Haha

⤫ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 ⤬

Morning The Rookery, New York City

The Lobby

[Everyone]

The family gathered quickly, duos entering the lobby one after another until the large room felt small with mass of individuals now standing in acknowledgement of one another’s presence. Some were formal, others were not, but the fact remained that many of these people hadn’t been in the same location for a while. While the commotion happened at the base floor of the Rookery, the bald-headed general that was tasked to brief the rambunctious family slowly made his way down from the stairs at the furthest end of the hallway opposite to the entrance. He was not garbed in fanatical white ensemble that the guards at the door were, instead he was in your standard American Army blues with a dress cap being held in one hand. He had ribbons up the wazoo, a silver chain, and of course a medallion to symbolize his rank over the right breast pocket.

^{Click…
Click…
Click…}

The general reached for the pocket watch dangling from a silver chain at the waist of his coat and raised it towards his face, pressing a small button upon its face to open it and check the time. His snow-white brows furrowed as the man’s green eyes danced from one individual to the next, counting heads and coming up short. The Archbishop said a few would not arrive, but this many absences would likely raise red flags not only for him— but the men in suits who called the shots. It was turning out to be an increasingly horrible day, magnified by the fact that not one but two of the numbers were close to touching subject #2’s heart.


”I wouldn’t…” The general began to speak, but it was swiftly cut off by the strange handler dressed up like a clown drawing a butterfly knife and waving it around like a mad woman.

“Do not touch my property! It’s going back to the island with me, and then I’m getting a new and improved meat shield! M’kay?..” The threat was empty. There were multiple individuals in the room that could take her out, even with her magical pull things out of her ass witchcraft.

”Wouldst thee compose thyself, Valentine?” Came an older voice, which might have drawn eyes towards the general. But he remained silent, and instead came an elderly figure from the distant stairwell.

The silhouette was feeble, walking with a tremor as each step was supported by the quivering grip of a polished ivory cane. Black robes of silk and suede fluttered from the wind of intense air conditioning passing through the empty areas of the garments, and around his waist a white sash. His hair thin as it was, long and white making the archbishop look a bit more like a Tolkien wizard than a holy man. But could he not be both? The air around him had a stillness, and each soldier turned to stand at attention as he found a spot to lean beside the general.

”Archbishop Geal,” The general nodded his head.

”General Roth, ‘t seemeth as we missing a few.” The holy man scanned his eyes along the numbers with tired squinted eyes, but the pale dilution to the color within them would probably indicate the man was blind.


Ding~
Ding~
Ding~

With all of the moving parts in the Rookery, whatever chitchat might’ve been happening, all would come to a standstill as some sort of timer in the building activated with the quaint chime of a clock’s hour striking. Machinery could be heard in the walls, grinding iron and steel gears, the buzz of electricity through thick copper wire. Scary as it might’ve sounded, Warhawk and O’Brien knew that this was simply the building’s field generator turning on.

Field generators weren’t normally in buildings like this, typically they’d be on military bases to ward off large munitions and aerial vehicles. But many of the handlers had witnessed the recent increase in defensive technology on church grounds. But the numbers and their handlers in Russia knew that this didn’t stop some of the strange new weapons that have been developed in the east. It was a layer of extra safety nonetheless, to help those inside feel more secure while discussing what need be discussed.

”Right, let us not get stuck in the weeds. We’re taking the stairs in case we need to power down the building; Valentine drop #2 off on the third floor and then meet us in the War Room. Floor 5, you’ve been in there before.” The general would first look to the archbishop before tiredly meandering from the wall towards the stairwell at the northwestern corner of the room.

“Ok but yo old fuck, is this about that guy on the northern border that’s turning people into zombies— with that stolen bow from the Vatican?” Before the general could respond to Valentine, the woman was gone?.. As if she was never there in the first place, along with the jar containing 2’s heart.

