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Here he is!


Geralt of Rivia

Midgar- Sector 8, Detroit

Lvl 9 (165/90) -> Lvl 9 (167/90)

Word Count: 796 words

Benedict's @Dark Cloud and Giovanna's @Lugubrious

Zenkichi put his hands up after Benedict mentioned arresting him, "Woah, woah, there, Benny, nobody said anything about any arrests!" but otherwise let the man continue speaking, narrowing his eyes. So Benedict needed help? Must be quite the pickle he'd found himself in if he needed...this kind of help. Not just backup from another Lieutenant, but a rogue Special Operations agent, a few robots, and this big scary-looking dude with two swords. Why two, though? Zenkichi found his eyes lingering on Geralt a moment longer than the others, confusion not quite showing through, but moved on when the Witcher raised an eyebrow.

What Benedict said about the city being corrupted from within almost, almost made Zenkichi roll his eyes. Was...was Benedict not aware of-no, no he wouldn't be. Zenkichi been one of the unlucky few to come face-to-face with that ugly side of Midgar's government and not only keep his life, but his job. It could be confusing to parse who was in on the darkness that lurked behind that door, who knew but kept their head down, and who was blissfully unaware. Was Benedict finally coming to realize that a group of otherwise-loyal Special Operatives wouldn't up and quit just because leadership changed hands? Or had he found yet another conspiracy?

Giovanna's blatant reaction to Benedict's forthright honesty made Zenkichi smirk a bit. It was nice to know that his co-worker trusted him so much, though he had to agree with Giovanna's frustration. What if he was in on it? What if Zenkichi summoned Valjean right on top of them, dropped a Megido, and started carving through them while his G-Men transformed? Opsec was vital when you were dealing with corruption, and while Zenkichi knew Benedict enough to know he wasn't in on the dark dealings that happened behind closed doors, they couldn't risk him blabbing to somebody who did.

They both ignored Giovanna's attempts to get Zenkichi to leave, but she gave up quite a bit of information in doing so. It only took a moment to put the pieces together. So they'd been the ones who cozied up to Khamsin and dealt with the thugs trying to attack the construction site? By all means, it sounded like Khamsin was the one who did most of the damage, especially killing the G-Man, but he couldn't ignore that. It seemed Giovanna wasn't much better than Benedict in that regard, though she clearly thought she was.

"So you're the ones who killed Manananggal?" Zenkichi coldly interrupted, hands coming down on the table. "Surely an agent of your caliber realizes that assaulting Public Security agents is a serious offense?" He was lying through his teeth that he'd believed that, but to be frank, transferring his frustration at Khamsin onto the idiots who'd tried to befriend the lunatic wasn't difficult. The emotion was very real. Geralt's hackles raised, and his hand subtly drifted to his crossbow, ready for a fight.

After a moment however, the cold facade fell, and Zenkichi pushed off the table, standing up mostly straight. "I'm sorry to hear you're retiring, Lieutenant Pascal. Public Security will be lesser without you there. As a professional courtesy, let me give you and your new friends some advice: Don't talk so much. Now, I have an investigation to run, so if you wouldn't mind, I need to get going. If you need help, you know how to get in touch." Stepping away from the table of Seekers, he shook his head, looking up to the sky with a long-suffering sigh. "Always so complicated." He half-muttered, walking out with his hands in his pockets.

"What just happened?" Geralt wondered as the door closed behind Zenkichi, blinking a few times. "Should we trust him?" The Witcher asked, turning to Benedict.

Outside the restaurant, Zenkichi and his G-Men spread out after a quick chat, each heading in seemingly different directions, but none actually letting the restaurant out of their sight. The civilians in the plaza, realizing what was about to happen, slowly but assuredly made their way out of the area to avoid the coming trouble.

Zenkichi himself was in the laziest possible hiding spot, just on the other side of the large statue, staring at his phone. "What do you know, Pascal...?" He muttered, shaking his head. He knew he could trust the man, but those friends of his were trouble. Whether they'd be trouble for him, for Public Security, for Midgar...or, he hoped, for Midgar's enemies...he didn't know.

