((OOC:  Hehe, okay, cool beans.  The wolf is MINE!<img alt=":twisted:" src="./images/smilies/evil.gif" title="Twisted Evil"/>))<br/><br/>((OOC:  Attention all RPers in the Voar - allow me to direct your attention to<a class="postlink" href="https://aryion.com/modules.php?name=Forums&amp;file=weblog_entry&amp;e=202">my most recent blog entry</a>, where you will find descriptions of your characters.  If I forgot something or got something a bit wrong, PM me and let me know; I'll fix it ASAP.))<br/><br/>O'Toole heard Heretic's comments to her through a thin veil of disgust.  She felt wretched for a moment, as if the cultists deserved a better postmortem treatment than what Heretic was giving them.  But then she realized he was right - at least he wasn't doing it to her.  Or to their own dead, for that matter.<br/><br/>When he passed her she didn't meet his look, but instead let him go by without a word.  Then she walked over to the body of the blond lieutenant and looked down at it, seeing the hole in its head and the mark from her staff still fresh nearby.  Bane had killed this man.  That didn't bother her.  Yet, she couldn't quite pin down what it was that<span style="font-style: italic">did </span>bother her.<br/><br/>Across the road, pressed against a wall by Bane's gun, the young wolf let out a noise slowly approaching the tone of a whimper.  He began to weep in total fear for his life, and struggled to get his words out.<br/><br/>"You- you- you should keep..." he gasped, "me alive... because I- I- I..." he sniffed loudly and swallowed back a sob, "I'm not like the rest.  I- I- I'm different.  I'm... fr- free..." his arm twitched as if he desperately wanted to wipe his face clean, but instead didn't make a move and degenerated into sobs for a few moments.  "Please... please let me go..." he reasoned, "I- I- can hide... can make it on my own... they won't get me..."<br/><br/>Inside the safe house, an increasingly nervous and anxious Halvorson paced back and forth, chewing on a piece of jerky.  The medic had left Baz's side for a moment to check on Collins with his stethoscope and a blood-pressure meter.  After a few moments he pulled away from the slightly-gorged human in the chair and looked at Janus, his expression clinical.  "He's too far gone to bring back," he said simply.  "I can't give him enough blood back for him to make it."<br/><br/>Janus' face raged but his body stayed still.  Halvorson stopped mid-stride and glared at the medic.  "But he's alive!"<br/><br/>"Not for much longer," said the medic, heading back over to Baz.  "If we had gotten to him earlier he might have had a chance.  But he's bled out too quickly - look at the chair."<br/><br/>Janus rushed over to Collins' side and put his fingers to the artery below his ear.  There was the pulsing - very faint, almost gone.  Janus felt his face screw up but kept himself together.<br/><br/>Then Collins' eyes opened, slowly, gradually, and rolled over to look at Janus.  Janus' own eyes widened and he looked back at Collins, not knowing what to do or say.  Collins said nothing, and merely stared at Janus, causing him to wonder if Collins could even comprehend what he was seeing.  After only a few seconds the eyes rolled away and the last breath escaped the nostrils.  The pulsing under Janus' fingers was gone.  Collins was dead.<br/><br/>Janus fell away from the chair onto his back and lay there, nearly catatonic, for several minutes.  Halvorson resisted the urge to throw a piece of furniture.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>In the Palace of the Wolf, Lady Alhanda watched Karogen delicately savor the food set before him.  She waited a moment after Karogen's last sentence before leaning forward and eyeing him.<br/><br/>"Do continue, Karogen," she said lowly.  "You are certainly not done with your story."  She again picked up the knife and studied it.  "You told me more about yourself than about Lentan, and unless you think I should be hunting<span style="font-style: italic">you</span>down for treason, I suggest you tell me more about my true enemy."  She let the knife's point rest on the table beside her and looked at him again.  "You were friends.  Surely you know everything worth knowing about him.  How he thinks.  What he feels.  Whom he loves..." she trailed off and glared at him hard.  "If you really want peace, Karogen, you will help me end this war as soon as I can."<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Outside of the S.E.M. building in Hempstead, the Resistance platoon tasked with the defense of the building was now under the command of its First Sergeant, a young, fit man in his early twenties brandishing a long pole with a machete tied to its end.  They had allowed the S.E.M. to have their power back, but only after taking their radio system.  Now that they had tuned the radio to the encrypted Resistance frequency for their brigade, the platoon was once again in the loop.<br/><br/>The First Sergeant had radioed in to his brigade headquarters - callsign "Oil Rig," to get an update on their orders and the brigade's progress.  Orders were to stay put, watch, and report.  Progress was slim and costly.  The furs had pulled out some elite police squads to take on the brigade's lead elements, and this had taken a toll on their strength.<br/><br/>So the platoon had settled in and taken time to have something to eat.  Fires had been started in trashcans to roast some jerky and vegetables taken from a nearby store.  The First Sergeant looked up from a candy bar he had liberated from a gas station's snack stand, and stared in puzzlement.<br/><br/>The S.E.M. was on the move.  People of all species and ages were exiting their building and gathering in the street.  Apparently in charge of them was a tall foxboy.  The First Sergeant downed the rest of his candy bar and, taking a private with him, approached the group.<br/><br/>"What's going on here?" he asked everyone.