The general was shook. The archbishop didn’t seem too phased. Either way, the order was up the many-many flights of stairs to reach the fifth floor so that’s exactly where the two individuals of leadership would begin to move. The bishop struggled with the stairs, grunting and cursing to himself with each floor’s ascension, perhaps they should have let him take the elevator with his station and import but he took the stairs like everyone else. It was kind of admirable?

---

𝔽𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕣 𝟝: 𝕎𝕒𝕣 𝔻𝕖𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥

Objective: Gathering Information

[Everyone]

The fifth floor was quite different in both atmosphere and in the people that walked around. Men and women in lab coats, other military personnel, and anonymous men in black suits. None would really stand out as being familiar to the numbers or their handlers, not even to #3 and Warhawk. A few lower ranked personnel stood and saluted the general as they passed, but it almost seemed as if the rest of the people here completely ignored the numbers and their attendance here entirely.

The room they would be meeting in was intended for conferences with leadership, a map of the northeastern United States and Canada’s southeastern provinces was laid out on a massive table where ten seats per each of its four square sides . The map itself was picked with little flags, figurines with national flags on them to make their affiliation, and a semi-transparent layer projected as a hologram over the map allowing numbers and small units to be moved around.

Further observation would find the position of a singular figurine of a knight on a white horse with a bow and arrow positioned along the very end of Ontario.

The general would sit at the end of the table that faced the door, and the bishop would sit directly next to him. They chose seats at the very center of that side so the numbers and their handlers might have an easier time seeing and speaking with him. It seemed that the chair was already planned for him to be there as he reached beneath it into a little shelf department and pulled out a folder with a wad of papers, unfurling it before spreading them out for himself and the archbishop to review.

”This is in regards to the deaths of numbers 2 and 4, as well as 4’s handler Sioux. Approximately forty-eight hours ago we instructed Sioux to meet with the tribes that have reformed along the border and attempt to earn their trust. As some of you are aware, 4’s capabilities were that of [emotional manipulation] and they were designated in the Canadian territories so the fit seemed to work quite well.

Sioux gave us an update at 0900 after meeting with the leaders of these tribes and while they weren’t aggressive, they were also not interested in assisting the United States in combating the uprising insurgencies on our outskirts. Intelligence command requested they activate 4 to accelerate the talks. Sioux received this order and then communication went silent.”

The general reached forward to push a small button along the war table, changing the configuration of the hologram to reflect a video in real-time captured on the scene.

Spruce trees, no signs of buildings but still there were still cameras here to capture this footage somehow. On the ground was a group of twenty or so people on horseback, wielding swords and bows against a small soldier troop with modern rifles— maybe one-hundred American soldiers? They fired at the men, and sprinting at the front was #2, a capable promised child from the first generation roughly fourth years old. Her short black hair helped keep it out of her face as she instantaneously projected herself from one location to another, and she made short work of many of those horse riders. Until suddenly she stopped as a man amongst them aimed their bow at her, upon his white horse she dropped to her knees and kneeled down to him. An arrow was fired from his bow and the arrow fired from the bow created a light so bright that the surveillance cut out— the footage ends.

”2’s corpse was recovered, but Sioux and 4 were not. We wouldst liketh half of thee to findeth those folk, and the oth'r half to track down the white horseman.”

Kimetsu no Yaiba AU: Temen-ni-Guru (Arc 2)

@Aku the Samurai

^{Tending to her duties at the Torigoya Onsen}

---

”Most certainly, once my assistants return I’ll have them set a table for the two of us.” The honeyed words that spilled out from the proprietress’s painted lips were less restrained when speaking to the chief of police as there was no need for smoke and mirrors with an old friend.

”But until the young ones return with their lunch, have a smoke, relax, change into something more comfortable.” She was coy with the White Devil, the fox’s tongue was serpentine as a glowing smile stretched from cheek to cheek as her lipstick stained teeth appeared for the terse woman.

