome you to the Incarnate Taskforce.” She finished, as Brent opened the car door, and Godiva unbuckled herself, and stepped out of the vehicle. Waiting for Michelle to tall into step beside her, as they walked into the building that would be Michelle’s new workplace for however long she cared to be there for.

Satisfied by Michelle’s response, Godiva spoke again.
“I offered you this internship for a couple of reasons, Miss Bowman, and I hope that you will find my explanation understandable enough. Firstly, you are vastly intelligent and very capable, as your thwarting of that assassination attempt has proven. And secondly; though I must admit, to be both my ulterior motive, and the truest reason I have for bringing you aboard, is this: I and others believe, that you might be one of the new generation of Incarnates.” She said, pausing to let those words sink in, Godiva waited patiently, whatever kind of response and reaction that that news would receive with Michelle.

----------------------------WRATH

[/u]----------------------------[/center]

Sean’s battle-senses were awash with violence. It was a moment before the full scope of what had just transpired finally hit him, but before he could think about it, he heard a clap start slowly. Ignoring it for the first few moments while he growled a low curse, he shook his head, attempting to right himself, and acknowledge the sound. Looking toward the source of the sound, Michaelis spotted a single breath-takingly beautiful woman, so stunning, he couldn’t help but ogle her for a long enough time for it to be considerably rude. Returning to his senses, he raised an eyebrow at her, and faced her.

“Here to enquire about taking a class, lady?” he asked, “Well, I’m sorry to say, but right now isn’t the best time. Let me just take out the trash, and I’ll be right with you, alright?” he said, a somewhat polite smile on his face.

Returning his attention to the four remaining thugs, Sean’s eyes narrowed darkly. Realising that they had lost their advantage, the remaining gangsters attacked wildly; their focus lost entirely.
The first man’s attack was so easy for Razor to evade, that he felt sorry for the man as he proceeded to grab him by the arm, and then throw him over his head, towards one of his friends. Impacting with a loud crunch, Razor had already run at one of the other two men, kicking him in the solar plexus hard enough to knock him off his feet.

Michaelis paused, realising the regular nature of the kick. There was no super-human strength, or PCP-induced strength in the strike, and that disappointed Sean significantly. He had enjoyed punching that unknown man straight into the wall. Now, however; it was looking to have been an adrenaline-induced once off.

“Well, shit. Looks like a fair fight’s back on the cards for you jack-asses.” He said with a distinct sigh.

The four men joined each other, exchanging looks of glee at the prospect of a normal fight being back. They had obviously realised a Death-punch wasn’t going to be coming for them too, this time around. So, the four of them withdrew various types of knives from their belts and rushed at Sean with hate and malice in their eyes. Lenard was the first to attack, slashing high – aiming for Razor’s jugular.

Dodging backwards a step, Sean waited for the precise moment, and when Lenard’s arm had over-swung from the horizontal slash, and his blade was now facing himself, Sean lashed out with an open palm, and thrust it into the base of the hilt, pushing blade and Lenard’s own hand towards his own shoulder. Contacting and splitting the flesh, Lenard screamed in pain, while Sean immediately pulled Lenard’s hand from the knife, and then broke the hilt off, leaving the blade lodged into Lenard’s shoulder. Screaming in greater pain, Lenard attempted to grab Sean, who backed away, out of arms-length.

Unfortunately; he had forgotten to heed his own advice from earlier on in the fight, when he found himself in an arm-lock from behind. An instant later, he felt a warm trickle of a very thick liquid sliding down his thigh. Then, he felt the steel in it. Roaring in pain, he bucked against his restraints. A snigger and a moment later, he felt another blade as it was stabbed through both of his hands.

Agony swept him away. His pained and furious howl’s made his opponent’s hesitate. The air around Sean hissed and sizzled with static, as his eyes lightened; all colour leached away. Unseen force, blew the four men away from Sean as he continued to roar in pain and frustration. As his eye colour returned to normal, a fiery red aura surrounded his body, expanding into a steady 3ft wide circle. Even the very earth beneath Sean’s feet was affected; branching down on intervals, as though steps leading down an amphitheatre.
The aura exploded outwards, like a small-scale supernova. The men who had just struggled back to their feet, were blown back over by the very force of nothing they could see. This explosion of energy however, did not affect the woman watching at all.

Having no recollection of the blade in his hands, Razor ripped his hands forward – breaking the blade of the knife in two, and leaving nasty gashes in both of his hands. Removing the shrapnel, he stared at his hands for a moment, and looked at the holes in them both, completely oblivious to the pain those wounds should be afflicting him with. Snarling, Razor turned his attention back towards his attackers – all now quivering in fear of something they couldn’t explain. Sean began to walk towards the cowering men, who all quickly tried to disperse, separating themselves from each other and attempting to scurry as far away from him as physically possible.

