@ Ome (Stella):  Lupin cracks his neck a bit and gets dressed into something more comfortable, ignoring Jazz with every action, the poor bastard finally giving in his struggles.  The wolfish smile curling over his lips gave a rather wicked impression.  “Speed can come from a lot of things.  Jazz was fast, but my reflexes are better.  I've watched him fight before.” He explains, pulling a black nylon jogging shirt tight over his torso.  “So I let him keep coming at me... as he used up his energy, he got imperceptibly slower, until it got the the point I could match him.  From there it was just catching him.” He grins, licking his fangs.  “Hear that, boy?” He snaps at Jazz, ribbing playfully.  “He performed really well, though, they're still talking about contracting him for a trial run.” He whispers to you.  “But don't tell him that now.  I'm having too much fun making him squirm.” He winks even as they start to call your name to the ring – and even some of the crowd, imperceptibly, a small fanbase from your underground, calls as well...<br/><br/><br/>@ KavenBach (Santi):  The floor about you is steeped in red, sopping, and the flawless mural taking construction on the wall was smattered in red.  Shari bucked, trying to hold shut an entrance wound that was only half of her problem.  Tim wasted no time in hurtling you to the floor, unharmed for the most part, as he knelt beside her.  Through his torn robes, his left shoulder hangs uncovered, and upon it, a slightly faded Ouroboros with the number 119 in the middle.<br/><br/>“Shari?”  He stammered, his eyes maintaining the strange innocence that had never failed him before, and still didn't.  His eyes travelled up and locked on the barrel of a bald man in a leather duster, dark glasses, goatee and glaring eyes.  Gray ghosts curled from the suppressor at the end of the barrel and faded even as Shari's breath did as well.  The boy ran his fingers down, panicking.  “No... no no No no NO don't...” He sits up between her and the barrel, his glare adorable and terrified and hateful and confused.  The man in the duster slipped the cannon back away into hiding in his coat and knelt by you.<br/><br/>“You have exactly one minute and fifty four seconds to shower.” He says.  “I'll find you some clothes in that time.” He points to the boy.  “You're both coming with me.  Get up.”<br/><br/>Tim trembles, and turns back, examining the girl in her death throes.  “Do something!”  He whimpers.  “Do something for her!”<br/><br/>The man shakes his head and reaches again for his gun.  At that, Tim cries and panics and covers her limp form.  His face is beat red and wet.  The man in the duster cocks his head sideways and looks at you, still fingering the trigger guard.  “One minute forty four.” He reiterates.  “You wanna leave this place clean?  Or are you thinking of a miracle to pull out of your ass for your killer?” He pulls the hammer back, ready to euthanize Shari even this late for her.<br/><br/>Tim was panicking; he was gnawing angrily on his thumb, opening himself up, opening a now gaping vein in his thumb and covering the ground, the hole in her her breast in more blood.  His own.<br/><br/>“She won't make it... help...”  You could even see the would sealing as he chewed it open, kept it open by tearing ragged hunks of flesh from his palm with his teeth.<br/><br/><br/>@ Chiro (Onyx):  The professor nods and lifts open the grating to the larger sewer entrance, throwing it out of the way.  “Just beware the thinning line 'tween madness and an open mind.” He warns, and slips down in first, a torch cutting the darkness mellow around him.  “Hmm... come on in?” He offers.  “The smells' not bad after all.  This place has been untouched long enough.” His voice and the light fade gradually.<br/><br/>Caleena hisses.  “Look.” She strains her eyes.  “It's... weird... is it getting darker?”<br/><br/>The mist dims with the vanishing of his torch, and the wind whistles and whips through the alleys, croaking siding and trees and branches rapping on broken windows, your surroundings a growing maelstrom of crinkling, clattering, smashing, like an junkyard artist's place in the midst of a tornado.  Caleena calls after the professor.  “HEY!  Might we be safer in one of the houses?” She screams, her fear completely unmasked.  “Onyx, I'm following.  Come on, guys!” She races into the subterranean solace.