Mura bent down to clasp the wooden handle of a small drawer beneath her at the greeting desk. Within were a number of old kiseru, forged of polished brass and liquor soaked wood. One that smelled faintly of poppy wrapped in a dark red ribbon would be plucked out and the proprietress would gracefully walk to Xaku before handing it to the fellow ancient. ”I’ll have Robin retrieve the blend with rose and lavender to enjoy with our tea, tea and tobacco go well together for conversation.” She winked at the chief before passing by her to step along to the nearest hallway; she didn’t head for the baths this time, instead making a sharp turn early on where two white doors separated staff from those who visited the onsen.

Mura didn’t enter, instead she just peaked her head in and spoke at an elevated volume. ”Sake, two cups, and fresh sashimi.” It was the kitchen where two Japanese men in white aprons were meticulously washing plates and cups that had been dirtied throughout the day. The proprietress was just about to leave after giving the short order but she would duck right back in to say in a much lower volume. ”We also have some young ones so— snacks.” The double doors closed and she popped back towards the front desk as her vision went blank again, it wouldn’t be much longer before the two staff members who left for lunch returned.

The mirthful expression on Muragarasu’s face would’ve absolutely frightened anyone who knew her from the past, but the mute and the young girl simply saw a benevolent matron that cared for them and gave them work. Robin saw the crowd of new people and immediately wiped the grin off of her face and dusted the leftover crumbs off of her hands. Sparrow would take a moment, watching his friend notice before actually looking around the onsen himself to take note of the activity. ”I’ll bolt to the woman’s bath to see if there’s anyone requesting anything!” Robin sputtered to Mura before she would very quickly rebut.

”No.. you’re going to set a table in my room for me and an old friend to enjoy some tea. Could you also fetch that old pepper box with the peacock feathers?” Mura’s words weren’t even answered with words and instead a quick bow and the girl named Robin flew away, bolting through the hallways with acute memorization of how and where to find what the proprietress was looking for.

Her crimson eyes would flutter as she glanced back to Xaku with a nod of her, swaying in her kimono to beckon the chief to follow her to the west-most side of the onsen away from the baths where a large false wall would open discretely with a simple touch of her black painted nail. The room wasn’t unnecessarily large, but it could hold a large group of yakuza with enough space to move around. At the center was a table, where tea and cups had already been set for them. The smell of iron filled the air, along with other things— jasmine, poppy, and maybe just the slightest bit of opium. Mura would sit down on the tatami to face Xaku. She would take her own pipe out, untucking it from the side of her kimono to find her lips once again and sucking from the still burning coal nestled inside.

Smoke would slither and sputter from her lips and nostril as her expression melted away, replacing it not with remorse or anger, but rather a vapid seriousness as a frown tugged along the corners of her lips. ”O’ chief of police-san, why is such a volatile group of children in my onsen this eve?” As the burning question escaped her lips, Robin would come dashing in with the pepper box to set it down in front of the White Demon. It was a simple wooden box with three peacock feathers set into the top of it, opening it up would have Xaku find finely ground tobacco for the pipe she was offered.

⤫ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 ⤬

It is currently full, but if someone drops out I can notify you.

Kimetsu no Yaiba AU: Temen-ni-Guru (Arc 2)

^{Tending to her duties at the Torigoya Onsen}

---

”Robin, would you be a dear and take the herbal soak the women’s room?” The pipe was plucked from between her teeth before she gestured toward the large pot ‘Sparrow’ had been previously stirring. The steeping of medicinal herbs filled the large entry room with an aromatic mist, giving off a holistic calming sensation.

Robin, a girl clad in a lilac kimono artistically decorated with the prints of what seemed to be various flowers in a dark blue dye. This employee of the onsen fit the mold visually more-so than the other bird-named personage. Long black hair cleanly fell at a length of her central back, with her curtain bangs cut above her brows. This one even spoke, ”Yes ma’am.” she chirped out in a mousy tone despite the fact that she was the tallest person in the immediate area.

