Krayzikk

Fate/Italian job - Roman Holy Grail War

Dave Rogerson

@HereComesTheSnow

"Dunno, mate, might've been him he's a cheeky 'lil c-"

Not for the first time, Dave's mouth was a little ahead of his brain. Especially wen he was trying to catch his breath after maintaining such focus. It only took about a second for his head to catch up, though, and keep him from finishing that particular sentence in front of the hero of legend that could snap him like a twig for not answering the very polite question. He flashed the Servant a chagrined grin and held up a single finger, the (he hoped) universal request for one moment.

"Easy, Maxie." Somewhere along the lines, Dave realized he'd dropped to one knee. The German Shepherd had made his way into the kitchen and pressed firmly up against his master's side, close enough that he could feel the low, dangerous rumble reverberate into his own chest. He rested his hand on the dog's head, stroking his ears softly. Maxwell looked significantly more dubious than his master, but he did as he was bid and sat on his haunches. The Shepherd kept eyeing the Servant before them, but he at least stopped growling. That was enough for Dave to begin to muster a little bit more concentration.

The summoning had been, by fair, the largest work he'd ever wrought. Even if it hadn't been physically demanding, it was rough on his mind to keep the ritual focused. But it had worked. He had done it. He had summoned his Servant, and he was waiting for an answer.

"Yeah," He began again, on a better foot than his first flippant answer. Not the best first impression. He had to make up for that. The Aussie pushed himself to his feet, masking how unsteady he still felt underneath a focused demeanor. Never show weakness, even if you feel it. First rule of working with dogs, and people too. Didn't imagine it'd be any different with a Heroic Spirit. "I am. Dave Rogerson. And Maxie, too."

He scratched the dog's ears, and regarded Archer solemnly.

"I'd like to inquire your name, mate. And if it's agreeable," He held out a hand for the older man to shake. "Shake on our cooperation. I'm not much of a magus. But I'll give it everything I've got, if you'll do the same. You've got me word."

Fate/Italian job - Roman Holy Grail War

Dave Rogerson

@HereComesTheSnow

The room'd do fine.

Facing east, away from the center of the city and thus away from hostile intent. Probably. Honestly, the odds that anyone came at him from the east were pretty low. Let alone that they looked for Dave here. It was the cheapest hotel with a full kitchen he could get in the district. That was its other big selling point. Two tickets on an international flight had already been murder on his wallet, y'know? Maxie wouldn't have taken being in a kennel for the flight well at all. He had to have his own seat. Poor guy already hated being cooped up that long, but he was a disciplined mind, that pooch. He could handle staying in his seat. He was still very, very relieved when they were finally off the plane. Part of why they took the stairs up, not the elevator. Burn off a little of that excess energy. He'd have plenty to do when this was all underway, but he was gonna have to be patient just a little longer.

The Shepherd bounded around the room as soon as they reached it. Sniffing like mad, that one. Was a good thing. If there was anything Dave needed to know about, Maxie'd find it. He didn't really expect anything, but...

Well, he was dealing with magi. Real magi. He didn't even know what he could do, he had no idea what they might be able to pull. Until he did, he was assuming the worst. For everything, mortal and supernatural. That was why he drew the curtains immediately, to prevent anyone seeing into the room. He didn't think there was anyone posted with a high-powered rifle that could see the window, but assumptions make asses out of you and me. Dead asses, if he was wrong. Wasn't the plan.

But there was a schedule to keep, so he got to work.

"Maxie, ya better not chew up the place. Your picky ass already cost me two tickets." He rebuked the dog gently, grinning a little at the positively innocent look he got in response. "And a checked bag, mate. I coulda just had a carry-on, y'know. But noooo. We need all your favorite chew toys."

"And," He added, zipping open the bag and beginning to retrieve the carefully hidden components he knew were secreted inside. "A place to hide this. So I guess that's not all on you, mate."

Maxwell chuffed his indignant response, and looked reproachful until the spot behind his ears had been scratched. Then he hopped up onto the bed next to the two bags and circled once, laying down with his paws tucked under his chin. Maxwell, smarter than the average bear, clearly knew his master was talking just to talk. Chattering at his dog was something Rogerson could do, something to keep him focused. Most of his prep was routine, stuff he knew by heart. Talking filled the silence, kept him from overthinking. First thing was to reassemble his weapon. The Glock came together like it had never been taken apart at all, put back together with practiced methodology. Dave could've done it quicker, but who was he gonna show off to? Do it thoroughly once, then you don't have to worry about getting it wrong. His clothes went up in the closet, Maxie's toys and bed on the floor, so on and so on. Simple stuff, when you first moved into a hotel room.

His carry-on was where it got interesting.

He wasn't much of a magus. He got most of the theory fine. The journals that had made up the brunt of his inheritance taught him a little more, as did the wards set up on his abode decades earlier. Those he could recreate, in simplified form. Enough to cut off the inside from the outside, magically speaking. It was a key first step before he proceeded. This gear had traveled with him every step of the way, it was nothing he was going to entrust to an airline's care. The markers for the field, set up at the furthest corners of his hotel room. Then came the tarpaulin.

As absolutely, completely ridiculous as it made him feel.

He didn't own any land in Italy. He couldn't afford to buy it, either. And the hotel would have some very real questions if he started drawing on the kitchen floor. So the tarp went down first, pinned at each corner with something heavy enough to hold it steady. Then the same with a smaller square of canvas over it. That would actually be able to take the markings he had so painstakingly practiced, over and over, as soon as he understood what the marks on his hand were. He couldn't afford to get it wrong. His skill was so utterly lacking that he had to take refuge in procedure, practicing every minute detail. Precision was his only hope. It was the work of half an hour, easily, to replicate what he had practiced at home. The circle took place stroke by painstaking stroke, almost reverently rendered on the canvas. Black marks on white canvas, three feet across. Room enough for what was to come.

No more putting it off.

"Alright, Maxie, you're gonna stay out of the kitchen, pal." He was serious, this time. Maxwell could tell, and regarded him solemnly from the bed while he withdrew the last bundle from his carry-on. His grandfather had prepared it, he knew. It wasn't a very good catalyst, as they went. It wouldn't do much more than point the summoning in the right direction. The rest... The rest would be fortune. All of his preparation. The circle. Practicing every last inflection of his incantation.

It all came down to elements he couldn't possibly control.