Akane would never be safe here. Not unless he kept his head down and waited for the right moment. Benedict and his new allies might be that moment, or they might get them killed, and he had to know which it was.
Geralt of Rivia

Midgar- Sector 8, Detroit

Lvl 9 (164/90) -> Lvl 9 (165/90)

Word Count: 517 words


@Dark Cloud

While the others looked around, explored, and inquired with the civilians about Desporhado and Armstrong, Geralt took a different approach: stand in one spot, be quiet, and listen. Leaning against a tree and closing his eyes, Geralt listened to the conversations around him, of passersby who thought their admissions one of many in a sea of voices. Biological enhancements and years of training allowed Geralt to pick out individual voices, but all in all, he didn't learn much other than that Armstrong was a fairly popular candidate for election. All in all, it seemed that they wouldn't be making many friends if they ended up going against the man, or his followers in Desporhado. That was a given, but knowing that popular sentiment was against them was still something. He made a note of the strange, glowing indentation in the road, but didn't approach. Not knowing that Link had fought and freed Cerberus from there, he wasn't willing to risk anything by checking out something so obviously magical, his medallion humming just a bit when he turned its way. And if he did know, he might have left it be until they were well and truly ready to leave. Especially not before dinner.

Joining together with the others at the pizzeria, Geralt gladly partook in the greasy, hot, fatty deep-dish pizza, sauce staining some of his beard a light red as he ate. He listened to the others, but his attention was well and truly on his food, his stomach seemingly endless to an outside observer, as two and then three pieces of pizza disappeared into his ravenous maw in the time the more sedately-paced members of the Seekers could eat a single slice.

Geralt wasn't the first to notice the G-Men, but he was quick to grab a napkin and wipe down his beard, sauce and grease staining the cloth such that he needed to grab a bunch to really clean it out.

For a tense few minutes, the Turk and his G-Men just...sat there and ate. Calmly. The G-men kept up their pretenses, though many of the other patrons seemed a bit more hurried in their presence. The eldritch creatures weren't something anybody wanted to mess with, even if they were all bunched up in the back corner of the place.

When he was finished with his slice, Zenkichi waved the G-Men on, standing up. "Alright, boys, head on out. I'll catch up in a minute. Casually making his way towards the Seekers, he regarded Benedict with a short nod. "Lieutenant Pascal, fancy meeting you here. And with the fabled Giovanna, no less. There something I should know about?"

By all means, Zenkichi looked like he was truly just having a chat with a co-worker, but to Benedict, who'd known the man a while and worked with him before, he was as ready for a fight as ever, and with a Persona up his sleeve, he could give the Seekers a run for their money even in such a crowded place, if not because of the close proximity and cramped quarters.
Geralt of Rivia

Midgar- Sector 8, Detroit

Lvl 9 (152/90) -> +11 encounter XP Lvl 9 (164/90)

Word Count: 733 words


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Midgar -> Sector 8, Detroit

Lvl 9 (151/90) -> Lvl 9 (152/90)

Word Count: 366 words


Things were starting to get wild, now. As Geralt joined the ranged battle, careful to not let himself be plugged by the shotgunners, though he soon found it unnecessary as the Engineer's turret was putting out far more damage than he could with its much higher rate of fire. He could use his bow, but the smaller hand crossbow was still more familiar to him at this point.

TNT Randy was quick to turn on him and the immobile gun, however, tossing out sticks of TNT towards them. Geralt saw the explosives coming and guarded himself with Quen, though he didn't rely on it to protect him, leaping out of the way before they went off. Before he could return the favor and put the hurt on him, though, Tora and Poppi rocketed down, taking Randy's attention off him. While they fought, Geralt found himself a couple of rough-housing thugs to take care of, being careful to avoid the G-Men as they rampaged through anybody they could get their hands on.

After a moment, the ground started to quake and Geralt bit back a curse, wondering just what it was now.

It was somebody from Desporhado, calling themselves one of the 'Winds of Destruction.' Though, given what he was in...that might have been a fitting title. That wasn't even a suit, more like a walking siege weapon. This was not somebody whose bad side they wanted to be on. The good news was that Blazermate almost immediately flew up to him to try and convince him not to slaughter them, and the two spoke for a few moments before he started going to work, starting on one of the Misconducts that was desperately, and fruitlessly, shooting at him.

It was quick work, and the thug was dispatched before Geralt would have had time to load an arrow, taking with it a huge chunk of the support pillar. Geralt took a step back, looking Khamsin up and down, before nodding his head and thinking 'Fuck that' and getting well away from the rampaging maniac.