Everyone here seemed to have a job, with soft footfalls of a few other figures being heard in the separate rooms throughout the bath house. Robin grunted as she heave-ho’d to lift the tub filled with the mixture and slowly waddled down a long hallway. The location designed for women specifically was marked with beautifully painted sakura flowers along the paper panels, while the opposite side held spider lilies that were carried along the wind for men. The wooden pot would plop down loudly with a little bit of the water splashing out, though Mura paid no mind to it as she kept her eyes locked upon the door.

”Oh— that friendly man who sells takoyaki with his wife are setting up their stand again.” The front-facing onsen windows faced a building directly opposite to them where a company of carpenters lived. There wouldn’t be any sign of the vendors she spoke of, but the crimson eyes of Mura flicked from left to right as if her vision was elsewhere. The trance would be broken as she looked to the youngest members of her ensemble as Robin and Sparrow returned to the front room. “You two have worked hard today, take my purse and go buy yourself some. Just don’t take too long, I expect we’ll have a busier evening than usual.”

There a moment of silent communication between the proprietress and the two youths. They’d then look amongst themselves with starry eyes before darting for the black suede purse set directly next to Mura, fighting over who would get to hold it briefly before rushing out the door with Robin hurriedly peeping, ”Thank you ma’am!”

The proprietress would smile warmly, offering the pair a wave as they left. But of course, they did not leave her sight as she watched from on high through the eyes of many ravens that made their nests upon the rooftops. Her perception would split as her expression grew colder. The reasoning for this, of course, being the large number of recognizable individuals arriving at her onsen. She’d seen a few of them alone, separate from the rest— but such a large gathering obviously ignited her nerves to such a degree that a pit formed in her stomach.

“Welcome, welcome! Please make yourselves comfortable, many of baths have just been refilled and some salves have been set out in the rooms if you have any particularly painful areas.” Mura was a masterful actress, as anyone who wished to blend in to society for hundreds of years would be. Her face glowed with a warm radiance, like a sun, fully intent on broadcasting a charitable hospitality that such a woman should have.

⤫ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 ⤬

Morning The Rookery, New York City

The Lobby

[Everyone]

Arriving at the Rookery would be welcomed with fanfare, hatred, fear, and sorrow. To some the otherworldly products of the church was seen as a chance to reclaim and rebuild— to others it was just blasphemy in broad daylight. There were no trumpets or banners, no welcome sign to broadcast your arrival. Just a large building with a strange abundance of crows that have roosted upon the rooftops along its edges. Swarms of the avians seemed to claim the building as their home, but strangely enough there was a lacking of bird shit raining from the heavens.

That was the real miracle.

@Yankee
The first to arrive was #9 and their keeper O’Brien. He was a rather plain looking man that served as the greeter, and pseudo-organizer for the gathering other than the general who waited on the fourth floor. O’Brien was a rather reputable handler in the sense that he had at the age of eighteen years old, been placed with the role of social conditioning the newest generation of numbers. He did well with organizational politics, even handled the decommissioning of his previous #9.

The brown-haired man adjusted his glasses as Orwell stepped out from the elevator unsupervised to meet with him. Offering a neutral expression to them with a nod of his head. His voice was just as muted as his expression, lacking any real boisterous tone or emotion altogether. ”Thank you for being punctual. They’ll be arriving any moment now, please be sure to focus on the perimeter until all entrances have been secured after your siblings have gatherered.”

The sound of unmanned electric vehicles arriving outside would signal the ensembles arrival, and O’Brien would snap his vision toward the door at that signal patiently awaiting the rest of the numbers making it to their intended location.

