[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/ktlhhm5.png[/img][/center] Curfew ended at 5AM. Which meant that, past 5AM, he was free to do whatever he wanted. If he woke up at 5AM in the morning and spent half an hour before and after to prepare and then rest up, he still had an excess of three hours before classes. And because his priorities was on attaining ‘skills’, he didn’t need to rest his body nearly as much. Callan, Sander, and Chris can become physical gods if they wanted. He needed skill. And that’s why he was awake at 6 in the morning, vicious rain whipping against the dark blue jumpsuit that covered his body entirely. A transparent, perfectly spherical bubble kept the rain off his face, the rain sliding right off the non-existent material, while, within that bubble, futuristic shades covered his amethyst eyes, filtering out the rain from his vision and turning ‘living’ beings into blobs of color. An overclocked raincoat, keeping him dry, warm, and undeterred by the rain. Overclocked infrared night vision goggles, allowing him to find targets even within all this visual ‘noise’. And… A magenta beam flashed through the torrential downpour, piercing through a concrete wall before spiralling into the right leg of a colored blob. It exited out the other end before the blob fell over, squirming. In this weather, at such a distance, Brent couldn’t hear the response at all. Which was fine with him. This was just target practice, with a Desert Eagle overclocked towards accuracy. Legs, arms, chest, head. If he couldn’t pick off six different targets from a more or less standstill target at this range, that was pathetic. Right. This wasn’t a ‘success’. This was not yet ‘winning’. This was just a rehearsal, for when such accuracy actually mattered. He breathed out, his breath fogging the bubble momentarily. His fingers, the only parts of his body not covered by the raincoat, were chilled to the bone, but still, Brent leveled his aim towards the next targets within his vision, wandering aimlessly about within buildings. Their heat signatures disappeared as they crossed inbetween each window, but that was fine. He could still extrapolate their movements, still predict where their limbs will be swinging. More shots split the rain. Some missed entirely. Others missed their mark. A few hit. Rain steamed off the overheated firearm, and Brent lowered it, releasing a deep breath. It was enough for now. He could hardly feel his hands, and his accuracy was dropping with each shot due to that numbness. Still not at the point where he could decisively end a fight with a cracked head. The stainless steel hand cannon was holstered and he pulled out his machete, just in time to hear a voice call out from behind. Ah. Guards once more. Holding umbrellas that certainly didn’t prevent them from being drenched in the rain. One gestured towards the blade with his gun, and Brent sighed, sheathing it. [color=B0C4DE]“Sorry guys. I would have come over if you just messaged me, you know?”[/color] No response, as always. Wouldn’t hurt if they showed a little more personality, really. [color=B0C4DE] “Well, whatever. Just lead the way I guess? I’ll hold the umbrella too. Keep us all…oh, right, you’re already wet, so it doesn’t matter.”[/color] A bit too much? Brent laughed at his own jab anyways, before they started prodding him with their guns. Yeah, maybe next time, he should bring a thermos of hot chocolate with him. Give these peeps something to be cheered up about. Maybe. [hr] There was nothing to be happy about. Of course this was what they were brought in for, instead of having it be announced during morning classes. The blurred image of a monstrosity of gears and cogs, nuts and bolts. The announcement that this was a category three threat, something that was just as, if not more powerful, than the golem that Shane had turned into powder during a time that seemed so long ago. Except this one [i]created[/i] more monsters, spewing them out like a demented factory. A subnatural that had fallen so far, that hated this world so much, that it became a monster instead. A clockwork titan that served as the fortress of the subnatural. The strikers should be strong enough to tear through such a frame. An army of inorganic beasts. Unless something had changed, Hazel should be more than capable of cleaving through them all by herself. A town turned to smithereens. Most likely, it was the supporters, the ones that had to help with evacuation while not possessing much offensive ability, that had their work cut out for them. He was in a duo with Gregory, the ‘healer’ with that curious projectile ability. [color=B0C4DE]“Long range support meant to assist both supporters and strikers,”[/color] Brent muttered, slowly internalizing the information. His hand, still cold to the touch, went for his gun once more, stroking the hefty grip. It wasn’t comforting at all, but it was still…what? An object that promised some degree of protection? An object that promised to make him ‘useful’ because he wasn’t useful by himself? Hah. This was going to be [i]fun[/i]. A meaningless smile formed as the meeting was adjourned and everyone was lead to the cafeteria. His head was already spinning, already thinking, spitballing all sorts of ideas. Sophia to track down where exactly that subnatural was within that clockwork giant, if they were there at all. Hazel to turn into the ultimate shield, leading Allison over to the point that Sophia detected. And from there? All Allison would need to do is graze that subnatural with her own sword, and all those creations should disappear. It would take time for that subnatural to regenerate that massive army. Enough time for the strikers to descend and turn that bastard into paste. Then, unexpectedly, Brent recalled what had happened last time he thought of a ‘good’ plan. How quickly everything fell apart. How much harder everything was compared to the simulated ‘best’ scenario. How ultimately, he [i]lost[/i]. How he [i]failed[/i] them all. … Didn’t mean he had to be a bitch and give up just because of that, right? Lean meats and fruity salads found their way onto his tray, filling it up halfway before Brent decided he wasn’t all that hungry yet. Spotting his extraverted kickboxing instructor, the Arbiter was about to call out to her, maybe make some joke about how she must still be sleepy if she wasn’t going about tracking down her team members and discussing strategy, before stopping. Right, they could die before the day ends, huh? He settled for sitting at the same table and shooting Angelic a small smile. [color=B0C4DE]“Morning.”[/color] He wouldn’t push it if she wanted the conversation to die there.