Such a small item, for such a key factor in deciding his future. It was so light, without the cloth carefully wrapped around it. Dave laid it reverently in the center of his circle, then withdrew to its edge. There was no more delaying.

"Heed my words." He began, mustering his strength. It felt... Strange. It was still an unfamiliar sensation, feeling it stir within him. He was aware of it, but guiding it was still very much beyond him. But there was little guiding to be done, this time. Its presence was what mattered. The confluence of catalyst, circle, power, and his spoken word. He worked to infuse as much of his will into every word as he could, falling back upon the structure of the ritual to focus his efforts. There had been no testing it, no way to further influence the outcome. He would speak the words, and what happened would happen. One deep breath, before he continued. "My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny."

"If you heed the Grail's call and obey my will and reason, then answer me."

Another breath, to keep his focus.

"I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world."

Power wasn't the problem; he could feel enough of it within him. Keeping it focused, unwavering, was.

"That I shall defeat all the evil in the world."

He could feel it. The power moving, the work's gears beginning to grind to life. It was working, even if he couldn't understand how. This was it. The moment of truth. All of his determination, in these last words.

"Thou Seventh Heaven, clad in the three great words of power, come forth from the circle of binding, Guardian of the Scales!"

Fate/Italian job - Roman Holy Grail War

Master

Hider

Name: Dave Rogerson
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Height/Weight: 187cm, 72kg
Birthplace: Darwin, Australia

Appearance

Appearance

Character

Friendly, for a guy that spends most of his time far from other people. Or in general, honestly. Dave Rogerson is the sort of guy that understands you offer any visitors a beer and a place to kick up their feet if they make the effort to come visit. Hospitality’s important, y’know? Not that he gets many visitors, lately. Not since moving into his gramps’ old place. Still, he’s a social creature and he makes regular trips into town to meet up with the boys. Or hunting trips with the same, when it’s the season.

He’s not stupid, though. His friendly, laidback demeanor has a way of making people underestimate him. A sharp, disciplined mind lurks behind the affable outlook. That’s not to say the behavior is a deception; he really is that friendly. But underestimating him is a mistake. A steel spine and brass balls back up his decisions. As someone new to the world of magi, Dave’s curiosity is insatiable. He hasn’t yet had the chance to have a real conversation with another magus, but he would leap at the chance.

He’s spent his whole life in Australia, and journeying to Rome is a new experience for him. He wasn’t particularly interested in the Grail, though he had read of them, before the Seals appeared on his hand. But the War will draw other magi to the same place, with them the potential for answers, and only the Grail offers the chance to find the knowledge he seeks.

Background

Born 1994 in Darwin, Australia Dave had… A really normal upbringing. The Northern Territory is the most sparsely populated part of the continent, but his parents were usually around. And since his father trained them for a living, there were always dogs around. Dave picked up his knowledge of their training along the way. His father was an avid outdoorsman, and passed along all he knew to his eager son. Dave’s grandmother lived close by, but he never met his grandfather. He had passed away when Dave’s own father was very young, but was survived by his wife for many years. Grandmother Rogerson visited often, frequently with stories of his grandfather, so it was a harsh blow when she fell ill late in his adolescence.

But even then she had secrets to confer. On her deathbed, she gave him his grandfather’s wristwatch and the address of his old workshop. His father had abandoned his inheritance when the family Crest was lost, but before his grandfather’s disappearance the Rogersons had been an old family of magi. With the loss of the Crest, the innate knowledge of their family went with it. But their resources and notes remained, waiting to be passed along. The watch was the key necessary to access the building. He took up residence in the building full time, and rather than progress to university he devoted himself to parsing the information left behind. It was slow going, without the inherited knowledge from his family’s Crest. His theoretical understanding is passable, but without the Crest his actual capabilities are woefully underdeveloped.

When the Seals appeared on his hand, it took him a little time to understand what had happened. But his grandfather had included notes on the subject, along with a reference tag for the catalyst stored in that same abode. Dave hopped a plane to Rome shortly thereafter.

Magic Circuits

Circuit Quantity: B
Circuit Quality: A

Skills

Dave, first and foremost, is a skilled outdoorsman. Though the climate is different, he has been learning how to survive and thrive in a hostile environment since he was a child. It doesn’t get a whole lot more hostile than Australia. He spent many summer hunting with his father, and as a result he is more adept at moving quietly, and utilizing a firearm, than most civilians. Not the usual skillset for a Master in a Grail War, but useful nonetheless. Since his father trained K9 units, that was a body of knowledge Dave mastered himself. His current companion, Maxwell, is as well-trained as they come. Maxwell is a trained tracker and scout, as was more common for military dogs of an older time. The German Shepherd is also the proud, disciplined owner of a legitimate (in origin, not so much in legality) service dog vest.

Magical capabilities aside, Dave’s also a scrappy fighter. His formal training is limited mostly to the area of self-defense, but his natural reach and mass makes him an able brawler. Time as an adolescent in the middle of nowhere will help out with that, too. Lots of brawls with your mates just for fun. He doesn’t fight fair, his pa always said there wasn’t such thing (“You’re either playing, or you’re fighting for real. kiddo.”), but you can’t argue with the results. Years of practice has made him proficient with most of the firearms available to civilians in his home country, and he carries a Glock 27 concealed on his person. Illegally obtained, unfortunately, but with forged carry permits that will hold up as long as no one looks too closely. Much, much better to make sure no one has any reason to look at him at all, but it’s better to be prepared.

Good research ethic, too. You can’t spend the past few years wring information out of a collection of decades old journals, at the newest, without developing one.

Magecraft

Lacking. His understanding of theory is solid enough, albeit with some gaps, but he doesn’t have much in the way of practical knowledge. He knows that his elemental alignment is that of Fire, but he hasn’t worked up to any practical working with it. His attribute of Reinforcement is a little easier, and somewhat unconsciously he knows to apply it to his own body and use his inherited Mystic Code to amplify that attribute. But in a brawl of magi, he doesn’t have much in the way of metaphysical mass.

With any luck, the participation of other magi in the War will help him turn his understanding of theory into practical applications.

The wristwatch on his left wrist, vintage and inherited from his grandfather, is his Mystic Code. It acts as an amplifier, drawing upon Dave’s natural attribute, to create a durable, circular shield that can guard against physical or magical attacks. It’s no match for anything a Servant could throw, but it could stand up to just about anything another Master could throw at him provided he can interpose it in time and provide enough energy to maintain it.

