[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Midgar -> Sector 8, Detroit [/center]
[center]Lvl 9 (147/90) -> Lvl 9 (148/90) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 609 words[/center]

As Giovanna handled the ringleader and the getaway driver, Geralt set about collecting the sky-hooks and grabbing the Spirits of the gang members he'd killed, crushing them with little in the way or mercy or thought. Raiden's less-than-stellar fusion results made it clear these were not worth considering, especially not with the caliber of Spirits he'd already fused with. In a way, he'd become a bit of a snob about it, though given the consequences fusion could bring, he felt it was justified. Both the Orphan and the Harbor Demon had given him [i]powerful[/i] tools in exchange for the great physical changes they'd caused him. Whatever Raiden got out of a simple thug...he doubted it was on the same level, though there was never any telling. 

He didn't overtly react to their guide's...unenthused reaction to their bloodshed, either. It wasn't necessary to do so, though he supposed it wasn't necessary for them to kill these people, either. Especially when it only took him one or two punches to incapacitate them. He'd have to think on that for later, as things weren't quite as simple as "monster" or "enemy army" here. Wanton slaughter would cause more trouble than it was worth here. 

When Giovanna mentioned that she had called the police, Geralt nodded. Their job was done, and now it was time to be far, far away from here. Handing everybody a sky-hook and following after the woman, Geralt had to admit it was...almost thrilling, riding these rails. Less thrilling, however, was the sudden stop their ride came to, depositing them into a large walled complex, apparently a brewery. He managed to make a...passable...landing, crashing onto hands and knees and rising to a crouch with a groan and an accusatory look at Giovanna. "Nice one..." He grumbled, looking around. The place was surprisingly heavily protected, with strange, barrel-headed creatures patrolling around and odd-looking devices with blinking red lights on the outside walls. He wasn't sure what those did, exactly, but he figured it was best to stay away from them. 

When one of the barrel creatures was walking away, Geralt moved. His size, along with his already-powerful muscles, let him cross the distance to the wall he was aiming for in moments. Double-checking to make sure he was clear, he crouched and jumped, grabbing onto the lip of the roof above him, his absurd height making it a simple matter to catch the roof and pull himself up the wall, boosting himself with a firm foot planted against the brick. He kept low, looking around for a rail to catch or a way to cross to the orange tower that looked like their best way out. He didn't see anything that'd be quite so simple, but found a path that'd at least get him closer. Hooking to a pipe above him, Geralt zoomed across a short gap, landing carefully on a semi-raised platform and quickly scaling upwards once again and surveying from his new vantage point.

He saw more barrel creatures patrolling the place, as well as more numerous rails criss-crossing along above and around him. None lead directly to his goal, but a couple went near and curved away from it, continuing into either a loop or heading to a completely different section of the complex. 

Taking any of them could risk alerting the patrollers if he dismounted improperly and landed too close or in their sightlines. And he didn't want to risk trying to destroy one, for a number of reasons. No, for now...he would watch, and wait, looking for a lull in their security or a blind spot he could exploit while the others carried on.