[h3][center]Naoko's Apartment[/center][/h3]
[center][@ERode] [@DrowsyPangolin][/center]

[b]"Huh? Yeah, no problem,"[/b] His response was almost automatic, drawing him back from the shellshocked expression he listened to their mission statement with. Feed a dog? He could do that. In truth he simply wasn't sure what to believe any more, other than the fact that both of them seemed uncannily honest with their reply. Doubt eased away almost as quickly as it had welled back up and he gave an unsteady thumbs up back to the protectors of truth and justice. While they were getting ready to go change the world or something he hopped over to a wall, steadying himself and taking the weight off with a hand to the drywall instead of a dust covered shoulder. Wine, pizza, Netflix, it wasn't an exact reenactment of his retirement plan once he remembered the bullet hole in his leg and the alcohol by volume of the drink in question but one could fix the other, really. He got to work on that as everyone else seemed to be content with just chugging the most delicate wine he'd ever tasted in all his years of supermarket shopping. But he couldn't just evaporate in another glass, now wasn't the time to shrink away and stop thinking.

[b]"Well stay safe then. Thanks for... everything, again."[/b]

It was an odd kind of sentiment that engulfed him. They had saved his life. They were now putting on their best Hotline Miami cosplay and getting ready to go rolling. Oh, like street level superheroes. Maybe it all made sense after all. He committed himself to staying active and lucid, after pouring another glass of course. He hobbled to the table, kneeling where the other stranger had to look in on the golden retriever and his den. Brushing off his hand on his ruined suit he offered it out to the dog, slowly trying to make his presence familiar. [b]"Alright buddy, let's find you some chow."[/b]

Whatever was going on outside was in good hands, at least.


[h3][center]Franz Burine [color=6ecff6]Plaza[/color][/center][/h3]
[center][@LukasVolkov] [@King Cosmos][/center]

Intercepted before she even got through. Before Assassin could reach the doors of the hotel what hadn't already broken under gunfire exploded outwards again. The metal framework sang shrill into the night as it bent out of place, a sparkling cloud of diamond dust surrounding the hulking beast that broke through in eerie radiance. Even as mere movement tore the land around it to sunders the noises of the carnage became quiet beneath the Berserker's warcry. Assassin grit her teeth. The foe that had appeared before her left little chance for speculation. This was a mad warrior, the Berserker Servant almost certainly. He battered his apparent allies aside without concern, their bodies flinging off into the dark and arcing crimson across the asphalt. The warrior had eliminated everything between them, he sought close combat with fervor and experience. Only an instant separated the two, one committed to charging forward and the other determined to smash that opposition to pieces before it could even begin.

Her false heart drummed. This was not facing a Knight Class in the open. The fragile human world surrounded them, innocents arranged in cages of glass and steel as far and high as the eye could see. Any stray shot, any errant blow meant more senseless death. Fear. This feeling was fear. Her lone eye followed the savage arc of the warrior's clubs through the air, glaring defiantly at the instant, messy death they brought. Rage sharpened her thoughts. This was where she belonged. The gut squeezing fear of extermination, the roiling sear of resentment for the powerful. [i]Do you even know what you're doing?[/i] Brokering reason was pointless. Not merely because she faced a Berserker, but because she faced a Master who ordained [i]this[/i]. A plea to stop the madness would have fallen on deaf ears. Someone had to [b]end[/b] it.

She only needed her passenger if she was actually going through. Two puffs of red guaranteed the death of the pawn in her arms, his chest pierced through as she pulled the trigger. A lump of meat wasn't stopping the mountain of muscle and tempered oak about to fall on her. Her last stride saw her push the dying pawn forward, a leg raised between herself and his collapsing form. Her boot cracked against his spine, twisting the cadaver awkwardly as she leapt to the side off of him.

Two unbreakable clubs crashed down between the two as they parted, each flying off to their own peril. Even a near miss was a lethal threat at the heights of a Servant's strength. The ground splintered like cheap wood, pieces of fragmented stone whistling off into the night, flooring bystanders and slashing holes in the retreating Assassin's coat. The concussion itself blew her along the ground like a leaf on the wind, gangly limbs fluttering about underneath Assassin as she deftly righted herself in the turbulence. Her boots squeaked underneath her, skidding backwards in a low crouch as she kept control. Assassin raised her hands, tight grip angling her pistol's sights across Berserker's chest before she pulled the trigger. She sprang up from her low position, muzzle flash lighting her body as she kicked away from the ground and ran straight for the hotel. She kept shooting, the rapid 'pop pop' of pistol caliber fire disappointing and hollow in the wake of his thunderous entrance. The slide locked back on an empty chamber. Her feet left the ground again, a spent magazine falling to the ground where she stood. The wraith threw herself shoulder first through one of the lobby's few remaining windows, gaze fixed with anger on her opponent and bandaged fingers prying at a pouch on her belt as she floated down to the hotel floor on broken glass.