Weaknesses

Despite his potential, Dave remains an extremely unskilled magus. With time and assistance he might be a potent practitioner, but for the moment he is a metaphysical lightweight.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

@Plank Sinatra @NaraK @Kaithas

It was weird being home.

The airship had passed right over Redwood on the way up, low enough that Ben swore he could've seen the smoke rising from the forge. They flew pretty close to Vlitra's territory, too, though the ship diverted a little to avoid actually passing too close to it. The Datura was hibernating, but its holdings were still infested with Grimm and there was no reason to chance running into any of them. But the trip didn't stop there; their course was charted to take them further northeast, past the mountains. Pretty close to the northeastern coast. That was why the disruption was such an issue, it lay along the course between Vale and Atlas. Transportation, communication, all were disrupted. According to the briefing, at least. Their transport was setting them down outside the range of that disruption. Bastille, and their one-man-reinforcement, would have to hike the rest of the way. Infiltration from then on was their problem, and their call.

Which made it Ben's call.

It was a little strange, taking over from the Atlesian military. Atlas was their ride, and their guaranteed extraction. But they were just holding the landing zone. The actual mission was Bastille's. It was how hunters and huntresses operated normally, but he hadn't quite expected to be doing it so soon. Granted, the last mission had been like this too. Unknown circumstances, little-to-no-intel, and a whole lot of unexpected developments. But it felt a little off to be wading into the thick of it with such a small group. Especially for a mission Atlas was so invested in. He'd have thought they'd insist on sending Specialists.

Seemed like his team was getting a reputation after the last mission, if he had to guess.

The thought brought more than a spark of pride to life. They could do this. They would, and he'd have a story to tell Luke when they all got back.

Any remaining discomfort vanished as soon as he was off the ship. They were back in his country. Vale was wooded, sure, and Lauren wouldn't even notice the difference. Amy wouldn't either. Sangue might, he didn't know much about the redhead's past, but they hadn't grown up in the woods like he had. One breath of the air was enough to tell. The types of trees, the terrain, the climate. It was all familiar. No curveballs here. This was home turf. His team was rock solid. The only real unknown was Jan. The boy had kept to himself, for the most part, and Ben would've preferred to know some more about him before they walked into hostile territory together. But those were the breaks. For the duration of the mission, Jan was Ben's responsibility too. Everyone who walked in walked out, after they'd solved the problem.

"Alright, folks. We're looking at about a twenty, thirty minute hike to the facility. Report says there aren't any Grimm in the area, but we didn't see any outside the facility last time, either. Plenty of places to hide in a forest. So we're going to play it safe." The Redwood native was all business, checking the lacing on his boots, making sure Joyous Guard was strapped to his back, and his replacement tonfa at his waist where he could reach them. "Sangue, I want you watching our right. Lauren, our left. Amy, I'm gonna need you watching our six. Watch your footing."

"Jan, I'm gonna want you somewhere we can walk and talk." Ben eyed the Shade student out of the corner of his eye. Just because he didn't know anything about him didn't mean there weren't any ground rules to set. His team was ready. They'd coordinate fine. But their observer needed to be on the same page. "That alright with you?"

A Certain Variegated Pseudepigraphum [Toaru/Raildex RPG]

@Plank Sinatra @Crimmy

"Before we left. When you mentioned you needed to go to the bank in the first place. While we were getting groceries. Before we walked into the bank."

Umeko counted the times off on her fingers, at least until it was time to take a sip of coffee. Her eyebrows had immediately arched at Brennan's attempted, and very transparent, defense. It was even less justice to masquerade your deception in the shroud of justice. Still, it wasn't very surprising. She would extract her reparations later.

"Any time, really. Don't worry. You'll make it up to me later."

Fate/Italian job - Roman Holy Grail War

Current Status:

Saber: XmasForJuan is both Servant and Master
Archer: HereComesTheSnow is done with his sheet, @Krayzikk we'll need your Master sheet
Lancer: Reflection and floodtalon are both done
Caster: Black Keys and Seirei no Hai, you guys are both done
Rider: Burst WIP, no Master seen
Assassin: Lazo and CarbinatedDream are both already done.
Berserker: Red Alice WIP, also wondering if you're willing to make a Master or if you got someone who can join up.

We're moving pretty well, and any Master-Servant pairs you can get some strat planning up too.

Also tourist guides to Rome will be useful.

@Crimmy

This weekend should have a CS from me. Been a little busy.

Breaking Point

Benjamin Armbruster

@UltimoScorp

"Couldn't tell you," Benjamin answered, shrugging his shoulders. The speaker was... Matsuo, Yuna Matsuo. Not someone he'd talked to much, but at least someone he'd seen. And thankfully someone that had still been on base. He wasn't looking forward to how long it might take the other pilots to get back. "Alarm went up a minute ago, no one down here knows anything. Must've come from Ops. Is your machine good to go?"

"Most of the techs were 'nonessential', so I guess I'm pulling double duty for the next while."

Record of UTX - Special Investigation Team [SRWOG/Mecha]

@Plank Sinatra @Crimmy

That none of her shots landed was astonishing, but Hazel was nothing if not adaptable. The Commander's order to disengage pursuit was acknowledged, but the Landlions weren't outside her effective range yet. That was why the third sought to delay her.

Commendable, worthy of respect, but he couldn't be allowed to succeed.

His charge back towards her, coupled with her pursuit, brought them together very, very quickly. So quickly that Hazel shot over the top of his head. In such close quarters, evading the Landlion's fire was impossible even for her. But Homing Missiles weren't necessarily smart enough to maneuver around each other, and such close quarters meant that the combined volley from the desperate Landlion detonated around them both more than they detonated on her. The Gespenst warned her, for the first time, about the fire she was taking; its armor was tougher than any of her peers presently on the battlefield, but not invincible. It wouldn't need to hold for very long.

Passing overhead of the Landlion below, she took a deep breath and lined up her shots. Enhanced sensors feeding her the information she needed, and her senses leading the shot. One report from each weapon, right and left, towards the right and left Landlions. Even at this range, with their ally supposedly holding her back, she was confident in her aim. But her orders were to cease pursuit, so as soon as the shots were away she fired thrusters in reverse. Her Gespenst slowed and rotated, suspended upside-down facing the last Remnant.

The TT had been good to her, in their first sortie together. It was more dinged up than she really wanted, but the circumstances had been exceptional.

