((OOC, I switched the orders of some of my posts to make things flow better. Enjoy!))

(characters: The Hound, Hadiya, Ike, Jack, Tendaji, The White)

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<Jack_Heimfal> UniGen was one of the few corporations that had a building outside of the Toride; and it was one of the few that could afford such a sprawling pyramid. It was not as large as the toride; not even as large as some of the buildings that towered around it. But it was unique, and it was wide; its ziggurat design a mystery compared to the sleekness of the Architects. There were plenty of places for aerocars to come and go; the building a bustle of hybrid - and, surprisingly, purebred - life. Here was one of the few places where the Uniclass hired the OuterClass; and UniGen was foremost in generating jobs for the hapless souls that had not joined Unity.

<Jack_Heimfal> "State your name, please," the hybrid behind the desk asked; his voice pleasant and friendly. Talons flipped through the skimpy folder of the new temp, rustling paper that echoed throughout the cavernous room of concrete. The pureblood, a young lion, perched uneasily on the other side of the desk, his hand folded over the other - fingers drumming on it nervously. He swallowed thickly, his eyes a bit glazed by the awe of the building. "... Jack, sir. Jack Heimfal, he almost-croaks, wincing a bit.

<Jack_Heimfal>"How old are you, Jack?" Really, this was just a formality. The paper-thin vidscreen embedded in folder, hidden from the lion's sight, was already running through the DNA tests they had taken before the interview. There was a reason, after all, why the turnover for purebloods was so high here at UniGen. Certainly, *most* filled the janitorial positions that were advertised for; but they always

<Jack_Heimfal> seem to go missing after awhile. A real nuisance. "Ninteen, sir. Uhm... I filled out all the forms, sir," the lion points out nervously. The hybrid smiles.

<Jack_Heimfal> "It's just a formality, Jack. We're just running the quick background check. This is also to make sure that you have the social skills necessary for the job." The young lion flushed a bit, mumbling something under his breath; he immediately tries to sit up taller in his chair, his hand lifting to comb through the ragged beard on his mane. "So, Jack. Tell me about your parents. Did you know them? What were they like? "Bronze eyes flickered down to the folder.

<Jack_Heimfal> ".... you want to know what my parents were like?" The lion's odd response went ignored by the hybrid, the interviewer's eyes widening slightly, unable to tear themselves away from the folder as the vidscreen suddenly filled with red text, a shrill alarm beginning to wail. A heavy chair scraped against the floor, and the hybrid barely had time to look up before a bullet was placed between his eyes - his body jerking backwards from the blow, gore exploding from his skull. Another bullet from the silenced gun tore through the folder, rendering the vid-screen silent. Jack holstered his weapon, the 'nervous youth' falling away from him; it a lion with cold green eyes and purpose that quickly went to the door. With a dull *thock*, he pulled the prosthetic arm from its housing; buttoning up his sleeve as he placed an ear against the door. Nothing. He pulled a small receiver from his pocket - carefully hidden. "Vvssha t'Vina," he hissed into the mic.

<Jack> .... "Vvssha t'Vina," he hissed into the mic.
<Jack> There was a long moment as the one-armed lion took his thumb off the catch; he quickly strode across the room to check on the hybrid, kneeling to feel for a non-existant pulse. As he did, the shadows in the ponderous chamber warped and twisted; a pair of glowing, absinthe eyes unfurling slowly.

* the_Hound strode from the shadow, his free gloved paw pulling sword from sheathe with a long, metal hiss. He is not alone; mercenaries, by their ragged look and stunned expressions, stumble out - immediately filling the tombs with their voices of shock. "Quiet," hissed the lion, straightening and turning; he glides easily to the Hound's side. The mercs get the point; they grimly ready their guns,

<the_Hound> certain now that taking up with this particular employer just might prove a big payoff. The lion shoves the door open for the Hound, pulling his gun free as well in one smooth movement; as one, and swiftly, the group invades the UniGen hallways.

<The_White> At street level, the White vehicles begin to coalesce like leukocytes clumping around an infection. Some are on-calls equipped for such circumstances, quickly running out barricades and tanglewire to seal the lower entrances of the massive, shining pyramid; others are pulled in abruptly from patrol, glittering vehicles pulling into position to serve as armored blockades themselves. Aerodynes sweep in from all quarters of the city like humming bees, orbiting the spire and settling onto skyways that link the girth of the great edifice to other, neighboring towers. Some few shatter abruptly down through covered skywalks: buildings are easy to repair, but some forms of contamination must not be permitted to spread. Near the peak, a formation of heavier aerodynes clumps into being with quick precision: not the patrol cars or transports commonly seen wandering the streets of Midcity, these are armored, weapon-festooned killers, dropships and ground attack vehicles. Obviously this is no small disturbance to draw such things out into the open.

<Tendaji`Mogali> "Well you certainly have an impressive record, Mr. Mogali." "Mhmm. Building security like this, uh. I'm familiar with it." "Oh?" The lithe fur nodded, pointing at the console in a local control station. "Someone's running status tests? Your all-band alert checks out." The interviewer froze, turning to look at the console. "Uh..." "Yeah, part of the automated alerts? Building systems usually have recognition software looking for firearms on the closed-circuit cameras, if you don't have an RFID license tag and-" "I don't think this is a drill." "Uh, this... isn't part of the interview?" "No." "... Frak me."

<The_White> Every telescreen in the massive UniGen building and the surrounding skyscrapers goes sudden livid red, then eye-searing white, then red again as the soulless, mechanical voice of the Ministry overrides every land-linked speaker in the area. "ATTENTION: This is the Ministry. All able civilians are to vacate the area IMMEDIATELY. Failure to do so will cause in an IMMEDIATE arrest! Repeat-"

<The_White> Within the UniGen building, the message is subtly different. "...the Ministry. Lie down upon the floor and do NOT move. Do NOT attempt to evacuate the building. Failure to comply will result in use of force. You will receive no other warning. Repeat, this is the Min..." Power is suddenly cut except to the telescreens and their speakers, leaving the inner labyrinth of the massive pyramid bathed in flickering red and white, though those corridors and rooms that follow the pyramids armor-glass surface still are moderately well-lit by the lights of surrounding buildings glowing through the diffusing snow.

<the_Hound> To the next floor. The one above that; where Tendaji was interviewing, though it was so hard to pinpoint that in the massive building. The Hound halted at a particular door; there were so many, and all unmarked. But this one... he turns to the lion, nodding; the one-armed lion, in turn, turns to the mercenaries. "Hold the door," he curtly orders over the belting of the Ministry. Here was the test of faith; some were ashen-pale, other's weapons shook in their hands. But the diminutive canine had, basically, *magically* teleported them inside; they would trust him to do so again. They began tearing off doors and dragging desks from empty rooms; building a hasty barricade as the Hound and the Lion enters the room.

<Tendaji`Mogali> "Oh Frak me." In a heartbeat the control station room's lighting died. "W-what do we do?" "Look, this is a big building. Chances are good this is going to happen in a completely unrelated sector." 'Daji reached back, pulling up his jacket and settling a hand on his holstered revolver, pulling the hammer back, but otherwise leaving it the hell alone. He lifted up his hands. "We stay here and-"

<Tendaji`Mogali> "Oh Frey's sake what was that noise?" 'Daji's ears tensed. "We have thirty seconds to get the _frak_ out of here and find somewhere to hide on the floor. If they bust in here and think we can give them control over the building security we are frakking _meat_, you understand me? Where's the nearest PF?" "W-what?" 'Daji reached out, claws flashing out in the dim light, catching in the interviewer's pretty shirt. "Public, Facility. Bathroom," he snarled. "Where?" "D-down the hall, left!"

