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[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ifVwAOx.png[/img][/center][hr][center][color=silver]𝕎𝕖𝕕: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   ℕ𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕒   / /   𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥   / /  ~𝟘𝟞𝟛𝟘[/color][/center][hr]
There was a safehouse for the remaining Amigos in one of the many storage buildings of the Oak Island Fishing Charters, the location set up prior to their deployment. They abandoned the ferry near the waterway intersection at Pinner Point and walked from there, Nathaniel carrying the mutilated Angel in a large duffel bag they found on the ferry that had once carried various fishing tools and basic supplies. He was countering the otherwise unwieldy weight with his telekinesis, recovered just slightly from the effects of Teitel’s weapons. Once the power had finally released after the tidal wave, Nathaniel had dropped unconscious and at the mercy of his fellow gang members who, to his surprise, did not slit his throat then and there. Perhaps because they realized without him they had no real firepower.

He had awoken inside the ferry’s only cabin, beside the unconscious girl’s upper body. No words had been exchanged then, but he knew an owed favor when he saw one. Thi had worked her surgical magic once more and now he was running on an overdose of adrenaline and heightened senses. Just enough to reach the safe house awake and without needing support to walk.

It was unfortunate for the girl, who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time while they had secondary orders as well. But fortunate for them. Whatever else they failed to do, this alternative mission required one of Zhang’s pets brought back alive, even if barely living was all they could manage.

And it had all worked out, more or less, and the slow crunching of gravel underneath his boots kept him focused and awake on the end fringes of his stamina, their chosen path hooking and weaving through many abandoned charter stations until they reached a large, wooden building, no different from the rest of the drab and dreary types lining the waterway. But it was the safehouse. A place to wait for a long-range teleporter to come get them. Or for more conventional methods of travel, if one couldn’t spare the time.

A different group had been there first to supply them with sleeping rolls and basic nonperishables hidden in cardboard boxes along the wall. Small flashlights and a first-aid kit lay under a ragged tarp in the corner, along with various sets of warm clothes that loosely fit them and would have been far too large for someone like Isabelle or Chuck. Moth-eaten sofas lay scattered around the room, their presence from decades past.

Nathaniel’s thoughts refused to linger on the lost teammates, focusing instead on the partial human inside his bag. 

[color f7976a]”Thi, fix her—just enough.”[/color] He threw the bag near the woman’s feet, dropping into a nearby sofa that coughed up a plume of dust in response to his presence. He pushed the particles away in a spray of telekinetic irritation, laying down to gather as much rest as he could while Thi set to work revamping the functions of Angel’s organs and tapping into the body’s reserve storage of energy, stimulating usage of the girl’s fat during their wait period while numbing her nerves and sense of hunger. She triggered the body’s natural sedatives, too, finishing for the moment with a perfect, but ghastly suture across the vertical of the torso, the line nestled between the amputated breasts.

No teleporter came for them that time. Instead a lone van drove up several hours later and parked by the near roadside while the hooded men in nondescript clothing that all covered their necks stepped out and knocked carefully on the door of the storage house. Thi answered first, scalpels in hand and her frightening glove of needle-like feelers prepared to tear through the throats of any enemies. But the gesture of running a finger from the center of their forehead to the tip of their nose was enough to identify whose loyalties were present.

Ian stopped playing with the bits of sand and dirt in the room, the swirling miniature sandstorm falling away as he shook Nathaniel awake and picked up Angel by the handle that Thi had carved and attached onto the girl’s upper back from sections of hip bone.

Unaccustomed to Thi’s methods, their transport stared at the limbless girl until a weary and cranky Nathaniel shoved past them to the car. It was time to deliver at last and he was ready to be done with the half-botched mission.

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ifVwAOx.png[/img][/center][hr][center][color=silver]𝕎𝕖𝕕: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘   / /   𝔹𝕒𝕝𝕕 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕀𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕   / /   ℤ𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘'𝕤 𝔼𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕖   / /  ~𝟙𝟘𝟛𝟘[/color][/center][hr]
The island suffered its share of harried activity in the aftermath with Margot’s various copies scouring every corner of the small landspace for more enemies and finding only a skulking Aubrey in his quite literal man cave within the underground tunnels of the island. Chuck, meanwhile, had been handily cuffed with enough suppressors to render him little more than a late teenage boy who had made some awful decisions. He was packed into a separate helicopter by three Margots while another attached a new cuff to Kusari’s neck, the silver band with its translucent coating sealing together seamlessly—an upgraded version from their original cuffs.