The lobby of this building was, a very stark contrast from the bleak exterior that it presented to onlookers outside. Like any good building possessed by religious backers, there was no shortage of biblical paintings and scriptures along the walls. What would stick out more than anything would be a massive statue of the Virgin Mary sitting directly behind the administration desk for check-in and out procedures, fancied up with dripped white wax with flecks of gold. The air was clean and smelled faintly of lavender and sage, cold, and enough flowed around them to make small candles placed decoratively around the hallways to flicker in the artificial wind.

There was also technology that some of the numbers would be familiar with; biological scanners at both sides of the door that identified every living being that stepped in and out of that door, automatically logging their information as if to make the greeters no more than an archaic pleasantry. Perhaps the twelve heavily armed guards, six at each side of that same entrance garbed in white fatigues and emblazoned with the church’s cross along with patches for each holy warfight they’ve taken part in. Today was a special occasion so sparing no expense was common sense, thus handlers, armed elite, or the mob outside would be sure to prevent anything from interrupting dhwhat was meant to take place today.

Before any of the handlers or their companions would enter, a strangely dressed woman seeming to be in the early dregs of adulthood would enter. By strangely— her clothing seemed to be a man’s suit a few sizes too large, her hair was dyed pastel pink with black roots having long grown out, and unhinged as she seemed the woman wore the most uncanny smile painted upon her face— as she beamed at O’Brien and Orwell she skipped into the lobby to greet the pair.

“Don’t worry! I’ve got #2, no way would she miss this reunion!” This person had a few screws loose, and spoke out loud with a whimsical chipper tune.

“Where should I put her?” Valentine, the young handler with pink hair asked as she cartoonishly revealed a large glass jar that appeared— seemingly out of nowhere? The jar itself held what was left of #2, a still beating and bloodied heart that looked almost identical to a human one if not for the small white ring of pure energy that surrounded it.

⤫ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 ⤬

_• @n0cturnal1

It was just another beautiful day on the frontline. It wasn’t often that a painter would be given such a broad canvas to lay red stains upon, but a starving artist wouldn’t complain about such a thing. Would they? The hiss of rifle rounds whipped through the air from east to west, screams followed their brief bouts of silence but again, they were brief. There were no tanks, no plains, oil was rare and sparsely used in warfare in this day and age— which meant that the drones and ordinances were in full display this evening.

The crash of missiles upon long broken concrete and soil wet with blood sounded like the ancient drums of war to the Taxiarch as he was dubbed. A few black and red ornithopters sped quickly towards #3 but even as their countless micro-rounds emptied towards him, not a single one would hit their mark. The American soldiers watched the man as if he was some sort of superhero, whisking past unimportant targets with a blank expression. Soon he would reach his target, a makeshift bunker lined with reinforced steel welded together— the singular entrance being split open before the insurgents within had anytime could react.

The Taxiarch would exit without a drop of blood on his figure, covered only by the dust and gunpowder diapered through the air. The exchange of gunfire continued even as he patiently made his way through the enemy lines and back to the village of quickly placed tents and his handler who patiently awaited his return. The Warhawk looked much like someone with that title would; a flat top buzzcut of silver hair, a grisly scar coming down from his left brow to his cheek, but he was not in military fatigues like those around him. Instead the handler wore a pristine suit with a small American flag pinned on his collar.

“Shit, we’ll be back in D.C ‘fore sunrise if I can get this dumb ass paperwork shit done. Fuckin’ should have a desk ass pencil pusher doin’ this shit for me.” Warhawk grumbled, not even taking the moment to await #3’s response as he closed his laptop and folded a small stack of documents up to tuck under his arm.

“Gather up yer things, I’ll do it on the way back. We’re ‘pposed to meet with that General in New York about this terrorist organization that keeps attacking the north border. S’go!”

_•@Burger

The air felt off, as if all the life had been sucked out of it. Perhaps it was the smell of death vapid on the wind, sticking to the back of your throat. There wasn’t much life left along the mangroves of the Carolinas, most people and animals fled upland into the mountains of Appalachia. But the handler of #7 was here for a very specific reason, and she knew that her unhinged monster was nearby as well. Close enough to monitor from a distance with the scope of her sniper, far enough to avoid direct interaction.