It hadn't been easy on her, either. Such high-G maneuvers were taxing, and utilizing the T-Link so much made her feel a headache coming on. But the engagement was about to be over. Only one target remained in her grasp, the one responsible for most of the damage the TT had received. And for that, he would pay. He had her attention.

A burst from her Railgun, and a second, and a third. The last of her munitions for the weapon. Perhaps slightly excessive, but the Landlion was unlikely to bother her again.

"Order acknowledged. Dig site secure."

Told you I could do it, Shourichi.

Heroes of Beacon - Creative Content Gallery

Content Type: Written Work

Dance With The Devil

Site 19 came about a few ways, depending on who you asked. Most people argued that it had been an Atlesian prison, during the days of the Great War. Its age and design corroborate the theory, carved into a mountainside away from anything of note. Without a vehicle, you could walk for hours and hours and never see a soul. The facility had one entrance, and a single winding mountain road marking the way towards civilization. It was a desolate place, used now to house the specimens and experiments Atlas refused to risk interacting with the general populace. Site 19 could be put into complete lockdown by closing its main entrance, a blast door that could stand up to anything an occupant could ever bring to bear. Its perimeter, and interior, was secured by the facility’s dedicated security detail. The top few levels were normal enough; staff quarters, since most resided there full time, laboratories, common areas. The deeper into the mountain you descended, the heavier the security. Purpose-built containment units on the upper levels, with custom units for any specimen assigned to heavy containment.

No escape from Site 19 could ever be permitted, so its security was trained to prioritize the evacuation of personnel in the event of a breach in light containment. In the event of a breach in heavy containment, recapture or destruction of the specimen was the priority. If that couldn’t be achieved, Atlas would dispatch Specialists. If Specialists deemed the situation untenable, the entire facility would be quarantined. Permanently.

In eighty years of operation, with one purpose or another, Site 19 had never suffered a breach.

Which was why the security forces on site were so worried when the blast door slammed shut.

”Lockdown in effect as of 0929 hours,” The voice on the intercom stated with false calm, audible even through the crackle of the speaker. ”Subject 32 is out of containment. Security forces to assigned stations. Restore containment at all costs.”

The facility was instantly a bee hive of activity, with security personnel on the upper levels shepherding scientists and nonessential staff into their quarters. For their protection, but also just to have them out of the way. Ops was locked down for the same reason. Operational standard was for lockdown to take less than ten minutes to complete. It took ten minutes and forty four seconds, but no amount of drilling could prepare the civilian personnel for the threat of a real breach. By the time procedure was complete, the upper five levels were completely locked down. Guards posted at every access point between levels, civilian personnel sealed in their quarters, and operations locked up tight. Power was cut to anything below that, preventing any escaped subject from accessing facility systems or making use of the elevator. The only way between floors was the secondary stairwell, purposely made too small to accomplish most of the facility’s subjects.

Each floor had a specific security detail assigned to it, in the event of a situation like this. Which was why Bravo Team, a five-man unit, was carefully making its way down the stairwell to level eight. Six and seven were both light containment, the purview of Alpha. Subjects in light containment, by and large, could not fit up the stairwell or otherwise posed a minimal enough threat that they could generally be corralled back into containment. Subjects were fairly easily replaced, if they could not be contained. It was the preferred duty assignment. Alpha Team was as low-risk a posting as you could get as an Atlesian soldier assigned to Site 19. Bravo was more dangerous. Bravo meant heavy containment. Subjects below level seven had containment procedures drawn up individually, from their cell to how they were to be handled. Most of them were dangerous. Their cells were designed to be as unbreachable as possible, based on the needs of every specimen. They were transferred to the facility sedated and under heavy guard, from the moment their transport arrived to the moment their cell clanged shut. Experiments with subjects in heavy containment were conducted on-site, so that the level could be sealed if something went awry. Site 19 took no chances with heavy containment. Bravo, to that end, was made up of the most experienced security personnel Site 19 had.

Generally.

“What the fuck is Subject 32?” Bravo Five, the unit’s newest member, hissed under his breath. Though it was hard to tell under his Atlesian helmet, the brunette looked like he was barely out of Atlas Academy. Until early that week, he’d been assigned to Alpha. When his predecessor took sick, Alpha’s highest-scoring member on proficiency exams was tapped to fill his shoes for the time being. The rest of his team wasn’t thrilled, but seeing as there hadn’t been any action in months and no new specimens were scheduled, they kept their irritation minimal. “We never got to the briefing. Which one is 32? Is it the Geist? The Argus? That coffin? Or is it whatever the fuck that thing they hauled off that island in Mistral is?”

“It’s the devil, rookie, hope you’ve said your prayers.”

“Can it, Three.” The lead guard snapped, glancing over with what was probably a glare under his visor. “That’s not helping. Five, 32 might be the most dangerous specimen in the facility. The first time we tested it, every specimen in the entire facility started trying to get out at once. It’s smart. If it feels threatened, and if we let it, it could galvanize them all. Those cells down there aren’t meant to keep things out. We have to make sure it doesn’t let anything else loose. Don’t underestimate it.”

“Heh. It’ll still die if we shoot it.” The man bringing up the rear patted the stock of his rifle, flashing a grin with the visible part of his face. “Boss, we getting hazard pay for this?”

“We should, if it’s 32. Grimm are fine. We don’t get paid enough to deal with the shit the squints dream up.”

“Do not call up,” Bravo Two drawled, switching on the flashlight attached under-barrel to his rifle. “That which you cannot put down. That’s why we’re here. They haven’t thought up the thing we can’t put down.”

“A-men,” Bravo One commented, suppressing a faint smirk. Bravado was better than fear. He held up a fist when they reached the door, bringing the team to a halt. He glanced back again, this time to survey his men. “Remember. Admin’s priority is restoring containment. My priority is resolving this, and getting out alive. If your life’s in danger, shoot. Procedure is at my discretion. The power’s cut, so it’s just emergency lights. Check your fire, stick together, and call out if you see anything.”

A chorus of affirmations rang out, though Five’s came last and meekest. One nodded and used his keycard to cycle the door, ushering his team into the darkened hallways. They were lit enough to see; the emergency lights cast the area into hues of red, with the shadows stretching out into the space between lights. It wasn’t very bright; the backup power for the level needed to last through the lockdown, so the lights were kept dim. But the red wouldn’t impact their night vision, and kept things lit in case they lost their own lights. The five immediately formed up, with One in the lead and Three bringing up the rear. The hallways didn’t leave much room for a flank, but watching their six was key. Procedure dictated they check the subject’s cell first, and try to determine where it had gone from there. The level was near silent when they arrived, but with each passing second it seemed to… Take notice of them.