[color f7976a]”Not sure what happened, but I’m gonna take a while guess and say you’re probably not looking to lose your head any time soon.”[/color]

True to her word, the mercenary had notified Zhang the moment she received Zoe’s information, one of her many selves relaying the news once a good connection was established. Silence had met her on the other end and then a termination of the message channel. It would have been easy chalking it all up to the woman being a royal bitch but Margot knew better. It more more likely that Zhang was in a panic and coping with it the only way the woman knew how—by tackling every task as efficiently and robotically as possible until she found a way to settle events within her reasonable control again.

While preparations and restoration went on, Margot’s personal squad took up defensive positions around the estate and her own replicas ushered the two groups of students onto one of the helicopters.

The flight was muffled within the helicopter’s cabin and the trip clocked in a little over three hours of flight with a brief refueling stop while clouds and open land slid past the view below them. Crimen Culpae 1 came into view as the helicopter neared its final destination. Dipping lower, signs of a battle on the school’s grounds became immediately apparent with central buildings still in the process of slow, magical reconstruction while outcroppings of shattered edifices relied on more mundane means of contractors and scaffolding. Large piles of debris had been carefully swept off the Institute grounds while a distant, gargantuan Miranda slowly prowled the city outskirts, movements so slow that continuous viewing could barely discern any progress.

The school’s central buildings remained intact and a worried Rosa stood near the helicopter landing pad situated on the roof of a research building, waiting to see the state of the students. Before they even landed, however, she was already leaving, a call on her phone sending her sprinting to the nearest elevator. She managed a quick wave at the approaching helicopter, but nothing more. 

On landing the Institute’s soldiers resumed their careful chaperoning, nudging the students into the main hallway and down a different elevator, before leading them out of the building’s lobby and setting them loose with a quick gesture to leave.

A researcher in a blue lab coat with her blonde hair twisted into a loose bun behind her head passed by the group on their way out and looked at them oddly, but resumed her business after a glare from one of the soldiers, hurrying into the building to get out of sight.

Aside from the small encounter and the remnants of devastation surrounding them, they were, apparently, home sweet home.

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ifVwAOx.png[/img][/center][hr][center][color=silver]??????   / /   ??????   / /   ??????   / /  ??????[/color][/center][hr]
[color f7976a]”…makes them special?”[/color]

[color f7976a]”…possible to…and repurpose for…”[/color]

[color f7976a]”—not sure this is related to—”[/color]

[color f7976a]”Washington’s attack wasn’t Fracture’s plan either—”[/color]

[color f7976a]”Do you think Dreamcatcher…notice that…”[/color]

[color f7976a]”…is it awake?”[/color]

Snippets of conversation in unfamiliar voices faded in and out for Angel, lost in a haze of drugs and supernatural surgery, until she awoke limbless and artfully attached by metallic spokes to a freestanding cube frame of iron and steel isolated in a windowless cement room that, with all the protruding pipelines, looked like the basement of some commercial building. Four metal poles extended diagonally inward from the box’s four edges, suspending the amputated torso in the center. At the junction of flesh and steel, the surgeon had grafted bone to metal, making the grotesque framework effectively a part of the girl now. She was naked, though there was little left to see. Breasts had been replaced with more metal girding holding her in place, smaller rungs of iron fastened tightly to her exposed ribcage, the skin and flesh above each incision removed in perfect circles.

What remained of her lower body had been entirely redefined, a large portion of her innards easily visible with metal waste tubes extending from her truncated intestines and draining into an accessible sewer line nearby, the end of the tube bolted into place against the larger pipe. A large container of clear liquid siphoned nutrients and hydration into the partial body, the thin, flexible lines of rubber inserted directly into her stomach and feeding her directly. Other hollow threads redirected excretions from the kidneys into the same waste tube and further threads kept the intestines neatly packed under her ribs. 

The room was empty when she woke up. A single bulb of light on the ceiling provided sufficient illumination, but there was no mistaking what had become of her body. As if in cruel jest, a tall mirror had been placed on the wall across from her, the polished look of it out of place in the dismal room.

And if she screamed, she would hear no sound.

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[hider=OOC Notes]

One IC week of interaction time. Have fun with that. IC time ends 14 October 2020 at 0500.
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