[center][h2]High Midnight - Part 3[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/hayDT7h.jpg[/img] [/center] JP/Collab from [@Xandrya], [@Gunther], [@wanderingwolf], and [@sail3695] [b]Rex Black[/b] is a character created by [@Psych0pomp] "Om Tare, Tuttare, Ture Svaha." In the Order of the Interverse, there is a chant which calls upon Green Tara, or the 'Mother of Liberation.' She is hailed as the embodiment of profound compassion, relief from mundane suffering, and universal salvation. "Om Tare, Tuttare, Ture Svaha." This chant entreats Tara to swiftly deliver us all, and even now, the syllables "om tara-ture-tara-ture ay soha" flooded the standoff in the shadow of the China Doll. Two dozen tiny mouths uttered those strange words as children materialized from the darkness, weaving their way among whizzing targeting scans, biker leathers, and bats not yet bloodied. "Om Tare, Tuttare, Ture Svaha." At their center, a splash of color, a bright orange kasaya robe and a woman who wore it. Her face was calm, serene even, as she made her way among the Kings clan toward Root, his lieutenants, and Abigail. Joe stared in awe at the vision of the children and the bright orange robe. [i]‘Who the F—? Is that?’[/i] Joe thought to himself. He just stared through the scope watching the scene unfold. Then he noticed something peculiar. It wasn’t anything developing in the clearing near the China Doll. It was his hand. The trembling started slightly at first, then his hand began to shake violently. His entire body began to shake. He gently placed the rifle on the ground and buried his face into the soil. The desire for whiskey was taking over. He closed his eyes and focused on fixing whatever this was. Slowly, the shakes faded, but he felt tired. He would not let down the captain or Abby. They needed him. He picked up the rifle and resumed peering through the scope aware of what just happened to him. Hopefully, it was just a passing thing. Enthralled by the sudden appearance of multiple bodies, Alana's immediate reaction was to lower her weapon just the slightest, the muzzle well below range of her target's center mass. Their chanting was captivating, even as the strange woman made her way towards those holding Abby hostage. Maybe Alana was too afraid to move, or maybe there was something else at play, but whatever was going on, she remained firmly grounded in place. Beyond the physical aspect of the experience, it seemed as if her inner voice had quieted down, settling her down some despite the circumstances. The mechanic gaped at not only the woman in her bright orange robe, but also the band of children in her wake. Little silhouettes filtered through the assembled bikers, before stepping into the dim light from the cargo bay. They swirled around the woman like a school of fish, moving and chanting to lift the pall of threat from those in their path. Yuri took his lead from the Doc, feeling relief wash over him as the pistol slipped into his pocket. “C’mon, Edina,” he whispered as he lay a hand atop hers. “Come on.” Until Yuri touched her, she’d been alone with her rage, sighting down the tool of her vengeance toward another who thought such violence came as a god given right. Edina knew intimately the sort of pain these people had visited upon Abby. She could feel the sharp ache, the uncomfortable tightness of skin stretched by swollen tissues beneath, and the throbbing cadence of a head trauma. She knew first hand the cruelty, and grief welled in her heart for one so young to endure it. And there, square in her target scan, was the man responsible. The arrival of children lent a surreal cast to her surging emotions. At first she resisted. How to give up the source of so much pain when he’s standing right there? Yuri came to her rescue, a gentle hand upon hers to lower the heavy gun. [i]“C’mon, Edina.”[/i] Her hands trembled as he removed the weapon. The hateful spell now broken, she felt the first tears on her cheek as her eyes found Abby once more. “We’re done here,” Pacho said to his people. “Put ‘em away. Saddle up.” Seeing his local reinforcements turning for their machines, Root held his stance. “Hey Pacho,” the biker chief called his counterpart, “you gonna tell me what the [i]dìyù[/i] just happened here?” “See that woman?” Pacho stepped up beside his ally. “She’s the Sister, man. We don’t cross The Sister.” He patted his old friend on the shoulder. “See you back at the clubhouse.” He paused to raise a deferential hand. “[i]Buenas noches, Hermana[/i].” 'The Sister' dipped her head slightly in response to Pacho's show of respect. The children had gone silent, occupying themselves now by standing close to the members of Root's gang, surveying their Greenleaf cuts and jungle-mud soaked boots in wide-eyed wonder. As Pacho's gang of biker backup quit the scene unfolding in front of the China Doll, the witching-hour spell of quiet began to fall away, and Root's crew was much more matched to that of the China Doll. [i]The Sister?[/i] So the woman had a name. Judging by the biker who was readying to pack up and go, it seemed she wasn't one to mess with, especially since her and her "children" had materialized out of thin air. Alana side glanced her crew as well as her captain. The fact that one man was bowing out so easily was very telling, and she wasn't too keen on sticking around to find out why. As more than a dozen bikes coughed into life, the Headhunters president remained unfazed, his pistol trained squarely upon the forehead of the boat captain. “Debt’s gotta be settled, Strand,” he said. “Blood for blood. If it ain’t this “Hook,” then it’s another one of your crew. Make the call.” "Not so fast there, cowboy," the Captain began, mightily aware of Root's pistol pointed square at his head. "Your customer's gonna get mighty tetchy when they open up what they paid for and find a bunch of lucky cats." Despite effort, a grin played at the corner of his lip as he faced the biker leader. "But if you hightail it, I can point you to the plot we stashed it for safe keeping. Whaddya say?" “Nips,” Root’s eyes were as unwavering as his pistol. “On it,” The woman holstered her pistol in favor of her cortex. She raised it to her ear, then jerked it back in reflex to the explosion of profanity at the far end. “Stavros? Hey, wait a minute…what?” she asked as the next tirade could be heard by all within earshot. “Yeah…yeah…we just heard about it…right. Bunch ‘o’ lucky cats.” she traded glances with her chief. “We’re fixin’ it,” she assured the client. “Tell ‘im the Kings won’t forget how he tried to screw them outta the deal,” Root said. “We’re gonna fix that for him, too.” As his lieutenant relayed the message, the M.C. president said, “You just don’t know when to quit, do you, Strand?” "Don't reckon I know how," the man intoned. His eyes stayed trained on Root's while he felt Rex move from his left. “He also doesn’t know where the goods are.” Rex tapped his forehead with two fingers. “But I do.” Cal's eyes finally strayed from the biker to focus on Rex's profile, a furrow forming in his brow.