<Tendaji`Mogali> How can you be sure of that, soldier? Ain't you just talking out your ass? - The question wasn't if 'Daji was sure of it. It wasn't even a question, because he knew what he'd done to the poor bastards he'd come across in a half-dozen colonies who _might_ have had a useful passcode, let alone what he'd done to the ones he'd known had valuable data... "Mouth, shut. If shooting starts before we reach the PF, lie down. You understand?" In the dim light of the still operating displays 'Daji could make out the nod. What he needed was a set of goggles. Ballistic armor. ... Face it. What he needed was a frakking suit of powered WhiteGear. Daji reached out with his left hand and grabbed the interviewer's wrist, so he could drag him along. Chances are he wasn't used to the dark. ... If anything, that was something 'Daji was used to. Kneeling down low, he hesitantly eased the otherwise anonymous door open a crack, trying to see down the hallway... listen. If the Ministry arrived soon, like in the next couple of seconds, without this turning into some kind of hostage drama... well. That'd be convenient, wouldn't it?

<The_White> Inside the pitch blackness of the dropship, deadly shadows boil around white sealsuits as the members of Assault One frenetically hustle into their thermoptic armor. One small figure at the end is nearly finished already, working over a holographic display of the building's architectural blueprints and talking while others strap on her armor and check it. "...an S-Class threat," Hadiya continues as Korei finishes with her load-out and checking her plasma pistols. "That means we get basically one, say again, ONE shot to drive him, contain him, and preferably kill him. If that fails, we may, repeat MAY get one shot at pickup before Meteor is keyed to abZero as much as half of the building. Command wants a body. We have to be sure of our kill. Internal cams show them clumped up here.

<The_White> Meteor is going to drop a concussion cluster at this corner to reduce its viability as an escape route." And reduce probably, the lives of several hundred people who are in the wrong place at the wrong time when all that structural steel and plascrete comes down on them. "Independent elements, some patrol and some Special Weapons, will try to isolate these corridors here. We go in right through the wall," She grins ferally as her helmet is handed to her, locks it down and becomes yet another blur in the bay of the dropship. "The first thing the Hound ought to see of us is us landing on his head. I expect you to land as hard as you ever did in the war, because this is the war again. We aren't done." She looks around the hold at the other shadows. "Meteor is go in thirty seconds."

<the_Hound> The speakers over the dropship crackles to life rather suddenly, bypassing all pilot controls. "Hello? Oh, wonderful," came a rather pleasant, unhurried voice. "Commander Benjamin Jorgen. Froud is secured, but I doubt they're his target. Chase them out for us, would you?" The speakers die again, leaving Hadiya and her crew to their jobs after that brief aside.

<the_Hound> "Oy!" A shout and a barrage of nervous gunfire follow the door's movement - peppering it in gunfire. It doesn't appear anyone's shooting to kill; after all, one would rather be found *behind* a barricade than outside it. Thus, after the initial shock, the mercenaries lay silent. What is happening beyond the door is anyone's guess; for now, alarms and the Ministry's warning blares throughout the building.

<Tendaji`Mogali> Quiet. Quiet, except for the scraping of furniture. The wrenching of a door. Heart was loud in his ears. Too loud. He pushed the door open a little wider, ready to move. The hybrid he had behind him wasn't that quiet, breathed heavily. Loud. Louder than the thudding of 'Daji's heart. - You think just because you look like those inbred shits that they ain't going to shoot you if you don't get your head down? ON YOUR GUT SOLDIER - And all a sudden he was pulling his head down, and he could feel heated fragments of plastifoam shards whisking through his fur. The hybrid behind him shuddered in fear, almost enough for a split second 'Daji wondered if he'd been shot. But then came the alarmed, fearful whisper of, "oh shit!" 'Daji pulled away and the door slipped shut. He pulled a wheeled chair close, knocked it over in front of the door, and wedged himself back into a corner, laying flat on his back, head and shoulders propped up against the wall, hands around the back of his head. He shifted awkwardly, laying more on a hip... well. If he had his gun out and the ministry came breezing in that door first, he'd be just as dead as if he'd had to take an extra half second drawing it, wouldn't he? Certainly, actually. The ministry WOULD have no-light goggles. Never knew about whoever these guys were.

<Hadiya> Hadiya blinks at the speakers and taps her helmet. That was...Not standard. She switches to the command network. "Ops Six Actual, this is Assault One-Six Actual. Is there a protectee we need to be concerned with? My mission profile says maximum enforcement protocol and 'Not a Stone Standing'. Meteor has abZero weapons unlocked. Need confirmation by Actual or a full stop NOW."

<Hadiya> This is not the time, this is NOT the time, we're SECONDS from entry and only a minute or so from a close-quarters molecular level disaster you brass-ribboned bastard and I do not need another micromanaged clusterfuck like Dresden, no. Her hands have extracted the plasma pistol from her left hip crossdraw, doing a last minute breakdown and check of its implosion chamber and power contacts.

<the_Hound> There is a long moment of silence before the radio crackles again - and this time, the voice sounds decidedly *less* friendly. Slightly irritated, in fact. "Clean the wax out of your ears, One-Six. Protectee is *secure*, that's a sierra-echo-charlie-uniform-romeo-echo." It crackles a bit, the voice fading in and out. "Get a move on."

<Hadiya> The override steps on every Ministry channel except Command Level, crackling in the helmets and earpieces of every Minister within a half-mile. "All Ministers, Meteor Leader. Incoming sledge, Northeast corner of UniGen. Watch yourselves. Incoming in Five..." The quintet of bombs separates from beneath the stealth airship, spiraling down, noses locked on infrared pinpoint laser markers. "Three ...Two...SPLASH." The UniGen building, nearly a mile across and almost as high, ripples as white light detonates along one of its faceted edges, caving in a hole big enough to drop a cruiser through. The overpressure ripple races down the adjoining sides of the building, armorglass spalling in waves to fall to the street below where (hopefully) most Ministers have sought cover.

<Tendaji`Mogali> His eyes were wide. His pupils didn't slit up, like a cat's, but he could feel the yellow in his irises shrinking. Practically feel it. When was the last time he'd slept? Six... sixteen... .. not sixty. No, it was sixteen hours. He was awake. He was definitely frakking awake, but still he could hear... No, he couldn't. He could _not_ hear _his_ voice. But he parted his lips, let his jaw go slack anyway, stuck his fingers in his ears and, and- Vision swims. Vision has to be swimming, because otherwise the windows wouldn't have just splattered across the ceiling and the wall wouldn't have just cracked, spilling plaster and paint-scraps everywhere.

<Ike> With the door out of the way, the ministers quickly rushed into action. While their hurried footsteps could be heard, they moved like phantoms within shadows. Behind the barricade, the mercenaries may hear the distinct thump of an AbZero grenade being launched into their pitiful barrier.

<Ike> The detonation of the AbZero grenade was soundless. If the mercenaries were observing, they would see the components of their precious barrier turn black as every molecule within the area of effect was drained of their energy. Milliseconds later, the black "ice" explodes into hundreds of razor sharp shrapnel.