Stopping one by placing a hand upon his shoulder, Razor heard his muffled whimpering and begging for his mercy.
“Wrong request, ass-hole.” He said, with such a gruff accent, it was unrecognisable as his own voice.

A moment later, he pushed a shard of the knife from his hand right into the centre of the man’s skull. Falling down, instantly dead; Sean proceeded towards the next man, grabbing and raising him in an instant. Pulling his arm back, he prepared, and then punched the man with all his might: breaking through flesh, bones and ripping into the meat of the man’s chest. He was dead before he even felt the pain, which was his only reprieve however, as Razor pulled his bloodied fist out of the man’s chest cavity. Lenard and the other surviving thug shrieked, utterly terrified of this new and terrifying monster. Growling, he shook as much of the blood from his hand as possible. He then faced the next man, and continued to growl. As he did so, the earth itself started to shake, then open up and swallow the man whole. His screams were heard for seconds before the earth closed back up above him.
Nothing of Sean was the same. Physically, he was unchanged, but mentally; he was completely out of control. He was base instinct and anger. Emotions and thought were gone. At that moment, he was a living, breathing monument to the sin, Wrath.

Lenard stood shakily, and tried to run away from Sean. He soon found that he could not move at all. Looking down at himself, he found that he was entirely encased in rock, that just sprung up out of the very earth in the span of a heart-beat. Walking over to the man, and around the rock-entombed person, to stand face-to-face with him, Razor stared at Lenard and tsked.

“Don’t kill me, please!” he started to beg, until Sean raised his hand to shut him up.
“Not yet. I have a better solution. You’ll serve as a living reminder…not to fuck with me. Yes, you’ll be staying right there.”

Sean stepped away, ignoring him as he tried to beg and plead, and pray for forgiveness, but mostly his constant please to let him go. No, Sean’s attentions had already returned to the woman still standing by. She was unscathed from the energy that dropped four burly men to the ground, twice. Something was wrong with her. Something must have been wrong with him, too, as he felt some kind of similarity. Worse. Something was really wrong, when he realised that his limbs felt heavy, his alertness wavering and all of a sudden, he was insanely tired. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning, yet.

But everything else faded from his mind, when he smelt a scent so warming, that he knew and loved. He smelled the mixed odours of lavender and patchouli, and he smiled, lowering himself to his hands and knees.
That’s such a lovely smell… he thought.
Right before he passed out.

-----------------

Captain Edwards was mortified by what he had just witnessed. Wrath was a true monster, and if he were giving the orders, it would be an instant termination. As it were, it wasn’t up to him, though he’d make damn sure people knew what his thoughts were on the subject. He and his unit were all wearing their gas masks, as a pre-caution in case Lust had required to use her ability, but all that he could think about at the time, was focusing on eliminating such a hostile threat, particularly one so volatile…not keeping him, like some kind of pet that could be trained.
“The restraints; now!” he ordered his corporal, before making his way over to Lust.

“We cannot allow a beast like him to run free, Anja! He needs to be put down like the rabid dog he is!” he said to her, enraged at the prospect of transporting him to the one location he should visit only when in a body bag.

It wasn’t right. His job should have been to kill the monsters. Kill the monsters, and leave mankind free to continue killing themselves. Not to rely on, and use the monsters as puppets or become their ally! It was unheard of! A monster was nothing but a monster.

[Tifa Lockhart]

Anja had found her targets moment of banter with her rather amusing. Thanks to his acknowledgement of her presence, she'd decided a game was in order. So she'd taken a seat to watch the show, one long bare leg slowly crossing over the other as she leaned back on her hands. For a time, watching him make a mockery of the thugs was entertaining, but eventually the gratuitous gore she was witnessing became tiresome. She sat where she was, unbothered by the powerful forces that had knocked the humans around like rag dolls, casually running her fingertips through her hair.
'Alright, I want to be the centre of attention now,' she thought, already releasing one of her sweetest scents to lull her prey into a far more manageable state. As he turned to her, a sleepy look already entering his expression, she got to her feet. There was a rather sultry smirk on her face as she approached him, stopping only a few steps away as he dropped completely from consciousness.
"Well that wasn't very hard," she muttered, pouting in disappointment at how little of a fight even HE was able to put up against her charms.

