The weight of the bunker, as well as the words ‘I do’ had even Thora paused in her seething anger. Something was very wrong. She noticed for the first time an individual that had not been there previously: A numeric ‘13’ etched onto his body. Despite all of Thora’s brash attitude or brazen disrespect, she knew that the number 13 would spell more than a little bad luck if she tried anything. 

In her mind, she was trying to figure out the best plan of attack: All she needed to do was get a hold of that Coffin or something and she could fill the Asylum’s entire body with electricity. Even if he was number thirteen, lower numbers didn’t mark you as stronger until you got to the Chrono’s themselves.

Then the actual Chrono appeared, right beside herself and Bjorn in fact.

Seeing the small child, as well as the all-important number etched on his flesh, forced all aggression to melt out from Thora’s frame and be replaced with a new, almost awe-struck wonder. This was one of the twelve: The pinnacle of alchemy, the honour that each Asylum was to strive for and the authority on which Thora was conditioned to bow. Of the few things that the Thunderous one respected, it was the authority of a superior that trumped her pride. That number on her skin made Angel her superior, both in rank and in achievement.

Bjorn, on the other-hand, was just freaked out by all that was going on. Had the other entire asylum been brought in just to complicate their mission? First this kid chasing an Asian girl caused trouble, and then there was the guy whose sole contribution thus far was to get slammed into a wall by aforementioned Asian girl and a blonde haired kid who exploded and appeared to be deaf. Now there was a Chrono and her partner, and Bjorn was struck in a position of rather obvious defeat, without making a mistake. To say that the Man-bear was frustrated was an understatement: his entire body seemed tense and the muscles of his forearm bulged under the strain of tightly bunched fists. 

The small story of the lost numbers was barely registered in the haze of frustration, but it was the mention of the Lizard that had Bjorn paying attention again. Soul-Cloaking? It sounded like such a bizarre concept: To be able to hide not only the physical form, but scent and heartbeat and more besides? That would mean the only way to catch a man like that would be to feel him, likely a death sentence, as any assassin worth his shoes could kill a person touching them. The Chrono didn’t even have to say it before Bjorn understood what she was getting at. It was the same fear he’d been struggling with prior to their mission’s beginning. This was meant to be their last mission, one way or the other.

For Thora, it took the Chorno saying it to realise the truth. Hearing that she was considered ‘disposable’ without so much as a single failure to her name was a heavy blow. A soldier was trained to be ready to die, for sure, but to die for doing the exact orders given?

The desolate confusion was interrupted by the appearance of a strange man, taller than her but shorter than Bjorn. The sudden way he appeared, hunched over and staring at her, forced a little yelp of surprise and a leap backwards, but after a second, she realised just what was going on. The pervy bastard had been…staring at her breasts?!

He began answering a question, ignoring her completely, despite how long he’d been spending: disrespecting her. She knew that this man was a representative of A.R.M.O. but she snapped. A fist shot through the air, muscles flexing as she threw a right hook that would shame most professional boxers. He dodged it effortlessly, of course, but that didn’t stop her second fist starting to move: this one crackling with electricity. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Thora was going for another swing.

A loud bang filled the bunker suddenly, as Bjorn was beside his sister, an open palm next to her left ear. She froze in her place, before collapsing into a state of pure unconscious-ness. Bjorn caught his sibling in one hand, hefting her onto his shoulder with an effortless ease. He knew that the Lizard could have killed them both already: and that if pressed, he still could. Thora was too hot-headed to evaluate the situation, and the two of them would lose in this situation. [i]Next time though, I’ll wring his neck myself.[/i] The Viking-looking asylum hid the contempt in his eyes as best he could: not willing to give the Lizard any more information than he needed about Bjorn’s intent. He had already realised that it was probably his powers that best suited tackling the Lizard’s own: If one were able to strike from the Soul-camouflage, that meant they still maintained a physical form. That meant he had a solution, should Bjorn ever be the Lizard’s target. He chose not to react when the lizard vanished, except to swing his maul in a small circle around him. The fucker wouldn’t get away with peeking at his sister again.

Listening to the Chrono and the Asylum attached, Bjorn had already made his decision. He hadn’t trusted the A.R.M.O for long enough that jumping ship didn’t present a particularly hard decision for him. He was about to speak when the Chrono herself changed entirely: becoming entirely child-like. [i]”Multiple-personality disorder?”[/i] He listened to her words, able to identify that she still retained the knowledge of her other half. The choice was as black and white as she made it. Cake or death, if you will.

“I’ll take desert. Bullets have me reacting in all sorts of bad ways.”