<the_Hound> Tendaji and his hostage would be safe enough from the grenade; the mercenaries, however, were not. They had a few seconds of more panicked shooting before the grenade falls; their last sight a searing flash of blue. Their remains soon enough shatter into a million pieces, beyond the reach of even the Hound's powers. They would have been left, anyway; once the Hound had gotten what he needed.

<the_Hound> Wind tears through the rubble, whipping dust about the destruction; and there, a flash of blue. Electricity sparked up and down the Hound's sword, his head lifted to the aerodyne; the lion is nowhere to be seen. A bound hand frees itself, lifted laboriously; as the dhole's skirts whip about his legs, he motions. Come hither, Dragon of the Skies. Come to your doom.


<Tendaji`Mogali> There wasn't much by way of noise. Just high pitched ringing. A kind of lurching in his gut as he shifted, flailing an arm in search of a rifle's strap. Balance thrown sideways, made him want to throw up as he slapped disjointedly at his hip for a sidearm, even though he carried his revolver on the small of his back. But he had to, had to return fire. His tongue wandered around the interior of his mouth, searching for suit controls, but even though he could taste tin there wasn't anything in his mouth. Unsteadily he clawed out at the nearest thing he could find that felt big enough to stick his body behind, got his hand against the desk and... and... he wanted to curl up into a little ball and call for air support. Long blinks. He was breathing. "Frak." He couldn't hear his own voice.

<Tendaji`Mogali> Or rather, he could. But it sounded all wrong. He realized where he was, stopped trying to pull out his gun, and hunched up to retch on the pretty office floor.

<Ike> The door that separated the Hound and the ministers was mercilessly kicked aside. Three ministers, including Ike, entered to confront this threat to Unity, their faces emotionless behind their masks. They functioned not as individuals, but parts of a beautiful machine, one moving to claim the existence of an insignificant blemish in the Flames of Unity. It must be purged.

<the_Hound> Ah. Three little Ministers. So they decided to give the Hound a sporting chance? The door bursts open, and a single eye appears over his shoulder - gazing back at the trio as dust obscures his form for but a moment. In the next it disperses, revealing... nothing. Nothing but the hum of electricity as it arcs across the Machine, a single and terrible word spitting from the Hound's grated mask. He struck at them, and in the next moment he was gone; as if he had never moved from his spot, sword held behind him as he crouched.

* Ike saw the Hound return to his spot, and was ready to raise his gun to fire. . .It was then that he felt a gush of warm liquid running down the inside of his suit, then the sharp pain in his neck. No. . .it couldn't be. His throat has been severed! In horror, the avian hybrid fell to his knees, his lungs still desperately gasping for breath through his severed windpipe. His ears were filled with the terrible, gurgling wheezing in his throat. Out of the corner of his blurred eyes, he saw the headless bodies of his two fellow ministers fall limply next to him. . .

<Hadiya> Almost three kilometers away, the shockwave still shakes the dropship as it banks and creaks, diving like a stooping falcon down to where the threat was previously localized. The side of the UniGen building is a naked skeleton of floors, open to the flaying wind, shattered glass still cascading down the mile-high pyramid in an avalanche of dark reflections. As the aerodyne slams down on its skids, wedging itself neatly onto the shelf of one projecting floor, the deck hammers up beneath the feet of the Assault squad and drives the sixteen ghostly Ministers to a forced crouch. They leap up and in a moment later, fanning out with precision and keeping low as the array of suppression clusters on the dropship's side fire outward. Unfortunately, the claymores are too high up, and the thousands of screaming, ricocheting pellets do nothing but burrow into the ceiling tiles well above the Hound and his crew. The deck is a wind-whipped cloud of choking dust and shattered rubble, the dust swirling in the wake of the claymore cluster. There's the gleam of Ministry armor down on the floor, clearly out of action, and where did that coruscance of blue lightning get to? The dust quickly nullifies the thermoptic armor, and the Assault team is almost immediately limned in the pale powder. "Ministers down. Target?" Crackles over the helmets. "No target! Call it if you got it!"

<the_Hound> As quiet as a cat the Hound slips over the dying body of Ike, pressing his back against the wall. He has no need for his vanishing act here; the dust stirred up by the concussive blasts, coupled with the ship and the maze-like debris, was doing that for him. The Ministers fanned out, precise; an excellent strategy for locating and subduing frightened targets. But the Mercenaries were long dead; Tendaji and his compatriot had nothing to fear from Ministers. They were merely innocent bystanders. There was only the Hound, far from disoriented or frightened. His blood was up; his eyes fairly gleaming from the mask-holes as he stalks the outermost Minister. A flash of blue suddenly grew from the Minister's chest; and then it was gone again in a whirl of smoke.

<Hadiya> Hadiya spins as a caret on her visor winks out, "Miles!" But no, Miles is dead, his armor's readout already flat-lined or she'd at least have a red tag on her display. Five steps through the swirling dust, heat from the nearby blast and the suppression clusters making even infrared a swirling mess. She ducks around a pile of rubble and is suddenly almost face to face with that gleaming, ferocious mask and the ribbon of lightning it wields. The Minister is fast. The Hound is faster, knocking Hadiya's plasma pistol aside so the shattering bolt converts concrete to burning lime, ripping a twenty-foot streak of spall through the flooring as the plascrete ruptures, the water locked in it converting instantly to steam. Her entrenching tool comes up, one corner catching and locking lightning blade, twisting it aside then losing it again as Hadiya drives the sharpened shovel-edge toward that polished mask. "TARGET! TO ME."

<Tendaji`Mogali> What the? What the frak? He'd seen it. Part of it anyway, through hunks of torn out wall, across the way. The doors were broken out, there was blood. Blood on White armor. Too fast. Too frakking fast. A vague glance upward. It might've been shell-shock, but the inbred-looking hybrid did little more than wince and turn his head away from the sudden clouds of powder, practically unphased by an explosive near-miss. Clinging to the desk's side as though it were some kind of life raft, He clawed at it, pulling it over with a rough thud. Stretching over it, there was the lightly torn shirt of the interviewer. Digging the claws of one hand into the other hybrid's shirt, his fur, 'Daji dragged him over the desk, shoved him down, lest more frags go off. He had to do something. Had to get up and, and... 'Daji stuck his head up over the desk's side. Saw something that he'd thought was a bad joke when he'd dredged it up out of his memory a few nights before in the undercity. _The Hound_.

<Ike> Great pulses of blood gushed through his severed carotid arteries as his unknowing heart continued to beat. Ike was well aware that he was dying now, and the pain no longer felt so bad. The hybrid lay in his warm pool of blood, gladly accepting his fate. He had died for the glory that is Unity, and he died proud, and faithful. Darkness enclosed Ike's mind, numbing his pain. The minister's lungs sucked in a last gasp of air through his broken throat, then breathed no more.

<the_Hound> Again his sword came up, locking it with the Minister's tool; but it was too late. She had taken him by surprise, and he could not best her now before her entire squad showed. For a moment they are locked there, the inhumane red of the Minister locked with the glowing, cat-pupiled green ; and in the next she is grappling with mere shadows, and then nothing at all. The Hound was gone.