She was joined instantly by all her suits, hurriedly moving to secure the quarry before he woke up from her spell. She rather liked watching them scurry about like nervous little bugs, but she still had no time or patience for Edwards.
"Look sweetie," she said, her voice dangerously flat. It had lost the charming lilt she always seemed to employ. She turned to him, grabbing him by the chin and pulling his gas masked face up close to hers. "My orders are to bring him alive, and as I was under the impression that I'm the boss here, I think it would serve you well to keep your opinions to yourself, hmm?"
She smiled in a sickly way, the gesture particularly disconcerting. Lust made a concentrated effort to behave herself and treat the people she worked with, with respect. She wasn't a monster... she just liked playing with them. Right now though...
She shoved him away from her callously, walking back over to the bound and unconscious man. She knelt before him, taking his chin in delicate manicured fingertips.
"Mmmm... I like this one," she mused, tilting his face this way and that so that she could get a good look. "Put him in the van, I'll ride in back to keep our guest... hospitable."
She gestured for the men to get to work, already strutting back towards the van herself.

[Arcane]

OOC: Hope is powered played a bit with Lykaios' permission. Let me know if I had her do anything out of character and I'll go right ahead and change it.

Michelle took care to sit perfectly straight as she sensed Miss Langford looking her over, analyzing her. If she was looking for weakness, she would find none if Michelle had any say in it. This internship was her lifeline, which meant, at the moment, it was the center of her existence. And that meant she had to answer this first question thoroughly, "The Incarnate War occurred 24 years ago. Two different groups, led by beings of extraordinary power, fought for control of the earth and destroyed each other, allowing humanity to thrive and continue existing in relative harmony. The war was a waste, too many lives lost. Too many survivors irreversibly tainted."

The Incarnates, Michelle thought, had hardly been kind to her family. Pictures flashed across her mind, of the uncle she'd never met, face stretched in a broad, friendly smile. Everyone had liked Rick, it was impossible not to like Rick. And then there'd been her father, her brave, ambitious, terrified father, who hadn't fought, but had lost his soul all the same. Too many lives, two too many lives, three. Because her mother had been lost too, had lost her kind smiles and her love of cookies and the man she'd agreed to devote her life to. So much waste.

Miss Langford, however, seemed determined to continue with the topic, to try to humanize those...things that had led the world into war. 25 years old, 25 years old, Michelle thought to herself. It was impossible to imagine a 25 year old man leading an army. They must have been something these Incarnates, Michelle realized with grudging respect. A shame they hadn't done something better with it, "I'm sorry he died, then. 25 is young to die. And I'd hardly call the human casualties minimized. I lost an uncle and a father to the war. If you're out to prevent another, I'm with you, all the way. Tell me what to do and it'll be done. Anything to avoid repeating the past."

Michelle stepped out of the car with confidence, although inside she was feeling less certain. It was a big job, preventing a war. But someone had to do it. And it might as well be her. At least she knew she would do it right. As she did, she stared discreetly at Miss Langford, or rather, Hope. An Incarnate. How was that even possible? Weren't they all dead? And what did one want with Michelle? Warring emotions broiled in her gut, the respect owed to one trying to prevent more death, and a bitter, long held anger at one of the ones who'd caused so much suffering, "Just one question, Miss Langford. Why me?"

The answer hit her in the gut. An Incarnate, her? It was impossible, beyond impossible. She was human, fully human, she told herself, looking down at neat, pale hands, ordinary hands, human hands. She wasn't an Incarnate. She couldn't be. She wasn't one of the monsters who had killed her uncle. Miss Langford didn't look much like a monster, but perhaps she merely hid it well. Or perhaps she wasn't one because she was Hope. Hope was a gentle, kind thing, and Michelle realized looking at its incarnate, she couldn't quite bring herself to hate, or even dislike, the other woman. But Michelle doubted if she'd be anything so pure, so good. No, she wasn't an Incarnate.

"I'm sorry, Miss Langford, but I believe you have the wrong person. I'm fully human, ordinary."

"We shall see," Hope offered with an enigmatic smile, "Now, I'll show you around the office, if you'll accept the position regardless."

Making a split second decision, Michelle nodded. Incarnate or not, she'd do her part. Otherwise, she'd have no one but herself to blame when the world went up in flames, "I'll do it."

As Hope led Michelle on a tour of the building, she took careful notes in her binder, picking up little bits and pieces and setting up a list for herself. Looking at it, Michelle frowned. It wasn't enough, not yet, so she'd have to keep gathering information. Knowledge was power and it would take a hell of a lot of power to keep the world from going up in flames.

MICHELLE'S NOTEBOOK

Incarnates Currently Found:

Godiva Langford- Hope-Some sort of empathetic gift or charisma, oldest, remembers last war, take care, might not be as harmless as she seems (If she's playing around with my emotions, I may have to rethink my decision not to hate her)
Anja Something-or-other- Lust- Unknown quantity, but even her name sounds gorgeous
Sean Michaelis- Wrath- Newest to the team, worth monitoring to observe progress of an Incarnate awakening

Humans
Brent- Driver- Seems polite, definitely a civilian, not worth worrying too much over, could have useful information on Hope, Lust and the current situation
Guards- They look at us funny, most of them, me and hope. It makes me uneasy. They seem to think I'm an Incarnate too. I wonder if they'll stand by us if someone decides to try and eliminate the root of the problem. Don't let your guard down.

