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Teleportation was never a pleasant feeling. It was convenient for traveling across the rather expansive city, but it felt wrong. Olivia landed on the rooftop, feeling sick to her stomach. Luckily, that issue was resolved for her fairly quickly, thanks to Guardian's helping hand. Olivia took a deep breath and entered the building, her skin and clothing fading away into nothingness. 

Inside the building was a large apartment complex, whose structure could clearly be seen as money-saving and efficient. Wooden doors lined the narrow corridor. On the cheap carpeting (perhaps from the Patron Saints warehouse?) were several bodies, charred, and one that looked peppered with shotgun shells. Olivia faded back into view, kneeling down next to one of the corpses and inspecting it. 

"Somebody was here and dealt with this problem themselves. Probably not one of us." She stood. "Judging by the fact that we aren't being devoured whole by a swarm of gangsters, either this entire place is evacuated or they've holed themselves into one room. We cleaning up this problem?" 

[@Silvan Haven]

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Deep underneath the sidewalks of Red Harbor, Lance stood in a frigid room, a room that was many times colder than the frigid outdoors. The icy white room was lined with air conditioners of varying quality. Lance stood in the center of the room, wearing a comfortable two-piece suit, black, and holding a pair of bloody pliers. Lance was joined by a heavily-tattooed man, tied to a chair, in the cell. Lance placed the pliers down on a nearby table that also contained several models of acid and a half-finished cup of rum. Lance looked back at his captive. "I'll give you a few moments to think about what you said. I'll be back for you, don't you worry."

Lance exited the room and walked up the metal stairs that led to the warehouse. Swinging open the metal door, he was very surprised to find two others individuals joining him in the secret base. Regaining his composure suddenly and quickly, he reached down to his belt and pulled out a small black Glock, levering it at the intruders.

“You have 10 fucking seconds to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here before I use your blood to dye these carpets,” the half-drunk man growled, his gun hand vibrating gently.” 

[@Krayzikk] [@Amaranth]
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