<Hadiya> The mouse-sheep snarls inside her helmet, rage clear in her voice. "LOST TARGET. Anybody got him?" The responses come back negative for long minutes as the assault team fans out, checking every rubbled nook and cranny nearby. "Command, anything on building cameras?" A few more minutes before a negative response comes down the line. "Target presence is not findable within the building." A few more minutes to sift the rubbled areas where cameras have been knocked out. "Target has left the building. Meteor Leader, cancel mission profile. Assault One, stand by at last known location to provide ground guides for medevac." Hadiya crouches in the rubble, thumb running over the deep notch in her ceramet entrenching tool. "Ops Six, this is Assault One-Six Actual. No injured Ministers down in my vicinity. Only fatalities. Recommend reserve medevac elements for UniClass citizen casualties. There will be too many of those." Far, far too many. Twenty thousand people in a building this size? Thirty? And they'd rubbled near a quarter of it. "Assault One-Six Actual, you will remain on station until medical personnel arrive. We are downloading helmet camera telemetry now." Hadiya sat down next to Miles' body, staring at the neat, keyhole slit punched through the thermoptic armor. "Affirmative, Ops." The war still wasn't over. Not by far.

<Tendaji`Mogali> "What? What? I can't hear you!" A sharp breath, squinting past a barrel-mounted light. He shielded his eyes. "No, I'm okay!" He patted his hands down the hybrid next to his body. "I don't know I think so! No I didn't see! Frakker just vanished, poof, like... like therm-optic!" Except you know fully well that wasn't therm-optic camo, soldier. You know full well.

(characters: Borislav, The Hound)

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For the Fallen

<the_Hound> "Don't like it, sir." The trio strode easily down the streets of Little Bali, a grouping of townships that squatted under one of the Great Elevators. Not many purebreeds would bother the diminutive canine, his distinctive mask picking up multicolored highlights from all the brightly-colored lamps and flashing neon signs around him; and even if the Hound were not *there*, the bulky rhino and the stout capybara at his side together would be able to muscle their way through the crowds with little problem. Long story short, the way was easy; and only one or two brave souls dared try to flaunt their wares, hoping for a purchase. The Hound stops, running a gloved hand over the rug presented him; the slightest shake of his head, and the shopkeep was backpedaling away, bowing repeatedly. "It was too easy," the rhino presses on, when the Hound says nothing.

<Sulaco> For a few minutes the Hound and his companions encounter nothing unusual.. For the Undercity, at least. The Undercity is quite unusual as it is, perhaps to where the only things considered unusual would be that which is normal by surface city standards. It comes as a mere tremor in the lights in the subterranean townelet, as if caused by the passing of a steam train nearby. Yet no train is to be heard as the lights flicker. And then abruptly shut off, punctuated by a whirring, spinning turbine engine sound which slows to a halt. Crowds moan in protest and begin turning around to head homeward. Isn't safe to be out in the unlight, after all. Another damned power outage. E-Fluid is regularly cut off here, hence those few who can afford it often employ gas fueled generators... So why are none of those running either now?

<the_Hound> Perhaps the Hound had been about to respond. But instead his head tilts upwards as the light tremble; once, twice, and then doused for good. The shopkeepers immediately slam shut their windows, the sounds of locks slamming home; those unfortunate few who carry their wares with them likely enough finding themselves roughed over as opportunists and scavengers take off with wares and creds. The Hound does not move; he lets the crowd part around him, his men having to shove people away with snarls. That ends any further discussion. The Hound dips a hand into his sleeve, his glowing eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "... Go back to the bunker. I want some time alone."

<Sulaco> As the crowds thin and scurry to their respective hovels to wait for the blackout to pass, silence begins to settle over the district, only to slowly, gradually, shift into a strange kind of ambiance. Buzzing, squeaking, chittering.. Like the orchestra of hundreds of crickets chirping. It's distant and scattered at first, easily mistakable as part of the Undercity's typical glowing insect wildlife. Yet the sound grows.. And continues to grow until it's almost maddeningly loud, no longer sounding like a gentle evening song so much as the screeching of thousands of violins in a massive, echoing hall. Should the Hound or his guards care to look downwards, they would see the floor moving as a flood of small robots, the wire-gnawing, electronics-jamming pest sort which are all too common in the Undercity sweep the ground. Most of them no larger than a foot or so, though a few mid-sized stray bots lope and shuffle across their smaller brethren, even a few buzzing airbots hurriedly sailing by from the same direction, as if fleeing something.

<the_Hound> The Hound has seen everything in the Undercity - and nothing. Where shadows crawl and beasts howl, he sees only the dripping of moisture from above, the hovels and wrecks of former habitation. He has seen the semi-sentient robots that roam her halls, the glowing, floating denizens of Her 'skies'. His bodyguards are uncomfortable. The capybara curses, jumping back - as if he were about to scuttle up the nearest box. The rhino hops from one foot to another; both back away from the flood. Afraid. The Hound merely tilts his head down, watching the insectoid 'bots run and scuttle over his feet.

<Sulaco> Eventually the stampede of fleeing insectoid robots subsides, with only a few slower, ill-functioning machines still crawling or buzzing along, their little lights blinking with alerts, mechanical squeaks and squeals let loose as they rush by. *KLOONG*. Like the strike of a single, enormous drum, the sound emanates from everywhere and nowhere.. As if resonating from the bones of the planet itself, or inside one's own mind. Two glowing dots of fire flicker in the pitch black ahead of the purebred trio, and there's a sound of rushing air as something invisible and terrifyingly strong, like the fist of an angry god, grips hold of the rhino.

<the_Hound> The Rhino can barely utter a sound as he's snatched up. An electric charge springs to life, currents of ice-blue shooting up the blade. The Hound strikes towards those glowing eyes, his eyes grim and unchanging.

<Sulaco>The Hound's blade meets another kind of steel, sending forth a burst of crackling sparks which spray over his opponent, illuminating the towering black figure, coattails flapping in the great blast of wind thrown by the clashing of his katana against the Hound's Tesla sword. Yet the Hound's electrical charge has no effect against the thing which he fights. The High Minister steps back, and his blade once again snaps through the air at the masked canine.

<Borislav> The Rhino, meanwhile, will find himself still suspended tightly in mid-air, as if encased in an invisible cube of solid diamond.. And then with a mere flick of the High Minister's thoughts, is suddenly snapped to the side like a ragdoll in an attempt to slam him into the Hound. The other bodyguard, for the moment, seems ignored..

<the_Hound> Forgive me. He does not say it; it is only a thought in his mind. For the rhino had become a liability, where he could have *none*. The Minister's blade is met with nothingness, the shadows swallowing the Hound; the rhino is flung, but the target had moved. The sword sputtered as it sprouted from the rhino's chest, *ending* it - if the rhino was not dead already from the force. "How did you find me?" he grates, shoving the rhino's corpse away; disappearing again, to appear somewhere to the Minister's left - thrusting with the crackling sword.

<the_Hound> The capybara cannot move; a pungent, *telling* smell spreading out from his person. Like a rabbit faced with a threat beyond his comprehension, he cannot run to save his own hide; he can only crouch there, in terror, and do nothing.

* Borislav does not snarl. He does not growl. There is not the slightest hint of emotion.. Only power in its most concentrated and horrifyingly controlled form as he deflects the Hound's sword thrust. With nothing more than a split-second look at the cowering capybara, the purebred is struck by a wind of invisible carving daggers which flay him skinless, sending his pelt fluttering off in the hellish wind. "HHHHhow does the ship hide from the sea?" Comes that booming, echoing reply as it's amplified by the deep, forsaken hollows of the city itself, heralding another series of sword strikes at the Hound, perhaps faster and harder than anything the canine's ever encountered up until this time.

