[u][i][b]Rockin, Shannon, Vaughtar, Winston, Zesiro[/b][/i][/u]
[[@Arty Fox][@Fetzen][@RokkuHoshi]]
 
Zesiro hung back, crossing his arms and walked to the large glass window that looked out into the dark and open ocean. He watched the wildlife outside as if he were quite bored and had no care for what the otherworlders in the room were doing. Winston would chuckle and write on his clipboard, shaking his head with a smile. Zesiro, every so often, would glance over when shannon spoke, but then turn back to the sea with his usual apathetic expression.
 
The door to the room opened, and Hirsch stepped in. The others might notice that he had been fully re-equipped. He was wearing an interesting bit of armor, it looked like it had once been old plate armor that had been scrapped and refashioned into something more modern, then crudely painted black. He didn’t say anything upon entering, ignoring the current chit-chat happening within the room, and walked over to the ocean-window, where Zesiro happened to be standing. 
 
Zesiro didn’t look up at first, then rolled his eyes and glanced over at the military man. 
 
“Nice weather we’re having, eh? Ah… Why are you wearing that--?”
 
As Zesiro spoke, Hirsch had slipped on a metal helmet that matched the armor. There were glass lenses over the eyes, but they had been painted black as well, it obscured his expression completely. Then then he clenched his right hand into a fist…
 
Then he punched the glass. 
 
The glass cracked. 
 
This glass, made with advanced engineering and magic, should not have been susceptible to any mere mortal’s strength. How did Hirsch do it? Maybe the strange glowing red smoke seeping out of the cracks in the gauntlets was an indication of foul magic at play...
 
Hirsch pulled his arm back for a second blow on the glass. Zesiro was the closest and grabbed Hirsche with both hands on his shoulder. “What the FUCK man I--”
 
Hirsch reacted, snaking one his arm around Zesiro’s, then with a sudden jerk, dislocated the boy’s arm from his socket. With a second quick sharp movement, everyone in the room could hear the bone break. Still clutching Zesiro’s broken arm with one hand, Hirsch punched Zesiro in the stomach with the other… Once… Twice… The third time his fist broke through the torso. Red smoke pouring out of the armor now, as if invigorated by the violence it conducted. 
 
He them tossed the crumpled limp body of Zesiro aside as if it were a doll. The blackened lenses of the helmet turned back to the glass wall. He drew back his fist for a second punch… He was trying to break through the glass…