It was gradual, at first. Muffled speech from one of the first units they passed, indistinct but human-sounding. In heavy containment, though, “human-sounding” could have meant anything. The rookie noticeably adjusted his grip, disguising a deep breath. It picked up from there. Rumbling, subvocalizations from Subject 27. The faint sound of nails on metal from its neighbor. Nothing loud enough to truly break the silence, but a constant reminder that as much as it seemed they were [not alone. They were among creatures that wished them harm, and they knew of Bravo’s presence.

_{”Heyyy heyyy, don’t be scared….”}

“Did you hear that?” Five’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing behind his helmet. The background noise must have been getting to him, making the hairs on his neck stand on end while his imagination filled his ears with a soft skittering. In his mind, a formless, intelligent threat lurked all around, just out of sight. His grip tightened on the trigger. ”Did you hear that?”

“Cool it, rookie, no one heard anything.” Three grumbled, glaring at his teammate. “Boss, can we please send him back up?”

“No, I heard something!”

“No, you didn’t, you’re just losing your shit.”

“Shut up, both of you.” One snapped, gesturing at the door next to them. “We’re here. The door’s sealed, 32 must have gotten out some other way. Three, watch left. Four, right. Five, get in there and take a look. Try not to lose your cool.”

Five hesitated but nodded, stepping cautiously into the cell after One used his card and pass code to open the door. The room inside was double the width of the usual containment unit, but spartan in the extreme. Aside from a place to sleep, there was little evidence that anything was in residence. Most of the cells had clawmarks gouged into them, or signs of attempted escape. He couldn’t find anything of the sort. A quick look under the mattress revealed a small hoard of innocuous items, but nothing that pointed towards an escape route… By the look of it, though, 32 had been out before. The items included little knick-knacks, patches with… The Gold Stripes logo? Did a Gold Stripe bring it in? If it was smart enough to hold a grudge, that was worrying.

If it had gotten out before, how hadn’t they noticed? Had it been scouting the entire time?

That meant this time was when it would make its move. But how…

Five’s blood ran cold, as his eyes panned the room again and found the ventilation grate on the wall. It was hard to make out in the dark, but there were unmistakable scratches on the concrete next to it. That was how 32 got out. And as he watched, an eye of Grimm red appeared in the slat.

“The vents!” He yelled, drawing his rifle and aiming at the grate. The eye widened and disappeared, but he fired anyway, listening to the shot bounce inside the vent. “It’s in the vents!”

“Stop fucking firing!” Three swore, looking into the cell and spying the ruined grate. “Way to fucking go, now who knows where it is?”

“Anywhere.” One muttered, scowling. “If it’s in the vents, it could be anywhere. That’s a straight shot to the surface, if it tries. We need to fan out and find it. Three, you’re with me. Two and Four, head the other way. Five, stay here. Watch for if it comes back. Everyone keep in radio contact.”

Another chorus of affirmations, as the team spread out. Five wasn’t pleased, staying alone in its lair. By all appearances 32 was even smarter than One had made him think. And it was certainly holding a grudge. He didn’t care what Three said, he knew what he heard. It was smart enough to speak, and clever enough to get around in the vents. He didn’t even know how it did that. He wouldn’t have been able to fit through that gap. It had been getting around for God-knows-how-long without being noticed, and now it had decided to make its move. And he was supposed to help get it back to fucking containment, somehow. What could it do? Was it freeing its compatriots? Was it even still on this level? How long had it been watching them? Was it still?

He hated being the one left to stand watch. He clutched his rifle tightly, possessively, as though it might bring some measure of comfort. He could hear the others chiming in with regular reports over his comm, he gave them himself whenever prompted, but the shadows seemed to loom menacingly. The more he stayed, the more convinced he became that 32 was waiting, simply waiting, for a chance to strike.

“Hey, hey, calm. I’m-”

Five fired again, in the direction of the voice, and heard a yelp seconds before a scuffle from the vents. He triggered his comm and all but yelled; “It’s headed for the surface! I think I hit it!”

*******

Heh.

They got worked up so easily.

Almost makes me want to roll my eyes. Jer knows some of them are really stuck up, but I wouldn’t have thought they’d freak out this easily. They don’t give me anything to do, did they really think I’d never left my room? They shouldn’t have made it so easy. I figured out how to get the vent open weeks ago.

It’s not like they even noticed before now.

Most of the scientists actually live here, so there are plenty of recreational options. After midnight the night watch is pretty minimal, so it’s easy to get around. The rec facilities are all closed by then, so I have run of the place as long as I use the vents to get around. Made for an odd sleep cycle; I got up late in the day, went through whatever battery of evaluations the scientists had for me, pretended to go to sleep, and then slipped out at midnight. I would have the next four hours to myself, before I needed to beat the morning shift back. Sleep six or seven hours, and be up before the scientists made their way to my level. Rinse and repeat. A little dull, but not more than my first week.

My first week… I hadn’t known who I was, at first. They kept me under while they moved me here. ‘Here’ is Site 19; Jericho knew a little about it, but he’d never been. Before me, at least. I had seen him here. Polendina brought him, on one of her visits. She thought I would talk to him, I think. And I did. It was strange, talking to someone that I knew everything about. I knew more about Jericho Piper, in that moment, than anyone else ever would. And he knew more about me. It was awkward the first few minutes. But I asked him about Babs. I didn’t know what she had been doing, not since they took the sample from Jericho. I think he was a little surprised, but he told me all about what she’d been up to. How school was going, who was beating who on Dance Til Sunrise, what she was practicing to sing. He told me about his school, too. What he was up to. It hadn’t been that long since the sample was taken, but a few months left plenty to talk about. I didn’t realize until after, but I’d never talked so much before. Not to Polendina. Definitely not to the scientists. I’m sure that was the point; get me to open up to someone I’d be more comfortable with. He probably gave Polendina a lot of information, after that. It was his job.

But he sent me messages. Nicole would bring them to me. I didn’t have a way to send anything back, at first. I knew they would read anything I tried to have Polendina give him. She would, at least. Jericho trusted her. It made me want to. But I wasn’t him, and we both knew it. Just because Jericho trusted her and she trusted him, didn’t mean that applied to me. When I started getting out at night, I had a way. All I had to do was use the recreation room computers. I knew his address to send him emails, all I had to do was make one for him to send them to.

