[center][h2][color=cyan]Sander Lorraine[/color][/h2]
[img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][/center]

Sander let himself immerse in thoughts the entire ride. The conversation went on around him, his teammates exchanging information and strategies. He didn’t chime in though, and only spoke unless spoken to. The importance of sharing information was clear to him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to speak frankly about his particular power. He was still ready to answer if asked, but thankfully, no one in the small group did. Maybe it was because they didn’t care to know. Or maybe they believed the Director’s explanation was sufficient. Either way, he felt somewhat relieved. They would find out, eventually, but at least let them do that in the heat of battle, when the blood blurred his shame and fear. 

The prospect of battle unnerved him quite a bit, despite the fact that unlike many, he did have the opportunity to explore various applications of his power in practical fights before. Sander was no stranger to violence and combat; he was not allowed to be. But battles with clear objectives were new to him. He had never fought officially before, the line between enemies and allies had never been so clear. One slip up, and he could end up killing the wrong person. Or he could snap. They would no doubt put him out of his misery like the rabid dog he became. The gloomy scenes played on repeat in his head, and he fought to rein in the urge to slam his fists against the closest surface. He knew enough not to break his hands before a fight. Or during said fight, for that matter.

By the time their ride skidded to a stop, the sounds of combat were no longer just a distant hum. His throat felt dry as he shallowed, but he knew it was not fear that picked up the pace of his heart. The addict in him stirred at the promise of upcoming conflict. Violence was his freedom; only in the midst of it did he feel truly liberated. It disgusted him, to be reduced to just a weapon in the arsenal, but what could he really do? He had never been brave or strong enough. He probably never will. 

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he heard screaming. His brows furrowed, but he chose to instead look straight forward, eyes locked on their assigned targets. Someone could be hurt in that direction, and he didn’t want to risk a glimpse. He had already seen enough gore to last a life time. Or maybe several. However, he couldn’t really say he was prepared for the monstrosities that lumbered across the field. They were nightmarish things, either body parts crudely cobbled together or twisted creatures borrowed from fairy tales. He had seen similar things on the TV in his younger years, but that couldn’t even compare to the live experience. The first thing he did was turn to his teammates. Unlike him, it seemed most of them didn’t need peculiar requirements to active their powers. They sprung into actions, while he stayed behind with Kusari, both of them situated near the truck. 

Sander pondered his words. Asking for blood was not something he was terribly comfortable with, even with the threats of violent deaths looming. Fortunately, Kusari made it easy. He barely saw the flash of metal before the alluring scent filled his nostrils and her arm was dripping red. Instinctively, he held back, just for a fraction of a second. Just because he could. Just because he always had. Then he nudged himself forward, plunging willingly into the depth. No return now. 

Contrary to popular beliefs, he didn’t like the taste of blood. It was not too different from what most people would expect: wet, tangy and metallic. It was far from appetizing. What he found irresistible though, was the aftereffect. First, there were the thuds of his heart. Warmth spread outward; the sensation akin to taking a dip in hot water. His mind cleared, his thoughts crisp and his senses sharpened. It was as if he had been sleeping all his life. The sensation only strengthened over time, and he found it difficult to let go. He didn’t have to, really. Kusari couldn’t die. She told him. So it was fine if he pushed the limit, just a little bit. It was alright. Somewhere, a gun went off. Minutes later, something nicked his arms and back. It ached, but he didn’t care. He was sinking. 

Sharp pain flared up on his right arm. Sander staggered backward, his jaws went slack to let a cry of pain escaped. Kusari stabbed him. It hurt. But she didn’t plug the blade anywhere important. He didn’t need to worry. She was weakened, if he just pressed his fingers into that spot, right there, on her neck, she shouldn’t resist much longer. But…he couldn’t. No. Sander blinked dumbly, stepping away from the girl immediately. Wrong target. Wrong. Move. 

Sander turned and dashed. It didn’t take long for him to reach the front line. He didn’t have long anyway. Moments ago, the blood was warming him up. Now it burnt star bright and white hot, and he needed to move, to tear into something before the fire turned him into ashes. Allies stood before him, their backs turned, their scent wafted toward him. He would have little problem. 

Sander turned his gaze toward the large targets. He focused on them and waited. The fire was building and so was his strength. It wouldn’t be long. He saw the girl with transparent arms move first. Blood splattered. None of it his. He held on just for a few moments afterward, then launched himself at the biggest thing. It wasn’t hard, with the new strength in his limbs. As he approached his target, he leapt and pulled his right arm back, ready to deliver a crushing blow. There was no finesse in his movements, just violence propelled by brute strength. One monster against another.