<the_Hound> Again and again, there is the sound of cloth ripping; the Hound is all over the place, and yet the Minister is always one step ahead - always *there*, always ready with a parry, always ready with an attack. Still, the Hound shows no sign of slowing; shows no sign of any wounds he acquires. He is not there when he should be; he is beside the flayed corpse of his guard, a garbled shout ringing from his mask; the ground shakes, and boulders that were mere pebbles in the ceiling clattered from above, wielded by the Hound as the Minister had wielded the body of his comrade. "You want your *trinket* that much?" he taunts, his sword a blur as he flicks it at the ready behind his back.

<Borislav> When the boulders fall from above, the Minister doesn't move to step aside or dodge the plummeting tonnage of solid rock, which explodes mid-air only a few feet above where his towering, sky-clawing antlers begin, as if he were surrounded by an invisible, nigh-indestructible bubble. "Your greed exposes you, Dog. Your theft..Your undoing." The words are whispered as much as they are roared, accompanied by a choir of mad echoes, voices both male and female, young and old, all madly calling out to the Hound like a vocal avalanche. "So have you deprived, shall you be deprived A THOUSAND FOLD." Like an obsidian wind, the hybrid rushes forward to slash a hurricane of steel at the Hound, crashing through falling rock as they were snowballs.

<the_Hound> The Hound exerts. He *exerts*. This is not the Hound holding back, lazily batting aside blows or dodging them with ease. There were no more taunts, no more shouts; the Hound's breath was ragged, almost frantic, as it whistled through the mask. The pair were an unnatural blur; but one blur was just a little bit faster than the other. The Hound is thrown aside, not a sound; stubbornly biting down on any signs as blood spewed through the grate of his mask. He managed to land on his feet, at least; stood there wavering, the tip of his sword resting against the ground - as if he no longer had the strength to lift it.

<Borislav> The sword of the High Minister twirls with a sharp whistling sound as the Hound's blood is flicked clean off it, leaving the shining blade spotless down to the last molecule. With the sword held back in one massive, gloved paw, the other is held outwards in a still grasping gesture. What the Hound would feel next now is pressure.. So much pressure. Like a delicate submarine sinking far deeper beyond its tolerable limits, threatening to render him unable to move.. And worst of all, rushing behind his body in an attempt to pull him forward to the burning-eyed Minister. "Your place in history is undesired, Enemy. ACCEPT your removal from its pages."

<the_Hound> He is gripped from afar; he is *pulled*, inch by inch, towards the Minister - crushing force bearing down on him from all sides. He cannot lift his sword; he cannot even *move*, though his claws scrabble and his head is held up defiantly - the teeth of his mask bloodied with gore. "... never," he hisses, his modulated voice bubbling. "You have failed. Just as you did before!"

<Borislav> "So sayeth the relic of a dead kingdom." A surging increase in pressure would then test the Hound's very limits as the Minister steps forward. Although no feet are visible, the almost swimmingly slow rise and fall of his massive frame tells of his strides as he draws close to the canine. "Unlike the Others you have not come here seeking knowledge, but vengeance. Vengeance for you will not be provided.. But Knowledge is shared freely." And so the Hound might feel himself on the edge of that Knowledge, as if slowly creaking open the outer cover of a massive, ancient tome and catching a faint scent of its dry, old pages. Glowing mist swirls by as black, shapelessly ageless things gibber, weep, scream, and moan in the Hound's ears, singing to him in tongues not known to this era a fraction of an eternity's worth of horror, the grim, cosmic reality of this world's overwhelming, incalculable insignificance in the scope of a cold and dispassionate universe, glimpses of places beyond reason and logic, places where black holes hang and conspire the devourment of existence...Yet most horrible of all... It is all true. "KNOW."

<the_Hound> The Hound's mind should be a fragile thing. It should spill open, as countless others have before him; it should reveal every truth, should fill with secrets until he was rendered nothing more than a raving madman. Yet there is iron. There is *steel*. The High minister would spill his truths, and the Hound simply deflected them; or absorbed them, filtered through the iron until they were rendered lies. Borislav has a glimpse; a peek at the Truth. And then the Hound was gone - yet puddles of gore was splattered the pavement, so much of the Hound's lifeblood gone.

* Borislav lowers his massive paw after the Hound vanishes. There is no expression upon the High Minister's face.. If he even has a face, let alone anyone around or alive to see it if he even did have one. Nothing more than a blackest-black silhouette against the slightly lighter black of the Undercity, and what few glowing sources of light there are. Whatever knowledge it is the Minister acquired from the Hound, it has no outward effect on him. With a step, the High Minister melts into the shadows. The Low Ministry will be here soon. The nearby Undercity slum called Little Bali will be removed from the map in a matter of hours, leaving only frightened whispers of its past existence.

Suggested listening: Clint Mansell - The Last Man

(characters: The Hound, Tzel)

#Undercity
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A Lost Rescue

* Tzel clings to a rocky outcropping on the side of a steep slope of an Undercity cave, large ears swiveling as he cranes his neck about, lifting his narrow muzzle to sniff the air. A few loose bits of dirt and rock slide down the embankment, disturbed by the scrabbling of his rugged, bare footpaws. Careless. Noisy. Then again, this is one of the few times he's ever been so careless. A glance over his shoulder, and the coyote continues on, grabbing to hanging cables, pipes, and bent metal to better climb onwards. He had to be getting close. Why? Because the alternative was simply.. Unacceptable, to put it in laughably light terms.

* Tzel huffs sharply with each upwards pull, each springing leap of his powerful legs, every madly dangerous crawl from one preciously unstable surface to the next, all of them threatening to rock beneath him and send him tumbling, then falling to his death to the bottomless chasm at the edge of the slope. His chest feels as though it's being pounded by a jackhammer every time his heart (or whatever thing it is he must have that passes off as one) pounds inside it - a slowly-healing gift from that hybrid who shot him in the back of his armored vest a couple weeks ago. He's almost tempted to look over his shoulder again. You're a fool. You know what's going to happen if you keep heading on. You've fought for a long time to keep this from happening, and yet you seek it out. Imbecile. You can still turn back now.. It's not too late.

<Tzel> A fingerless-gloved paw grabs a hold of a length of chain. The other paw grabs a few inches higher. Before he can think about it, his muscles are pulling him upwards, climbing him a few feet up to another outcropping of rock, next to the black mouth of a tunnel.. Old mine, must be. Would explain all the derelict machinery about. He stops for a moment, his black tongue lolling from his narrow jaws as panting breaths cause his musclebound chest to rapidly expand and contract. A burst of dust around his footpaws, and the black coyote.. The last black coyote, continues.

* Tzel continues up an old metal ladder, the blunt claws tipping his toes and fingers clinking against the aging steel. Dust shakes loose from the bolts drilled into the solid rock with his passing. The ladder wobbles and a gut-sinking creak is heard. Tzel goes dead still, pressing himself against it, his thick arms curling around the ladder like a child around the leg of a parent threatening to step out of his life forever. Stop it. Turn around. You can still go back down. You know the way out. Just walk away. Just... Walk away. A footpaw.. A shaking footpaw, moves to the next step up. One more step towards his ruin. Another step. His arms move again to help hoist him up the remaining bars. The next floor is only a couple meters now.. A few more feet. Something snaps.