So that became part of my routine. Whenever I got out at night, I could see what he’d said. And I could send something back. It was nice. Polendina didn’t bring him again, so I at least got to keep talking to him. I had to be careful not to let the computer log me, but that wasn’t hard.

I found a Dance Til Sunrise pad in one of the rec rooms, so I’d play that. I got to compete with Jer a little. Not on the same copy, but I’d tell him every time I beat my last score. He’d tell me where I ranked on his copy, and I’d shoot to beat the next score. It was fun. Made me hungry, though, which was when I’d take the vent over to the staff break room and raid the fridge. That kept getting them. They blame each other. It’s pretty funny. No one realizes it’s me. They tried to put a camera in, once, and I noticed and stayed out of its field of view while I raided the fridge. They were really pissed that morning.

None of this did a lot to alleviate my boredom, though. I have all sorts of memories of being outside, and the things I could get up to in Atlas. They’re not mine, but that doesn’t change that I remember. I can remember the Vytal Festival. I can remember fireworks. I haven’t asked the scientists about when I can leave, they’re not much for talking. I haven’t asked Polendina, either. As far as they know, they keep me on the same level of a secure facility twenty four hours a day. They have no intention of letting me out any time soon. But I keep hoping that maybe if I continue doing well, they’ll at least give me a little freedom to roam soon. Even my own escapades don’t provide a lot of entertainment, not when you’ve gone through every song on Dance Til Sunrise at least three times and whoever owns it is too cheap to buy the DLC.

Which was why when everyone started freaking out, all I could really do was grin. And laugh, a little. It had taken them weeks to realize I ever left my room. What were they gonna do? Put me back? They’d have to find me first. So I pulled myself back into the vents and decided to go looking around. Watch the guards scurry, the admins freak, and the ways they used to get around get locked down. Whoever designed the facility really should have payed closer attention to the ventilation system. I know Grimm are too big to fit, but really? Give it some thought. Bravo was assigned to heavy containment, from what I’d overheard. It only took a few minutes to find them. Seemed like it might be fun to follow them. I couldn’t follow them down the stairs, but I could once they reached my level. All I had to do was wait. I could kind of hear them, on their way down to eight. The ventilation shaft ran mostly parallel with the stairwell, but there was a lot of concrete between me and them. And I needed to pay attention, or have a really, really long fall. Getting up and down the ventilation shaft basically meant wedging myself in and shimmying. It was a good thing it took Bravo a little while to get down to eight, because it took me a while too.

The youngest one was so freaked out. I’d seen the others before, but he was new. Perfect to have a little fun with.

“Heyyy heyyy,” I let my voice stretch a little, sound as amused as I was. But quietly. I saw him tense up immediately, and stifled a giggle. “Don’t be scared…”

Jer and the guys wouldn’t let him hear the end of this, if they were here. Poor guy. He really wasn’t cut out for dealing with heavy containment. I was easy enough, but the rest would eat him alive. Literally, in some cases. There was a lot of scary shit on level eight. Got worse when you went down, but it still took a while to get used to sleeping adjacent to such frightening creatures. I was too scared to sleep for two days when I found out what the room next to mine held.

Never ask what else is in heavy containment.

The guys were clearly being cautious, though. I followed them towards my room, keeping quiet except for my little joke. It was funny to see them so worried, but they were freaked out enough. Even I know better than to play around in heavy containment.

I am not happy about this little man rooting through my stuff, though.

I can see him through the vent. His mother did not teach him not to touch stuff that’s not his. Aaand then his rifle comes up.

Not good.

I scurried back a few meters in the vent, eyeing where the bullet had caved in the grate. He was really freaked out. Lesson learned, don’t mess with them.

“It’s in the vents!”

Wait. What’s in the vents?

Oh, shit. Maybe they’re not down here for me. I shivered, thinking about what else might have gotten loose. Not the Argus, I’d definitely have noticed. But maybe the Geist? Whatever it is was in the vents? No, no, no, the vents were safe. No one but me knows how to get in the vents. Better look.

A thorough, exhaustive check of the system on my level turned up nothing. Absolutely nothing. The guys on Bravo were checking the floor below me, too, but they weren’t finding anything either. That’s a lot scarier than finding something. If they can’t find it, and I can’t find it, it’s really, really good at staying hidden. And that scares the fuck out of me. Boring is better than scared. I’ll go back to my room, let them deal with it. The new guy’s still there, I can tell as soon as I start to get close to the grate, but that’s okay. I’ll announce myself this time, I’m not whatever has him so spooked. I’m spooked, too. We’ll get along fine.

“Hey, hey. Calm.” No jokes this time, just trying not to scare him. Scared people do stupid things if you catch them off guard. “I’m-”

My Aura saved me, this time. I flinched, I squirmed back, and it still would have taken my head off without my Aura.

Oh.

That wasn’t accidental.

They’re....

…

They’re shooting at me.

They’re yelling down there, but I’m not actually hearing it. It’s not funny anymore. It’s really, really not funny. I’ve never been shot at before. What do I do? I can’t poke my head out, I tried that and they tried to take it off. I can’t go back to my room. I can’t hide somewhere else in the facility, they’ll find me. And they’ll try again. My Aura won’t last forever.

I… I have to get out of here.

The realization was like a splash of cold water, shaking me out of my daze. They were trying to climb up to peer into the vent, I needed to move. I started crawling as quickly as I could, back towards the junction. With any luck they wouldn’t realize that I had been on the upper levels, not yet. They’d figure it out. But if I could just get up there, I could follow the shafts to the outside. Figure out what to do from there. I’ve never felt claustrophobic in the vent system before, but I feel like I’m suffocating. It’s too cramped. There’s not enough room to move. There’s nowhere to hide. The alarm is spreading throughout the facility, I can hear it through the walls. They’re warning everyone.

But I haven’t done anything. I didn’t hurt any of them. All I wanted to do was play some Dance… There’s nothing for me to do in my room… I’ll go back to it, just stop shooting. I’m done, I’ll stay in my room, just calm down.