From the hip of her jeans she would pull an old school pager, checking to see if the number had responded yet— she did not. Embers of anger would begin to smolder in her stomach, sizzling against the sides of her ribs and swelling up with nausea. An unlucky mosquito would land on her shoulder just in time for that anger to be directed upon it, smacking it in an instant.

Mo Ye, as her alias was claimed, would angrily begin clicking the small letters on the pager, crunching them down with the as she stomped over to a tree that was bent by wind or water some time ago and began to climb it. The long rifle at her back would be unclipped from its harness and protective cloth before putting its stock to her shoulder and looking further towards the shoreline where #7 walked.

There the old bloated corpses of dolphins and hundreds of fish that had washed ashore would be seen as #7 slowly made her stride through the death-soaked sand until her pager would begin to vibrate. From her pocket it would dug out and it would read.

“𝗡𝗼 𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.
𝗪𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸.
𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀.
𝗕𝗲𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲.”

_•@13org

”It is quieter than usual.” An imposing man standing nearly seven feet tall looked down from the top of a cathedral wall with #11 at his side. He was older, with his long white hair tied in a ponytail.

Kursk was a lot emptier than the capital, which meant the pair were able to move around a lot more freely. And freedom was quite rare, handler or number, though Dimitri didn’t mind the restriction placed upon him. Unlike some handlers, he rather enjoyed the company of this strange not-quite human girl. A Gyrfalcon would come swooping in along the horizon with a small leather contraption wrapped around its forebody. Within a small cylindrical tube a parcel was tightly wrapped.

”O. O. 9.2 7.9 0. Submarine departs from Silver Rock at 2100. #13 will be at the arrival location with Matriona.”

Dimitri would snap his fingers to create a small spark and from it the parchment would ignite until it was ash then dust. He would look to #11 with his dark green eyes and nod his head to her with a warm smile. From the side of the wall steps would extend out from the stone so they could casually make their way down.

”Come, Miya..” The words were as soft as they were cautious, but still he extended a gloved hand out to her so the handler may escort the number he was responsible for. The streets below had less than one hundred people wandering throughout them, it was a shell of its former self like most cities in this day and age. That wouldn’t stop Dimitri from offering passing merchants and tradesman a smile and nod as they quickly moved through the streets making their to the cliffs just outside the city.

_• @ERode

Twelve thousand.

That was the number of Russian soldiers that remained along the border of what was once Finland. Destabilization rocked the smaller Eastern European countries worse than many others as grabs for power, along with the rich oil reserves nearby led the entirely of the east to become a war zone. Russia existed as a cruel iron fist that kept many of these former war powers in check, with many simply dispersing to simply be another territory for mercenaries and soldiers to occupy.

”Progress report,” Matriona coldly requested to a senior officer that stood at attention in front of her desk within the cold iron facility she and #13 had occupied for the defensive effort.

”Border should be secured by the end of the week!” His nerves wracked through the man’s body, not only because of the handler who worked alongside the state security force, but also because of the smaller younger creature that stood just behind Matriona.

”And the construction unit will be arriving soon for repairs, correct?” She asked with that same tone, dropping a pen to some paperwork in front of her to scribble something in idle as she waited for the soldier to respond.

”Yes ma’am, and the convoy to take you to the docks to meet with Dimitri will be here shortly!” He froze upon those words leaving his mouth, snapping his eyes closed at the thought of two of these creatures meeting at the same location. Terrifying, that’s how he would describe it.

Nonetheless he would open the tent and hold the forest green mesh wide open for the pair to be escorted to a transport of eight all-terrain vehicles parked near the dirt road attached to their encampment. Matriona would stand from her desk, tucking in the chair behind her before looking to #13 with a warm smile upon her face.

”Shall we go meet your older sister?”