<Tzel> Taut cables break loose with a pop loud as a gunshot, and the ladder gives a shuddering lurch. The last few bars are ascended with the kind of mad speed and climbing precision that would even make a feline jealous. Tzel flops on his chest onto the metal grated floor, his breaths heaving hot mist from his gaping mouth. He doesn't look downwards as the ladder tumbles downwards, making a terribleseries of echoing bangs and clangs as it slides and bashes down into the abyss. The noises of its violent descent into the bowels of the earth continue well after Tzel scrabbles out of the area and down a tunnel.

<Tzel> The ladder's gone, but there's still a way back. You CAN get back. You've gotten out of worse before. Oh how you have gotten out of SO much worse than this.. And the things you did to ensure that. And now.. Now, you're about to do the unthinkable. You're going to make it all, everything you did, worth nothing. It'll destroy you. You'll be a shell. Don't get on that bridge. His paws grab onto the two cables serving as hand-grips. Another cable hanging over the bridge tells him that in past years, when the mines were in use, you had to use a safety harness to cross the bridge. The chasm below is an easy explanation why. There's only a single cable for your feet to walk on. One of those V-shaped bridges made on the ultra-cheap.

<Tzel> About halfway over, Tzel looks down. Never were afraid of heights, were you. No, this has you more terrified than when you dropped into the City for the first time.. For the last time. And you should be scared. You've spun the gun's cylinder and put it to the head of everything you've murdered, lied, and betrayed to preserve. Each step you take is another pull of the trigger. Pretty soon you're going to run out of empty cylinders..

<the_Hound> It was irony, this scene that was burrowed in the bowels of the massive Undercity. Tzel could appreciate it; could *appreciate* the stone Hybrid that had been almost reverently carved around, the statue with it's faceless head tilted down, arms spread, as if it were already forgiving the miners that had encroached upon, and gutted, its cavern. Irony that the white grantie, polished smooth and unworn by the centuries, was stained a black-red; old lifesblood staining its surface, with a trickle of new, bright-red gore oozing over it. Irony of light, all the way down here, chasing away the shadows to rest on the small, black form huddled in the hybrid angel's arms.

<Tzel> After leaving the bridge behind him and coming upon the blood-splattered statue, Tzel stops. A slow step is taken forward.. Then back. Good. Now just turn. You can do it. You've done it before. How many times now? Let's not even try to count.. But you know if you go to him it'll all be for nothing. All the effort you put into your mission. YOUR mission. Not the one They gave you, but the one you chose with the first taste of free will in your miserable, mad life.. Would you throw it away for that? That one thing you have left, for him? He's dead anyway. Tzel begins to turn slowly.. One more footpaw stepping backwards. Good.. Good.. Just.. Don't look at him. Forget him.

<the_Hound> It moved, the curled form on the statue; impossible, and not entirely silent. Not like the Hound. Leather scrapped against stone; a fresh sprinkle of red marring the statues' downturned face as a wet, sputtering *noise* emerges from the Hound's silver mask. Too late, black canine; would you walk away now? A single eye dully gazed out from the mask, though the crumpled form of the Hound made no other move; no call emerges from his mask, no indication that he's seen Tzel.

<Tzel> He moved. Tzel freezes. A the gun runs out of empty cylinders and a shot goes off inside his head. Lightning strikes a distant peak, clouds roll in time-lapse in a starlit sky, and a black hole at the edge of everything that is utters a mocking curse upon him. There's a sudden crackle as a single burst of glowing blue electrical sparks arc from his mechano-lenses, and he turns. He runs to the statue, his strides dangerously uncoordinated. Exhausted.. Light-headed. Don't do it, Zweihänder. You can still get out of this. Turn around. NO. TURN AROUND. He slaps against the statue, his arms awkwardly, shakingly scooping under the bleeding canine, and with a shuddering breath he picks him up like a bundle of blood-soaked rags.

<the_Hound> It wasn't hard, especially for the muscular coyote. The Hound weighs almost nothing; a relief, perhaps, for a dead man is always so heavy, a tax upon the arms. Almost immediately the Hound's blood-soaked glove slaps against Tzel's chest; scrabbling over the armor, as if seeking fruitlessly for something to grab. The Mask is horrendous, blood seeping from the frozen, gaping jaws; the Hound's eyes rolling once before focusing. "... SHHHRRRRrrrkkkksshhhh." That is all that emerges from the Mask's modulator; if the Hound was trying to speak, or simply moaning in pain, it was impossible to say.

* Tzel almost stumbles despite the Hound's frightening lightness. He looks from side to side, mouth gaping as he stares around the area in seeming bewilderment, as if whatever sense of direction he previously had has now deserted him entirely. He glances down at the canine in his arms. "Don-.." He swallows tightly. "Don't talk. I'll find help." He starts running then, taking the left corridor. There isn't any light, but that was never a problem for him. The right corridor didn't smell safe. He moves at a jogging pace, though still tries to lessen the jostling it'll cause to the Hound. Probably doesn't help much at all, really.

<the_Hound> Tzel had climbed mountains to find the Hound; and not all of them were physical. The slasming of the Hound's fingers on Tzel's armor is indication enough; metallic sputters emerging once and awhile if he is jostled too roughly. His other hand is clamped over his side; his fingers there slicked with red.

* Tzel continues traversing the tunnel. It's not an easy ride, no. But he does try to avoid causing unecessary pain to his carry. Then again, the sheer urgency right now doesn't leave much room for smoothness, as speed is what he needs most. But speed doesn't help much when you hit a dead end, does it? Tzel stares at the rock of solid wall before them. How can..? No. No time to think about it. Just go back and try that righthand turnoff that was a few dozen meters back. His breath coming in uniform huffs, the coyote backtracks a bit, then goes down the righthand turn he'd seen earlier. Has to lead somewhere. It always does. It always has. It's always worked out before. Everything has. Why should it stop now? "Hold on.. Just.." His words trail off as he carries the dying canine down another stretch of black.

<Tzel> Time and distance passes. A gut-wrenchingly large amount of it, in fact. Fear. Something Tzel hasn't felt acutely in a very long time. Even when staring down the barrel of that Minister's rifle, he still had control. Sure, he knew the risks, but he also knew the outcome. But now... Tzel's rapid footfalls slow until they come to a stop, his head turned upwards as he looks all around him. No light. Nothing. Not even sound. Not even smell. How deep had the Hound fallen? How deep did Tzel climb to find him?

<Tzel> No time to think about it. Tzel takes a breath and continues moving, tightening his grip on the smaller canine he's carrying as the shadows of the Deep swallow them both. And there they will go. As two, yes, but also so very, very alone.

(characters: The Hound, Tzel)

-----------------------------------------------

Exposed

* Tzel sits with his back against the opposite wall, next to a steel seam lined with giant metal rivets. The room bears an uncanny resemblance to the crew's quarters of a skyship.. Small stacked cots lined about, yet the room is tilted by a few degrees, causing the floor to slope somewhat and debris to gather at the lowermost point where the floor meets the wall. On one of these old cots lay the stitched and bandaged Hound. He's covered in a thick army green blanket right now, clothing removed wherever it was necessary in order for his wounds to be treated. A single candle provides light in the small room, gathering the attention of a few months which flutter around it. Tzel watches the masked canine on the cot, just as he has for the past.. How long has it been anyway? His head turns slowly to peer out one of the small, round windows. Somewhere, water drips.

