[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]Midgar- Sector 8, Detroit [/center]
[center]Lvl 9 (152/90) -> +11 encounter XP Lvl 9 (164/90) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 733 words[/center]

Well, the good news was that Khamsin did, in fact, have things handled. The bad news was that he was so efficient at 'handling' things that he destroyed a huge portion of the construction site, angering the G-Men in the process. Geralt went from 'glad he's on our side' to 'this thing is a threat that needs to be destroyed' in a split second as Khamsin's hammer instantly destroyed one of the two G-Men after his furious rant. Geralt's lips started peeling back in a silent, feral snarl as the massive mecha-piloting cyborg slaughtered Manananggal. It took nearly all of his self control to not say something, turning away from the murderous machine and looking at Raiden. Only once he heard the movement of Khamsin's mech starting to leave did he speak. "Can see why you hate them so much, if that's how every conversation goes." He was no fan of the G-Men himself, but they were ostensibly on the same side here. Just killing one because it dared to speak back against him made Geralt compare the cyborg to Radovid. 

He just hoped there'd be less of a mess if they decided to kill this madman. 

"We're in a better position to scout them out than to stand around here talking and waiting for the rest of the G-Men to show up, that much is certain." Geralt bit back at Benedict alongside Giovanna, shaking his head. "Whatever we do, it needs to not be here. Might as well be conveniently outside their bunker. No laws against tourism in that part of town as long as we don't try to break in, is there?" He snarked, taking off just after Poppi and Tora. 

The run, along with a clear and obvious view of Khamsin decidedly [i]not[/i] rampaging through the streets despite the fact that it would be as child's play for him, made Geralt second-guess his earlier anger. Not the judgment about Khamsin, but whether he was [i]really[/i] in control of himself. For the first time since absorbing the Orphan's Spirit, he wondered if his mental state truly had been affected. He'd noticed some minor changes from the Harbor Demon, sure, but they amounted to little more than personality quirks. Now, though, his judgment, or perhaps more importantly, his self-control, were under question. Had he the chance, though, he wasn't sure he'd ask Peach to remove it. Monstrous fury clouding his mind or no, the others...might even have it worse. He was an old man, with decades of experience tempering his mind and his expectations. His Witcher mutations would also prove a boon in dealing with any mood issues the foreign Spirit caused. He couldn't foist that upon others, especially not when there were still plenty more Guardians to absorb. 

He followed after Blazermate and Poppi, not quite able to keep their pace, but never out of sight of both of them, and when they finally reached the Bunker, Geralt unceremoniously dropped into a wheezing heap, sucking in massive breaths and squeaking out, "You...robots....pissing me.....off...." before outright giving up on speech for a good minute or so. 

After a few minutes to catch his breath and return to the land of the living, Geralt stood up, stretched a bit, and looked around. The Bunker itself was...well, it looked like a modern castle, to put it simply. Minimal windows, clearly designed from a practical standpoint than to look in any way appealing, given that it was a disgusting hunk of metal and stone. What he had no reference point, for, however, was the strange canopy overhanging the surrounding area. "What the hell is that?" He asked, pointing up at it. He spent a few more moments looking it over, but ultimately decided to keep looking around. 

It was Armstrong's posters that caught his eye. "So this is what the brute thinks would make a good leader? He'll bring them 'freedom', that guy said? Freedom from what, the Ever Crisis? Have to be a hell of king to pull that off." Something about the man, the grandiose promises on the poster, about keeping the 'war' off their shores, made Geralt narrow his eyes in distrust. It was easy to promise things. Radovid promised things. Even delivered on plenty of them, and it was those things that had earned him a dagger in the back. 

"Don't like the look of him." Geralt simply stated.