On this day, he chose life. "I think he might have the rest of this handled." He admitted to the others.
Geralt of Rivia

Midgar -> Sector 8, Detroit

Lvl 9 (149/90) -> Lvl 9 (151/90)

Word Count: 812 words


Geralt followed along on the sky-rail as the rest of the Seekers descended, managing a landing somewhere halfway between Tora and Poppi's roll, and Giovanna's semi-elegant slide. Not quite tumbling head over foot, but definitely not coming to a smooth stop, the oversized Witcher grunted as he stood back up, looking around to make sure they'd all made it in one piece. Patting himself down to ensure he hadn't lost anything, he gathered with the others to take a peek at their target.

That these thugs were much more prepared for a fight was unfortunate but inevitable, given that they were actually attacking a building site. What they were after, he really wasn't quite sure, but it seemed the Seekers were all of one mind: they had to be stopped. Unbeknownst to him, Giovanna was having similar, if not more thoroughly fleshed-out, thoughts about the mystery of their motives. He wasn't thrilled by the prospect of once again having to remain stealthy, but he was forced to grin and bear it. Or, more accurately, mildly scowl and bear it, but he was a grumpy old man, that was allowed.

Giovanna quickly gave the order to move in, and Geralt charged to cover and hid behind a metal panel, before making a short hop and pulling himself up to the second, and in short order the third, floor. Keeping low, he shuffled to hide behind a hanging tarp, keeping his breathing slow and steady. He doubted anybody could hear him over the talking and yelled orders below, but given his size it was better to be careful. He waited for a minute or so, wondering when something would happen, when the talking quickly cut out, and not long after, a familiar and concerning voice spoke. A G Man. Sighing, Geralt stood and moved to a better vantage point, looking out for another Seeker to see what they were doing.

He did not have time to find one before the blast of a shotgun rang out. Cursing, he moved from his place of cover, making the drop to the ground from where he was, though not without being sure to lower himself a bit first to help mitigate the fall, landing as TNT Randy's dynamite exploded and caused the other G-Men to enter their combat forms.

Quickly casting Quen to protect himself, Geralt grunted as a gunslinger opened fire, and charged forward, letting the magical shield he'd summoned take the damage, tackling the Misconduct to the ground and delivered a pair of brutal punches to the man's face, rendering him unconscious. The feeling of a hockey stick hitting him in the head, breaking the shield, was all Geralt registered for a moment as he fumbled off the gunner, shaking his head as the improvised weapon swung towards his head again.

Without a thought, a massive arm thrust out, catching the hockey stick mid-swing and snapping the tool with a clench. Geralt rose, and to his assailant's credit, they were not cowed, lashing out with the ragged edge of their weapon. Geralt merely raised his arm in a block, catching the weapon on his armor, and grabbed the thug by their neck, lifting them and tossing them at an ally roller blading over to their rescue, knocking the two over. He strode over to the pair as they scrambled to get up, tearing the roller blader's hockey stick from their hand and quickly bashing them in the face with it, turning to the other and jabbing the end of it into their gut, before flipping the stick in his hands and smashing it over their back, shattering the wooden hockey stick and knocking the hoodlum to the floor. Kicking them once in the ribs, and probably cracking a few, he turned and lashed out with a kick than knocked them back to the ground.

Turning to observe the rest of the battle, Geralt drew his crossbow and quickly shot one of the Misconducts that was trying to return to position after Poppi's scattering attack. The bolt didn't manage to pierce the hockey pads, given their bulk, but it certainly scared the thug, who turned to Geralt and opened fire with their shotgun, whiffing badly. As they tried to correct their aim, a blast of unseen force launched them backwards into a beam, giving Geralt time to close the gap and tackle them into the beam, crashing their skull into the metal and knocking them out cold.

"What are we doing about the G-Men?" Geralt called out, watching as the monstrous enforcers fought the Misconducts, tossing a charging stick-wielder over his shoulder. Part of him was missing using his swords, but leaving a trail of corpses would be...perhaps more conspicuous than they were looking for. If Raiden wanted to, he could go ahead, but it was probably better not to piss off their hosts.
Geralt of Rivia

Midgar -> Sector 8, Detroit

Lvl 9 (148/90) -> Lvl 9 (149/90)

Word Count: 365 words


Getting the rest of the way out of the brewery had taken a few minutes of waiting, but once Geralt was sure he found a breach in the barrel creatures' patrols, he took full advantage of it, hooking onto a rail and riding it around and tangential to his final goal. Dropping off the rail into a quick roll (which hurt his knees a bit but he would never admit it), he ran to his next target and leapt, hooking onto the rail and being pulled right next to his goal: the orange tower. Clambering upwards, he hooked onto the rail leading out of the brewery, and in short order he and the rest of the Seekers were free.