<the_Hound> A rhythmatic reassurance; it was, perhaps, a good thing that the mask's voice modulator was broken, for ever breath that came in emerged with a crackle of metallic sound. The Hound still breathed.There is a slight hitch; here; a stirring from under the blankets. A glow of eyes as they opened, so impossibly slow.

* Tzel turns a big ear towards the slight change in breathing, something which causes him to abruptly straighten in his posture. He turns to stare at the Hound's form for a moment. Upon noticing the opening eyes, Tzel pushes away from his seated place, claws claws tinging and scraping bluntly against the steel floor on his way over to crouch nearby, looming over the other canine while holding on to a section of pipe to keep balance. He says nothing just yet.. Only looking, as if wanting to make double, triple sure that he really is noticing a shift in the Hound's condition, though his mouth hangs very slightly open.

<the_Hound> Those eyes flicker towards Tzel as he approaches; a good sign? There is no recognition that lurks there; only unreadable, stormy depths. Then, to chase away all doubt; the Hound *straightens*, lifting himself up; up into a sitting position, his back coming to a rest against the wall. The mask hisses and blurts the entire time; finally going back to it's fairly normal wheeze as the Hound comes to a rest. He, too, says nothing; simply staring at Tzel, as if he were lost.

<Tzel> For a while Tzel keeps silent too. Expressionless as he is, the permanent machinelike blankness always found in his mechano-eyes only serves to give him a somewhat dumbfounded look nonetheless. He sits back on his hocks, giving the Hound space to sit up. For a few tries, Tzel's jaw just silently works, as if this has him caught off guard. Perhaps he wasn't expecting recovery. ".. Try not to move. You are in bad condition." The rough, though somewhat.. Different sounding now, coyote voice speaks finally. "..Lucky to be alive."

<the_Hound> "... FFfshhHHHHhhhHHHRWRRRrrrn." It is the mask that answers, and not the Hound; but he glances downward at the blanket covering his form, a slow sharpness coming into his eyes; slowly he pulled his hands from under the blanket, gazing at the digits before his gaze came back up to Tzel - hands settling limply in his lap.

* Tzel only looks briefly to the Hound's now ungloved paws. He'd gotten enough of a look earlier on until he was sure he could believe what he saw. And then whenever he wasn't sure about what he thought he'd seen, he went back to stare again. The black coyote's glowing blue lenses lock with the Hound's own masked gaze, big ears cupped forward. "Are-.." He hesitates, heavy brows lowering over his lenses. "The mask. The.. Vocal modifier. It's broken. I can't hear you."

<the_Hound> Slowly those hands rose, object of so much scrutiny; to the Mask the obscured his features. There is a click, the hiss and smell of sweat and - surprisingly - oil. The eyes go dead, and the mask is pulled free for only an inch. "... you've seen everything, I suppose." The voice was low, coming forth hoarsely from the Hound's throat - but it did little to hide the fact that the pitch was several octaves high.

<Tzel> "I thought I had seen everything, until I saw.." His voice trails off a little there, turning his head aside a little, as if averting his gaze away, as if in a respectful manner very unusual for him. Or maybe he's just doing another one of his habitual over-the-shoulder looks which is so common for his species. "Don't explain." The low, growly voice speaks after some length. "You need rest."

<the_Hound> "No. No." The Mask is removed fully; wide hazel eyes wide, wildly staring at the coyote. "I... I was coming. To give you." The Hound struggles with his memory, eyes squeezing tight; the Mask left on his lap as his hand dips under the sheets. He relaxes, then; and when his eyes open again, they are *clear*. "... when you asked me," he began softly; his hand emerging, fisted about something. "If I were afraid to die. I *was* afraid." His fingers slowly uncurl, revealing what lay within; offered to the black coyote, silently. "I had not completed my task."

<Tzel> When the mask is removed entirely, Tzel has nothing to do but simply stare at the face that'd been behind it all this time. His lenses brighten by several levels, lighting the sides of his narrow muzzle in the cold blueish glow, their rims rotating slowly. 'So it's true,' a hushed whisper notes somewhere in his mind. His head shakes slightly, as if coming out of a slight daze when the object is presented to him. Tzel looks at it, then back up to the other canine's face, and finally back down to the object again. He carefully picks up the vial, holding it up before his half-metal face. "What.. Is it?" His voice is terribly hushed, as if the vial glowed with some kind of brilliance seen only to him.

<the_Hound> To the Hound, it was only a vial. To the Ministry, it was unkown. To the High Ministry... well. They had sent one of their own, so terrible was the vial that he had given Tzel. "I believe in destiny, Tzel. *Our* destiny," he falters, his face twisting in pain as he tried to shift himself - breath catching in his throat. "... you see things I can't. Something the hybrids see. Something that few of *us* can see, as they go mad. But when... when I saw..." The Hound struggles, his face - so animated now, with the mask in his lap - blanched in fear. "... they wanted this. So bad that they would kill, that they would wip out a sector of the Undercity for it. And yet I see nothing."

* Tzel handles the vial with trembling paws, his jaw hanging slightly agape as he stares at the thing held in front of him. There's a very long pause after the Hound speaks, though throughout the other canine's words, Tzel had been staring at the thing, entranced. The rims of his lenses turn rapidly. Stopping, turning back, then forward. Stopping and clicking closer towards the base of the goggles. "No." He shakes his head rapidly, repeatedly. The vial is set down on the cot, almost dropped as if it were hot to the touch. Tzel stands up suddenly, a couple steps taken back, the vial now becoming this thing of great danger to him. "I can't. Not anymore. This.. I can't carry it."

<the_Hound> Hazel eyes stare at the vial on his sheets; he scoops it up, almost with the same reverence that Tzel had shown - though it was more in memory of those who had died to retrieve it. "... you must." The Hound's voice is quiet, but firm - straightening up as much as he is able, his eyes becoming hard. "Do you think I want *this*?" The Hound gestures widley over his broken body, coming to rest with a light brushing of fingers against his face. "i would not have succeeded. Would not have *invaded* the genetics building, would not have... have. *Survived*. If this is not to go to you - then who? Who else?"

* Tzel stays where he is, though the gentle flickering of the one candle lighting the room dims somewhat, giving the impression of the coyote shrinking further away from the vial. A paw is clasped over the tip of his narrow muzzle. Many seconds pass, and all that's heard is the echoing drip of water. That same paw travels a few inches higher, digits pinching the bridge of his snout as he turns away, his back to the Hound as he looks upwards, near the ladder leading to the hatch door in the ceiling. "You attacked the UniGen ziggurat.. To bring That to me?"