Getting up the shaft is harder than getting down. I have to keep my arms and legs extended, hard, or I slip. I can control my descent, but I can only inch up. It takes too long. I can hear them start checking the vents, floor by floor, on my way up. I don’t know where the shaft ends, I’ve never gone that far. I just know it goes outside. But I don’t know where outside is. It has to be safer than inside, maybe the people outside will be reasonable. I just need them to keep the guards from shooting me until I can explain. The cold creeps into my bones as I ascend, getting closer and closer to the top of the shaft. I’ve passed where I usually slip onto another floor, ages ago, and I can see stars up above. The metal is freezing against my hands, but the search keeps getting closer below me.

The vent’s frozen. The grate, I mean, literally frozen to its surroundings. I’m not used to them being so hard to move. My legs are trembling, keeping me wedged into place while I try and move it. The ice creaks and groans, shuddering with the force I apply. It feels like an eternity before it breaks loose, and I can shimmy up and out of the cramped vent.

The world’s white. It’s snow under my hand, braced against the ventilation system to keep from falling. The blast door below me is closed, bathed in the light of a dozen floodlights lining the complex walls. A mountain stretched up behind me, higher than I can see in the cloudy night sky. Were it not for those lights, I wouldn’t be able to see more than a few meters away. It was snowing, and the sky looked like it would snow harder before the night was out.

The sky.

The stars I thought I saw were just glints, the light reflecting off the icicles above the alcove I crouched in. Floodlights and clouds combined drowned out the stars, but I could see the sky. With my own eyes, not in my memories, I could see it. I’d never seen it before. It was beautiful. The whole outside world was. Everything seemed quieter, the falling snow dusting my surroundings, diffusing the floodlights and casting the world in sharp relief. It was almost enough to forget the bite of the cold, and the way the snow stung my fingers. I could barely imagine how it would look in daylight, when the red rising sun struck the trees so burdened by snow that they appeared to be sculptures. The prismatic gleam of the sun when it passed through the icicles above a window. I knew, on some level, I had seen all of this before. But I hadn’t. It was so new.

The first bullet caught me in the shoulder. I recognized through the haze of wonder crashing into fear the report of an Anti-Freak rifle; it was a loud, distinctive crack. I had heard it dozens of times before, enough to know it without thinking. The knowledge was distant, as though repeated by someone else as much as the memories belonged to someone else. What it was didn’t matter, but I knew anyway. I couldn’t do much with that information. I acted without consideration, without thought. The primal hindbrain took over, decided I needed to be somewhere else, and I jumped.

For a few terrifying moments, I fell. I wondered, strangely lucid in my fear, if the fall would kill me. But my animal nature wasn’t done. My outstretched arms weren’t arms anymore, not the way they were wreathed in darkness. They caught air, and rather than fall I glided. Shots rang out, pinging the mountain behind me, but failing to reach me. My new trajectory carried me over the complex wall and several meters beyond before it ran out, sending me crashing into the snow. Muscle memory turned a crash into a somewhat controlled roll, carrying me further down the mountain. I rolled into a tree, eventually, bringing my rather rapid descent to a sudden halt. It was all I could do to breath. I’d lost my slippers, somewhere. Calling them shoes had never really been correct in more than the loosest sense, but they were sorely missed in this frozen world. Quite sorely, but not missable if I tried, was the pain in my shoulder. My Aura had held. But an Anti-Freak rifle wasn’t a toy. Even without penetration the sheer force ached. A chunk of my reserves were gone, again. And that was a problem.

What Jericho knew about survival crept into my head, unbidden. Even at Bastion they covered it, laying the groundwork for what Atlas would teach them further. Ideally, I wouldn’t be out in this weather at all without cold weather clothes. My lightweight pants and shirt did not qualify. My resources were next to none. Ideally, I could create a shelter and wait for rescue.

Rescue.

My heart soared, and I frantically reached into my pocket, praying I hadn’t lost it to. At least someone up there liked me, because I still had it. I stole this Scroll from Polendina weeks ago. I thought she would’ve noticed, being an Atlesian operator. It was just sleight of hand, making it seem that it was still among her gear when she left our session but actually concealing it under my forearm. I find it hard to believe she didn’t say anything, or made much effort to track it down when she realized it was gone. But she never said anything, and it still worked. I took great care not to use it, not if it might reveal where it was. But I needed a way to communicate, just in case. My brother in me, I suppose. Always a backup plan.

Now it might save my life.

I thought about calling Nicole. She was kind to me, she might help. But… She was an Atlesian operator. I’m running from Atlesian soldiers. She reports to them, if I call her she might help them find me. I can’t take that chance.

There’s only one person I can call.

I expanded the Scroll with trembling fingers, cycling through the list of contacts until I found the one listed “J. Piper”. It was just as much of a shock that she didn’t keep her Scroll locked, it didn’t click with what I knew of her. But then, I know very little and I’m not going to second guess it.

“Boss?” One word can speak volumes, if you know enough about the speaker. Jericho’s was flat, but not angry. Curious, maybe even a little concerned. It was all in the inflection, the way his pitch rose at the end. Not just denoting a question, but all that the question implied. Is something wrong? At this hour, the unspoken second question would have been valid. Now, more than he knew.

I’m stalling, trying to avoid having to say anything.

“J-Jericho?”

I hated how the shiver made my voice catch, involuntarily betraying any calm I could find. The silence extended, half a second, a second, a-

“Rebekah?”

“Jericho, I… Jer....” My voice caught again, cutting off whatever I’d been trying to say. I don’t know. What can encompass what I need? Stupid me, unable to even figure out how to vocalize my plea for help. My hope that he’ll help. I feel, as though it were my own, the depths of his loyalty for Babs. For his friends. The lengths he would go to in order to ensure their safety, to keep them from harm. It’s fire in an icy place, a fervent heat that permeates my being. A loyalty I feel myself, inherited from him. It’s a respite, just for a moment, from the cold. A fire that wards away the fear gnawing away at me, that swears that neither man nor Grimm will bring me harm on his watch. He would burn the whole world before he let anyone harm his sister. “I need….”

“Rebekah, where are you.”

But I’m not him.

I’m not her, either.

He’s a student of Bastion, a future Gold Stripe, a Knight of Atlas. Heroic in a way that I, standing apart from his memories, can see even if he can’t. A slayer of monsters, now and forever, so that the people he cares about will be safe.

I know this, because everything I know was once him. I remember so much of him, of the people he cares about, but he’s only met me once. Just a few hours. Messages that Polendina probably asked him to send, ways to try and understand what Atlesian scientists had created. I’m not the damsel in that story, I’m the monster to be slain. The thought feels like a lead brick in my throat, that fire immediately extinguished. His voice, so reassuring, seems suddenly impossible to read. Is that concern? Is it anger? Does he think I’ve done something to Nicole, to obtain her Scroll?