It wasn't much longer to reach the rendezvous point, and once the sky-hooks they had gathered for the others were handed off, they mused on their options. Unfortunately, it looked like they would need to collect more gear, especially if they had any desire to go into Quarantine Valley and deal with the Hermits. Geralt was less than enthused about going into that place, but he'd been one of the ones to suggest they trade with the Hermits, so he accepted that they'd likely need to take an unfortunate path to get to them.

Absent any actual ideas on how to proceed, they followed Giovanna's lead of hoping trouble would run into them. Taking the sky-lines was rather convenient, if a bit odd. They passed a fight below, but at the sight of what was likely G-Men and that strange gas...no, not a good idea. Geralt's stomach protested the loops they took on the way there, but soon enough they were deposited onto the roof of a factory.

As the group got to looking around, engaging in the ages-old practice of "Leave me alone and I'll leave you alone" with the hoodlums drinking nearby, Poppi located some suspicious individuals attacking the construction site. Geralt followed Tora to the edge of the roof, looking down on the thugs with a sneer. "Well, then. Looks like we have some more work to do." He commented, following Giovanna and hooking to a sky-line to make his way down.
Geralt of Rivia

Midgar -> Sector 8, Detroit

Lvl 9 (147/90) -> Lvl 9 (148/90)

Word Count: 609 words


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

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

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

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

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

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

Midgar -> Sector 8, Detroit

Lvl 9 (146/90) -> Lvl 9 (147/90)

Word Count: 706 words


That circumstances forced them apart so early was a small surprise to Geralt, but he had truly no idea what stances different societies took to what his might call a sentient golem, so while he took Midgar's approach in stride, he still frowned at the idea that they weren't people. "Seems a bit reductive..." he grumbled, but not putting up an actual argument against it. This was a philosophical field he'd prefer to stay out of. Plenty of people couldn't understand why Witchers refused to hunt true dragons, and he was a bit tired of explaining that as well, given that they were so rare anyway. In hindsight, he hadn't stopped to think about the Enderdragon, though it being one of Galeem's Guardians meant that he wouldn't do so now, either. They, and it, had to be stopped.

Shortly after, once they'd decided on finding the Hermits, Giovanna lead them around the city within Sector 8. It didn't take long for the SOU operative to find what she was looking for, some drug that was commonplace around here. Her companion, Rei, took a few sniffs of the stuff and took off, leading them to the source. Geralt was thankful for that, as he wasn't sure he wanted to take a whiff of some strange place's drugs. Whether it affected him or not would be up in the air, but if it did, he could very well be rendered useless.

It didn't take long to find their destination, and they even got to witness the sky-hooks in action on the way there, a group of punks zipping by above them as they followed Rei. It looked simple enough, though he imagined that would change once he was up there himself.

Just across the street was an abandoned building which had fallen into disrepair, holes visible in its roof. Geralt shook his head at the lack of care for the city, though he wondered how a place of this scale could even operate. Did they focus so much on controlling individual travel to make up for the fact that they couldn't actually run the place right, shoving the dregs below to be hidden and forgotten about? It wouldn't be the first time.

Once they were all ready, they made their way across, Geralt following Giovanna's footsteps and using his enhanced size and strength to easily clear the gap, quickly leaping from the air conditioning unit which groaned unhappily at his weight.

Once on the roof, they all took a quick look at what they were jumping into, before dropping.

Raiden went for the ones armed with guns, while Geralt went for the ones with more up-close-and-personal style weapons. Not even bothering to draw his swords, Geralt buried his fist into one thug's gut before they even had time to react beyond shock, and when they charged, Geralt hefted and tossed the winded body of the gangster into one of his buddies, sending the two toppling to the ground. Baring his claws, he turned another thug into a pile of bloody ash while one tried to stab their knife between the plates of his armor, only for Geralt to crush their arm with an elbow. As the mook screamed in pain, the Witcher ended their agony with a fistful of claws to the gut.

The two he'd knocked over shakily stood before charging at him, and Geralt lashed out with his leg, launching the one with a bat back into a wall, knocking him unconscious. The other thug swung their crowbar, but he caught it and mercilessly tossed the weapon aside, lifting the woman by her throat and punching her in the face, breaking her nose and sending her to the ground, senseless, incoherent, and unable to keep fighting as blood poured down her face and her skull pounded with a migraine. It was practically a miracle she'd survived the punch in the first place. He ignored the moaning and looked out over the carnage they'd unleashed. Raiden had gone outright lethal, using a pair of blades that folded out of his robotic arms to carve through their foes with no concern for their lives. Geralt just nodded at the cyborg.