[Renegade]

Markyss, after several hours, and even more cans of various energy drinks, had finally re-booted his computer. While he was in the CIA's systems earlier, he had managed to release a trojan virus into the system which installed a rootkit program that was keeping a hidden 'backdoor' open into the system. Though being the CIA, they would not take long to find it, and destroy it. Luckily they would never trace it back to him, he was far too clever for that.

Without much effort on his part, he was back in, and was again eagerly going through the data, like a fat kid through an ice-cream truck's menu. He found what he was looking for; the real data on the Incarnate War. Not the propaganda they dish up to the populace, but all of the details that they don't want known.

For an hour he sat there reading all that he could, until his phone rung. "Speak" he answered. "Yeah, I got the info you asked for."
He copied the data, and encrypted it, sending it via an e-mail. "I'm sending it now, under encryption code two-three-seven-Delta-nine-four."
~~~~~~
"What do you mean, 'what took so long'?" he said over the phone, his voice lined with frustration. The damn Lucifer's Sons sent more assholes after me - you are not my only client, y'know!"
~~~~~~
Markyss laughed as the caller made a joke about the gang. "Yeah, it is a bit, isn't it?
~~~~~~
"There are thirty-five that fit profiling and are under surveillance, though nothing concrete just yet."
~~~~~~
"No, there is no information on his whereabouts at all, I will keep you updated though, alright? I expect full payment by the way, this was harder than I anticipated." With that he hung up the phone and continued to look at the data. Of course now he was out of the system, and had all the data on his local drives for easy access. It was all old hat to him by now, which is why he was so callous about all this information, was not uncommon for people to want information on the Incarnate Wars

As he sifted through the information he spotted something interesting, something familiar. His name... He was listed as one of the thirty-five who fit the 'profile'.

He managed to remain calm, with the confidence that his security measures were good enough that he was sure he was not being watched, he would not have been able to get into the CIA's systems so easily if they were watching him, at least that is what he told himself, as he finally fell asleep.

[Elario Luminus]

Clayton snorted as he woke up bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Yawning widely, he stretched his shoulders as he rose from his chair and looked through the window to the streets below. No longer bathed in the warmth of the sun, the city looked sinister, corrupted; an image that Clayton revelled in. He treated California's populace like his own buffet dinner, taking what he wanted, when he wanted it, without a hiccup.

Usually.

Sighing about the previous mornings debacle, he walked through the living area to the study. With its dark red walls, lacquered jarrah desk and Italian leather desk chair, it looked like it belonged to someone placed in the higher classes of society, not like it belonged to someone who'd stolen his way to the top.
Flopping down into the chair, Clayton began searching for anything high profile. Most, if not all, large companies moved high-grade equipment under the cover of darkness, both a flawed and ingenious idea at the same time.
Stopping to smell the cyber roses, he accidentally came across a discreetly made order for a prototype motorcycle. Eyes shining at the thought, Clayton dug deeper.

"...the X-13 Blayde is a state of the art motorcycle, optimised for fast movement and sharp corners. Coated in a refractive black paint, it has hidden compartments for all standardised military equipment; rifles, sidearms, radio, etc.. The paint is lead based, and is made perfectly to avoid radar, sound and heat detection. It runs on a Class-I plasma coil, giving it unlimited energy and fuel. Initial tests have given it semi-active camouflage..."

Seeing an image attached to the file, Clayton eagerly clicked on it. The subsequent image made him almost yell out in excitement. It was a sleek sports bike in design, and he wanted it. Badly. A little deeper, he found its shipping starting point and designation and set about collecting his things.

In an hour, Clayton was dressed and equipped; loose black cargos, black runners, a fitted black tank top beneath a black hoodie, and a face mask that covered his mouth and nose. His equipment, all stashed away into a duffel bag hanging loosely off his shoulder, sat nicely. Rope, harnesses, crossbow and bolts, and a single long dagger. Checking everything was as it should be, Clayton activated his security alarm with a five second timer. Hearing it beep once to announce one second gone by, he hurried to a window that overlooked an alleyway next to his building and clicked the lock open. Climbing through onto the plumbing that spidered up the outside wall, he locked the window again and pushed it closed. Setting his feet firmly on the piping, Clayton began scaling the wall at speed, his destination being so far away with so little time to get there.

((Bike is Cloud's Fenrir.))