_• @TruthHurts

While most handlers and numbers would be out in the field, working undercover, or utilizing their resources to gain some territory or whatever else for the church— #8 would be in a white room filled surrounded by masked figures in lab coats. A singular door and a massive glass window for her handler and the large number of onlookers on the opposite side to watch safely.

“Element 118 stabilization has been successful. All researched may now leave the test chamber. 8 please remain inside until it has been successfully rendered dormant.” Her handler’s voice came from the number of loudspeakers hidden throughout the chamber, and upon their command, they would raise their hands up as they exited single-file to be hosed off in the wash room.

The element sat at the center of the room atop a long rectangular steel table, it floated on a carefully designed platform that hummed in rhythmic sound that echoed along the walls and filled the inside of your skull. Its appearance? A vantablack liquid that seemed to ripple at the reverberations emitted by the device underneath it.

Columbia, and South America as a greater— was slowly becoming the staging ground for most of the experimentation in this age. The land was rich in untapped resources, and the previously lower population areas were now abandoned for resistant life to flourish and retake the land that generations of humans worked to make suitable for industrialization. Now? Sparse buildings hidden in the vast jungles, hidden from prying eyes, and free to break laws and guidelines without a whisper from governments over your shoulder.

The number wasn’t here for their mind though, even if their input was accepted to some degree. A safe means to dispose of or repurpose the countless tests was needed, and after the nuclear explosion in southern Mexico it was deemed that accidents of that variety simply could not occur again. So she was left to do what she does best, and dispose of something volatile and dangerous. Once she was finished, her handler would activate the microphone from behind the glass a final time.

”Very good, now make your way to the wash room. Our plane to the states will be here in the morning so be sure to head directly to your quarters to pack.”

_• @SilverPaw

Rome looked a lot like New York City in its prime. Of course the culture, and the clothes, and the language was different— but in truth the catholic church’s home city has become the new age melting pot due to the city’s security. And a lot of that safety was due to the very number and his handler that discretely walked through the canal district this evening.

”Mi dolcezza,” Sister Maria would start to speak just as a small drawbridge began to lower for the pair. ”the American Wing requested we leave the city for a short time.”

The words came wet with the tinge of sulking in her tone. Maria didn’t hide her emotions very well, but outsiders might have seen it as performative. There was also a sense of urgency about it, and the nun stirred right where she stood— rocking on the heels of her shoes before letting out a loud and exasperated sigh. Then an open hand would be offered to #5, which would earn the ire of an onlooking official if they were to catch it.

”Let us try and get there early. I hear they might even let #1 leave the Vatican for once!”

_• @Aku the Samurai

”Ein schmerz im die hindern— pick up the fucking pace, god damn.” A tall, bad, and beautiful blonde woman spat in a mix of her broken native tongue.

”I’m going to dome one of these laborers if they don’t finish this silver shipment on time, we’re on a schedule!” She claps her hands directly in front of a sweaty German man with graying hair, and the look of defeat dripping from his face with each bead of sweat.

”#12, I’m going to have you send one to heaven if they’re not finished by five o’clock. “ This handler had the face of an angel but the heart birthed from hell’s deepest layer.

The state of Germany wasn’t destabilized to such a degree that there was no structure or governance, but out in the mines and quarries where precious minerals were still being harvested, oversight became a myth. That worked both, for, and against Aschen’s directive. Which she saw as grunt work, overseeing working men was a foreman’s job, not a handler’s. Truthfully the only reason the pair was sent here for the month was to babysit the shipments as pirates had raided a number of them in the past weeks— and the church had less and less faith in the German military with each passing year.

_• @Luluna

BOOM!
Soil, stone, wood, all ruptured as a crater opened up in the earth where a small patch of trees kept insurgents hidden. Unfortunately, hardly anything can hide from the heavy ordinances dropped by Catholic death from above. Spain was, increasingly becoming one of the worst places to live. Failed countries were lawless no-man’s land, but there was hardly any need for large scale incursions within them. Mercenaries were easy to manipulate, they were motivated by money which the church had endless amounts of.