"Let's get those hooks, then." He simply stated.
Geralt of Rivia

Midgar -> Sector 8, Detroit

Lvl 9 (144/90) -> Lvl 9 (146/90)

Word Count: 823 words


That the forces running and protecting Midgar knew of Spirit Fusion was a surprising and somewhat concerning revelation to Geralt. Where had they gained this knowledge from? Was it one of the Consuls, using their knowledge to buy influence? That would make sense, though to what end? They were clearly working for Galeem. Was their lord not granting them enough power? Were they to gain it themselves as some sort of test? Or did Galeem even care, instead selecting a few powerful beings to guard its guardians, then just...letting the world go as it did? The possibilities, and the fact that Geralt had simply no idea of what Galeem wanted or how it did what it did, were still growing. How frustrating.

It seemed, however, that some of their allies knew people within these organizations. Raz knew and worked with people from the Pysch-OSF, while Raiden had a very adversarial past with Desporhado. Enough to outright demand a fight with them, in fact. Geralt's fists clenched, but Goldlewis managed to help remind him that not only were they on the same side, but they didn't have the opportunity to just go in and start a fight, given that it would make everybody around them instantly an enemy. That was a great way to get killed.

Their newfound allies took some time to address their concerns, and described the way the city was laid out, and Geralt had to avoid trying to wrap his mind around the sheer breadth of the city, because he simply couldn't. Eight sectors, each divided into top and bottom, each with their own societal ecosystem. He'd take what info he could and use it, though. Sector 3, on top, was where Raz's friends were. Sector 8, down below, was where Desporhado's Bunker was located. And Sector 4's top section was where Neuron was headquartered.

Soon enough, the group were getting their metaphorical handcuffs put on. Devices that told everybody who they were, held their identities inside them. That were required just to get around. It reminded him too much of the Nilfgaardians. Travel papers. Transit passes. Permission from the people in charge just to go where you wanted to go. He glared at the offending bracelet as they were on board the train, trying not to focus on just how badly it annoyed him. To be shackled.

Part of him was even surprised he cared this much. The solution had practically been handed to him. No necrophages to slay, nobody to bribe to get it, it was just...made by an ally. He wasn't forced to pay or work for it. But the physical reminder, the feel of it on his arm. He didn't like it.

Eventually, he was pulled from his thoughts by the group's arrival in Detroit. Apparently, it was a den of scum and thieves, who wouldn't let you have shit. They'd even steal directly from your GridLink if you had money connected to it, whatever the hell that meant. Geralt wasn't sure he was the best fit for this place, but that would be the case wherever they went, whichever group they investigated or tried to join. This city was full of advanced technology, far beyond what he could easily understand. An elevator without visible pulleys? Fine, he could accept that. Odd, somewhat fanciful, but they just got better at hiding the pulleys, he supposed. This? No, it made no sense.

Still, he steeled himself as they were on their way. Giovanna was quick to show them the Qaurantine Zone, and Geralt's hackles raised quickly. A massive chimera outbreak left the citizens infected, and quickly abandoned. He understood the need for Quarantine, especially against something as virulent as the Redshift could apparently be, but...how terrible. "Poor folk. Didn't do anything to deserve it, just...existed in the wrong spot. Left to fend for themselves." He was feeling melancholic for a moment. He couldn't see them, but he knew it must have been a great number of people suffering in there. All the more reason to stop the Ever Crisis, find the Guardians, and destroy Galeem, wasn't it? So much to do.

When it came time to decide which tree they should bark up first, Geralt found himself similarly indecisive. Raiden's intent to hunt down Desporhado seemed to be tempered for now, and while he somewhat agreed with Benedict, Geralt couldn't help but be skeptical of just how willing he was to really help them. It wasn't necessarily anything against the man, but he'd been essentially forced out of his government job by rebels, then press-ganged to join them. Hard feelings would be reasonable. Still, the logic was sound. "For now, might be best to keep a low profile, like he says. Not keen on dealing with those G-Men again so soon, or getting Desporhado's attention before we're ready. Any chance of tracking down any Hermits here, or is that a lost cause?" The Witcher asked of Giovanna.
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