[center][h3]Loom: Midtown Swait District[/h3]
[i]Day 2, Evening, 2254[/i]
Roanne[/center]

She was guided by a thread—the steady but invisible kind. In the sun it was a flicker, the shadow of a line cast by no particular object. In the dark it was like the slightest shimmer of a spider's webbing. When she focused on it, she could almost see it, piercing through buildings and street lamps as it led  ever onward. Underneath her goggles, her brow was furrowed, honey-olive eyes unblinking as she glided over streets and alleys. Most humans would have imagined an angel's flight as being more graceful—her wings didn't glide through the air so much as grasp at it, feathers clawing at the sky as if they would drag it down along with the weight of her body.

Low altitude flying was annoying like that. She didn't stop flapping until she could veer around in a stoop, diving like a falcon for its prey, and that didn't come until the right moment. She had to wait until she sensed she was close, and by that time sweat was already beading her brow before it was whipped away by the wind. The red-brown of her hair followed her head like a flag at wartime, the rest of her body a blur as it passed, a burnished shadow over the street lights and cars.

[i]There.[/i] Her lungs sucked in air as she suddenly launched herself upward, whistling up past the rooftops of seven-story buildings. She stayed there a moment, a shadow against the backdrop of stars as she tried to make sense of the maze of alleys below her. A cat licking itself as it lounged on a dumpster lid, a lamp flickering beneath a dark, curtained window, the slap-shut of a door as a shock of blonde hair disappeared into a car—no, [i]there! [/i]

One girl, three guys, the former running away from the latter. Roanne only needed to see the silhouette of the frantic figure before she knew beyond a doubt the girl was the charge who'd summoned her through one of her wards. Her body whipped into motion again, her wings circling and gathering height as she prepared for her intervention. 

Bird watchers and hunters had the pleasure of wondering at birds of prey, how the creatures somehow figured out the perfect diving angle, acceleration, and distance in the split seconds they had before committing to a stoop. Even Roanne didn't fully understand it, her wings sharpening into 'v's by instinct as she turned in the air and began her descent. Like an arrow, her arms and legs tightened together, her eyes boring into the scene below as she approached at rapid speed. Nothing moved as fast as she did in that moment, the arms and legs of her targets blurring as one particular item came into utter focus—one boy's gray hoodie. She barely heard his scream as he was forcibly yanked from the ground, the wind whistling sharply in her ears as she whistled through the narrow space between two buildings.

Her wings flapped furiously, gaining altitude rapidly before she turned around again. The remaining two boys had stopped and immediately started running backwards, but their sudden sense of danger was much too late. With her victim still kicking and screaming beneath the thick fabric in her hands, she grinned and promptly propelled herself forward into another stoop. Another dive took her into the alleyway again, but this time she dropped her victim at just as she was several feet above their heads, sending him flying into his fleeing friends with an ugly snap and a thud. 

Rather than flying upward again, she flapped against her own momentum, stopping mid-air before dropping onto the pavement several yards in front of the toppled boys. As she turned around to face them, the stiff white of her wings seemed to fade before disappearing completely. Her mouth opened in a smile, about to say something before she was interrupted by gunfire. 

[i]Pling![/i] The bullet meant for Roanne's face bounced off her arm instead. By the time she lowered it and glanced at her would-be killer, her heart stopped in icy shock. It wasn't some other thug shooting at her—it was the [i]girl![/i]

“The Hell is wrong with—” Another [i]pling[/i] interrupted Roanne as a bullet bounced off her chest. She glared at the little ingrate as she stepped forward, unsheathing her blade. Just like that, the bond she'd felt guiding her to the nasty creature dissipated. Somehow, the girl had summoned her and given some air of danger when it was, in fact, her who turned out to be the threat.

And yes, that nasty creature was grinning, her youthful face wicked as a devil's. She had delicate brown curves tumbling down to her shoulders, the length of her tan arms exposed by a blue tank-top. More importantly, she had a gun pointed in Roanne's direction, and it popped again as a bullet came buzzing toward the angel.

“That [i]is it![/i]” Roanne roared as she came charging forward. Bizarrely, the girl didn't move the inch, just smiling and firing as the distance closed between them. Finally, Roanne was within a few feet, so close to striking distance when the girl suddenly just... changed.

The flesh of her face twisted and stretched in all of a second, expanding several times its former height as hair and lips and eyes disappeared. Two enormous black bulges began to emerge from the would-be head instead, fangs hissing outward as they popped out just below the bulges. Tan skin peeled away with a sickly pop, four long, spider-like legs flailing out from the girl's quickly disappearing torso. Before Roanne could even process what was happening, the thing shrieked, the equivalent of at least ten squeaky chalkboards being scraped at the same time—if they were attached to a cranked up amplifier. 

Wincing as her ears rang, Roanne still managed to lunge forward and plunge her blade into the demon. At the same time, something cold and sharp stabbed into her side. She gasped, eyes wide as she stared into the empty depth of the demon's slimy face. As much as she didn't want to look, she had to, and sure enough, there it was—the demon's sharp, stinger-like leg slipped up into her side.

[i]Stay calm, stay calm, just a flesh wound![/i] Roanne sucked in a breath, trying to think past the pain needling through her nerves and directly into her brain. How had the damn thing's claw pierced the angelic mail under her shirt? If it was hard enough to do that, there was no way she'd be able to cut it off...

“Go back to Hell!” Screaming, Roanne ignored the hot wetness starting to soak her side. Her blade slid out from the demon's chest with a sickening pop before she jabbed it in again, this time slipping the blade into the wicket thing's mouth. Having already been all but dead, it shuddered once before spitting out a splatter of dark, thick blood across her face.

The angel cussed, using the pommel of her sword to bash the leg stuck in her side from its joint. It took a few cracks, another icky splurt, and then she was free to stumble back. Sucking air in through her teeth, she pulled out a slick black phone from her pocket and speed-dialed the only person she knew who'd help her clean up without any questions.