[center][h1]Niid[/h1][/center]
Niid found the ride arduous, sitting in the backseat of the van twitching. He almost vibrated as the group passed through the district. At first, as they wove through the bustling streets his knee bounced rhythmically as he occupied himself looking at the surroundings. He'd seen it all a hundred times, but he never knew if it would be his last time seeing it. And thus he savoured the saline grunge almost as much as he had when he had first seen it. He had the fortunate privilege of his perspective being that of an outsider, an interloper in the 10th district. And though he may be more comfortable in the benthos at the bottom of the city than parasol girl, he was equally a foreigner. Just an accustomed one.

He drew his firearm, polishing it and checking over it neurotically as the increasingly empty streets sped past. The tension in the back of the van was mounting as they neared their location. It was always tense attending a job, you had no idea what it would be like. But this anxiety was visible in none more than Niid. His actions radiated an itching nervousness, readiness, and the precursor to adrenaline as he fidgeted.

Finally, they reached their location. Littown was a desolate, melancholy place. The emptiness echoed throughout Niid, sending off an eery alarm in his head. He wanted to be here slightly less now. And that feeling continued as he stepped into the lobby. The music sent shivers down his spine as the group strolled through the bare building. He stood, still, but still full of energy. Like a compressed spring. Listening, even to the parasol girl's words.

He drew his machete, a heavy object. Unusually simple for a blessed weapon. It was adorned with a mere sigil. But that was all Niid needed. He was no magician, not like most cleaners. Instead of fighting fire with fire, he would fight it with a head full of stimulants and some weighty steel. 

He tapped a small screen on the inside of his wrist, letting out a grunt as a clear ampoule filled with an unknown yellow liquid plunged down into a port in the nape of his neck. Instantly his face, behind the heavy metal mask adorning it, relaxed. His lips returned to their normal position. His pupils: pinpricks. A shudder went through his body, entirely relaxing as it spread throughout him. He let out an awful grin and raised his blade, gesturing toward the heavy set of doors opposite them, marching at them without a second thought.