But even with Spain’s Catholic roots, in the years leading up to the world’s downfall their religious systems were slowly evolving into something of their own. The Pope couldn’t have that. So a lot of their resources have been spent here, even getting neighboring counties like Portugal involved to spark flames to surround and destroy it. Unfortunately for them, a lot of other rogue governments supported Spain in its fight, so the war raged on even to this day.

”Fourteen, we need to get to the border quickly and we’re probably not getting a transport. Please-please-please, I know you’re probably loving this.. but we need to get out of here.”

It was a split decision in the moment, but she would need to comply either way— he was her handler after all. She changed her form, warping into a chimera of feline and all other sorts of animals to best suit a sprint far-far from the battlefield. The entire squad that had been sent with them was wiped out, not that #14 struggled on her own, but it wasn’t the time to revel in the gore. Their destination was a small hangar hidden at France’s southern border, hopefully that wasn’t being raided by the time they arrived.

---

“When are they supposed to be arriving sir?”

“They’re already here Lieutenant, did you expect them to be unspeakably grotesque?— No, they might’ve passed you on your way in.” The bald-headed general remained leaned against the wall with his blue military cap clasped closely to his chest.

His brows were tensed with his lower lip raised to tuck over the upper, he chewed on it anxiously with a quiet grumble within his throat. The man’s dark brown eyes would veer to the younger officer at his right, leaned similarly to almost emulate her superior. She would raise the brim of her own cap upwards to meet his eyes with her own, emerald in color they reflected the darkness in the general’s eyes. She could see it deeply in that deep void hidden within his sockets.

Worry. What did he know that she did not?

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⤫ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 ⤬

5 is more than half the cast, so I’ll throw this in here for anyone who wants to jump in. For the people who prefer to banter in here, nobody is stopping you.

Click this.

⤫ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 ⤬

Laugh react if you want a discord.
Thank react if you’d prefer to keep discussion to the forum.

⤫ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 ⤬

There are definitely some Re:Zero witch factor themes going on.

⤫ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 ⤬

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Heaven's Own Monster

#14

W O L F I N S H E E P ' S C L O T H I N G
• P h y s i c a l A g e •
11
• G e n d e r I d e n t i f i e r •
Female
• D e s i g n a t e d L o c a t i o n •
Spain

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• P s y c h P r o f i l e •
+ Polite + Adaptable + Curious
- Deceitful - Passive-Aggressive - Immature
* Make New Friends * Collect Secrets * To Satisfy the ever-growing Curiosity.

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• U n i q u e T r a i t s & A b i l i t i e s •
Beast of Revelation |

Named after the same heavenly beast from the bible, #14's genetic makeup is unique as she possesses the ability to alter her own body with changes depending on the animal she'd had eaten earlier as she can accuire it's genetic makeup and can transmute her own body parts in change of what she needs, meaning arms, legs, teeth or even gaining new appendages to combat someone (Wings, Tail, Horns) better is on the line here. She usually gains the perks whenever it deems them useful, allowing her body to acquire superhuman abilities. Including the transmutation allows her to recover almost instantaneously from a few fatal injuries that most would die from, or missing a limb or two, as her cells are in a constant state of dying and recovery from each change is basically killing off the cells in her body just to rearrange new ones. While being able to shapeshift and change, she can also fully change into the animal or even a mash of animals if she wishes. But it was only agreed upon to fully transform when it's required to do so.
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A p p e t i t e L v :: 3

I'd changed my mind, getting 14. Tbh, I always wondered if I could play a very troublesome character. It was fun to make the ability, but lmk if too OP....

@Luluna

I love them, and in comparison with some of the others? This wouldn’t be all too hard for me to manage through the roleplay. The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing is approved, get with me when you have some time to talk about this ball of sunshine’s handler.