“I…” One last syllable croaked out, before I hang up. My eyes sting, but not from the cold. Lights are beginning to descend the side of the mountain, seeking my trail. I hadn’t noticed in my reverie, but the facility’s alarms are sounding. It’s even more cacophonous than when I left, joined with the howls of unearthly creatures above and below. Something has agitated the Grimm, both inside and out. If I don’t run, they’ll get me if the soldiers don’t.

So I do.

As quickly as I can get my feet beneath me, as quickly as I can descend down the slope. It’s not very fast. The lights are faster, and it’s not hard to guess why. The Atlesian soldiers have gear, coats to keep them warm, snowshoes to more easily control their climb. I have nothing. There’s a third possibility. If it’s not the Grimm, or the soldiers, it’ll be the cold. My Aura is keeping me safe, right now. As uncomfortable as I am, it is preventing any actual damage from occurring. But that drains. The oppressive cold saps at its strength, second by second counting down the minutes until there is nothing between me and the frost’s harsh clutches. Or maybe, as my feet threaten to lose their grip on the slope, it will be a fall.

All I can do is keep moving. I don’t even know where. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know which way will lead to civilization, or how far it will be. The snow obscures any signs of refuge, any light given off by a lodge or a town. It combines with the darkness like a blanket, smothering sense of direction in this snowscape.

So I keep moving. Moving, moving, moving. No matter how heavy the fear hangs on my shoulders, how numb the cold makes me feel, I move. Perhaps for minutes, perhaps for hours, hanging in the Purgatory between the lights behind me and the darkness that looms ahead. My feet hit a road, eventually. If you can call it that. Little more than ice and dirt, but it at least clearly bears tire tracks upon it. A lifeline, a way towards someone. Anyone would be welcome. Almost the soldiers behind me, too. They would be kinder than the weather, but I’m too spiteful to let them. At their pace they’ll catch me anyway, I won’t make it easy for them.

Cold numbs the fear, in a way. When your heart can’t beat any faster, when every octave the raised voices gain is proof that they’re closing the distance, when a howl in the night reminds you that you’re doomed anyway the fear settles. It loses its edge, and begins to freeze into anger. Resentment. Spite towards the whole world, for putting you in a trap that you can’t escape.

Eventually you can’t run anymore.

Muscles grow weary, burning while everything else freezes. The first fall is bad luck, every subsequent one is simply reinforcement. Reminders that even the strongest have their limits, limits that can’t simply be exceeded. And every misstep brings my pursuers closer. My Aura’s gone, or close to it. For the first couple hours I could feel everything, even if uncomfortably. But feeling in my toes began to recede a little while ago, and I can feel it in my fingers too. There’s not much left. Not much Aura, not much time, not much strength.

Time, at least, ran out when the first round clipped my arm; tearing through the fabric of my shirt and carving a shallow channel across my bicep. Not close enough for a better shot, but it didn’t stop them from trying. Stop bulletins from pinging off the ice about my feet, getting closer and closer.

The ground had leveled out, mostly. I didn’t have to run down anymore, which was fortunate because I would have fallen and I’m not sure I could have gotten back up. I’m out of strength to run, and still I’m no closer to safety.

I want to fight.

That same, primal voice screams for me to turn and fight. If they wanted a monster so bad, give it to them. Make them work for it.. Turn and tear at them with the claws I knew I could have, force them to pay with blood for their victory. My heart rails at the very idea of going gently, of surrender. If my existence is to be so brief, so fleeting, let it be memorable. Show them something that will haunt them every time they set foot upon ground that I once walked, scourge their waking hours until they can bear to be inside that facility no more than I could. I want it. I want something to take my anger out on, someone to pay for my misfortune. Maybe I’ll win.

But what then? Let the cold claim me? Somehow, against all odds, survive the night and carry out that same struggle for survival every day of my life until eventually I lose?

Jericho will come for me, then. I really will be a creature he must fight.

The thought deflates the valorous notion of fighting to the last immediately. I won’t make him do that. He’ll do what he must, for his Kingdom. If he is told to handle the monster his sist- clone has become, he will. But it will hurt him. I look too much like Babylon. I never got to meet her. I would’ve liked to. I would’ve liked to know her the way Jericho does, listen to her sing. Not just remember it.

There’s a rock, on the side of the road. Maybe it marked something, when this was a trail. It’s as good a place as any to rest.

It’s cold on my back, when I drop to the ground and lean against it. I feel ragged, in every sense. My breathing, my hair, my clothes, there’s not much to compose. Or much time, as those lights draw closer. But I’ll meet them with as much composure as I can. If there’s one, small thing I can take with me let it be pride in facing them with dignity. Never cowering. Never shying away. Not giving them one iota of satisfaction. Like an Atlesian my brother could be proud of.

Heh.

The trees do look nice when the sun hits them.

“Take one step, and I shoot you.”

I didn’t expect words. They’re not coming from the lights ahead of me, those lights are slowing down… Is that…?

“Piper, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Stand down!”

“I said, take one step towards my sister and I will shoot you.” The words sound like a growl, but I can’t see the speaker. I’m trying, but the rock’s in my way. I can’t seem to find the strength to get up and look. “Boss, how is she?”

I can see the red hair. It’s hard, it’s blurry, but I can see it. Polendina’s here, next to me by the rock. Something about that’s funny, but I can’t seem to figure out what it is. I’m supposed to do something. What am I supposed to do?

“Nick of time,” The operator said tersely, hurriedly wrapping a blanket around my shoulders and looking from me to the figure I couldn’t see. “We need to get her in the car.”

“N-Nicole,” I croaked, shakily extending my hand. She looked a little surprised, but comprehension glimmered in her eyes as soon as I started to speak again. “... G-Got your Scroll…”

“You did, kid. Jericho, get her in the car. I’ll take care of this.”

I didn’t hear anyone else say anything, but I felt when I got picked up. The soldiers were protesting, but Polendina wasn’t having any of it. I couldn’t hear very well, anyway, not past Jericho’s chest.

“... You came…”

“Of course I did. You’re my sister. Next time, tell me where you are.” His grip got tighter, while he bundled me into the car. “... It’s going to be okay, Bek. I’ve got you.”

Fate/Italian job - Roman Holy Grail War

Haven't poked my head in for a bit. Still here.