<the_Hound> "No." That is admitted easily; the Hound plucks at his sheets a moment before speaking again; his voice low and resigned. "I told you, once, that I thought that UniGen was somehow behind the cowing of purebloods. They they did *something* to make the people so afraid. That this Voice was part of it. We began taking pureblood workers. Worked our way up, until we found the friend of a friend who was allowed access to the restricted rooms. From *him*, we recieved numbers to doors, and a general placement." The Hound had been busy. He stopped a moment, head tilting back; his breath rasping in his throat as he attempted to catch it back. "We managed to download floorplans of the building. Early probes suggested that we could not take the building from the front. One of my men inflitrated, and from him I was able to enter." How, he did not say; Tzel could likely guess. It seemed to relax the Hound, to be explaining all this; perhaps because then he did not have to explain other things. "We would have been in and out, but we did not expect a genetic test. Only one room, I decided. It was not the first on the list, or the last. But we went in anyway." He held up the vial, twisting it to catch what little light there was. "... it was immense. And yet only this, enclosed in a crystal pedistal, was there." He swallows thickly. "... The label said, 'Herein Lies Our Treasure, Our Future, Our Fate'. And so I took it, and we escaped."

* Tzel hazards a glance back at the Hound and the vial, a tight fist thoughtfully held in front of his mouth, hiding the intense frown behind it. His ears turn to the words as they're spoken, though clearly his mind is wandering as he listens, perhaps seen in uneasy, almost pacing motions he's going back and forth from. Tzel's facial muscles tense up, as if squinting eyes that aren't even there. Even seeing The Argent Hound unmasked before him, Tzel's gaze stays on the vial. "Even if I.." He swallows. "I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do at all now."

<the_Hound> "... neither do I." The Hound's voice is very small, now; he cradled the vial in his hands. "A... A High Minister found us, later. I did not know the magnitude of what I had done. I did not *know* they even existed. He was better than I; and in my moment of defeat, he poured Everything into my head. But it's as if something... aided me, then. There was a hole in him that I squeezed through. ... because of this." Cupped hands lift, slightly; indicating the vial. "I know now that you were right."

<Tzel> High Minister. The words cause the soft black fur down the back of Tzel's neck and tail to fluff up. A fingerless-gloved paw reaches to rub at his vest-bound chest as he looks to the Hound now. "That I was right?" An ear slowly turns forward. "About the City?"

<the_Hound> "Yes." It's not easily that the Hound says it; so hard to let go, to realize that there was more at stake now than petty vengance. "And now... I do not know what to do. Where to go. Revenge has been taken from me." Tears - *tears* - are welling in the Hound's eyes; the come, even as he jams a fist in one to stop himself. "I... I don't want to die," he whispers hoarsly; is if that were the only way out of the Game.

* Tzel stares at the Hound, then sharply looks away, his face aimed down to the floor, ears slicked back. It's as if he'd been scolded somehow.. Shamed, even. From inside, though. There before Tzel sits the first person in his entire life who put this much trust in him, without Tzel grabbing it, twisting it into a tool to be used for his Search.. The Mission, then cast aside like picked-clean bones once he'd torn and gnawed all possible use from it. But he looks up slowly. Though the lenses betray no emotion, there's a faint smile on his gaunt face. Perhaps for the first time, it's not a mirthless, conspiring grin or false smirk, but his lips tremble faintly. A large, black-furred, fingerless-gloved paw firmly placed on the Hound's shoulder. "I won't let you."

<the_Hound> Tremorously, the Hound's small hand places itself on top of Tzel's - almost cautious, as if the coyote would pull away. Tear tracks are easily visible on the dhole's cinnamon fur as his head twists to face the coyote. "... no. You... you have your own Game to play, Tzel. Your own mission. I made a mistake; I will pay for it. I don't want..." Don't want you to die; that was what he wanted to say, what he almost said. But instead his voice trailed into harsh wheezing, a spasm that shook his small body for a moment and was quickly over.

<Tzel> "No." He growls, teeth baring in the dim candle's light as he grabs both of the Hound's shoulders now. Not in a remotely hostile manner, but more in the way a canine higher up in the pack might firmly correct another. "That is my choice. Not yours." The words are spoken fiercely behind clenched jaws, though just as he might look to the uninformed eye as if he were about to tear his teeth into the Hound's throat, to another canine it could be seen as a terribly forceful, yet profoundly protective gesture of intense care that went beyond verbal description. Something more primal and simple, yet incapable of putting into words.

<The_Hound> Many would flinch away at such a display, or cringe; the Hound only met Tzel's goggles with his own iron gaze, the already-pale pink of his ears paling a bit more at the movement the gesture called. Here, in savage terms, were two alpha males; challenging each other with gaze alone. "... you are the first person that has not flinched away from my hands," he simply said; quietly. Not an acceptance; but to deflect the matter of choice, for the moment.

* Tzel slowly looks off to the side at those words. The last two sentences in particular, something in them causing him to wring his fist in a very unusual show of what might be discomfort. Then again, the past several nights have been anything but comfortable. Surely this is related. "Few things are within our control anymore." His head shakes slowly, then turning upwards to look at the pipe-lined ceiling. "If there is a God, perhaps this is sheol."

<the_Hound> It took his a moment, but his studies had been truley vast - not even those hand-picked by the Ministry had gone through such training. "Where are those that have died, then?" has asks; his eyes downturned for now, careful to not look at Tzel. "Where do the dead go when the Ministry destroys their bodies? No. It is... it is the Rapture. And we, those who were not chosen, must dwell in the dark until we are finally judged."

* Tzel shrugs once more, waving a paw in the air in a vague, limp gesture. "I don't know." It falls back to his thigh with a soft slap. "I only guess." He snuffs sharply, something which might count as a humorless laugh as he distantly recalls something that mad panda said about Ragnarok coming. A pity he isn't here to take part in the theological speculation. Tzel's mechanoid eyes wander back to the vial again, where they stay for a dozen seconds or so. "We'll be safe here at least a few more nights. I will stay until you're able to move out on your own again."

<the_Hound> "... thank you." Softly spoken. "... if not for you, I would be dead. This... this would have been forever lost. Useless." His fisted hand goes to his heart, his face lifting - tears shining in his eyes once more. "I don't even know how to thank you."

<Tzel> "You don't have to." He looks down at his footpaws, as if inspecting for dirt, then scuffing the rough, leather pad of the left one against the steel floor. "It was.." His voice hardens faintly, something in what he was going to say causing him to cut off. He shrugs, his gaze searching the room for some invisible thought or word. When the words come, they're very tightly spoken, as of they required immense control and command to even think. "I couldn't leave you."

<the_Hound> "You could have left me, but you didn't." The Hound seems keen on the coyote's struggle; he says no more on it. "... I think the Ministry knows, now. Knows who I am."

* Tzel chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, saying nothing about the first statement, though it's the second set of words which cause him to look up again, big ears perking. "They know? How?"

<the_Hound> "The... Minister. He was in my head. I was protected, but I know that my true nature slipped through to him." The Hound's breath huffs heavily from his nostrils; *human*, instead of a metallic emittance of static. "... at least now they may want me alive." As if that were better than being dead.

* Tzel lowers his head, rubbing his palm tightly into his forehead, fluffy eyebrows tightly lowered in a frown. There's no words for a few minutes, the coyote seeming to be thinking this over, or perhaps simply struck silent by the sheer weight of it all. Then again, it's kind of like being in a cave all your life and stepping into a bright light all of a sudden. Not having anyone but yourself to care about, but now.. "We can't fight them."

<the_Hound> The Hound's muzzle pointed down, and it was only his injuries that made sure he didn't slouch; as if he had hoped, for some reason, that Tzel would have any answer save for that. *Ministers* fall easy enough; he knows this. He fumes about it, his fists tightening in his lap, his struggle clear - it only until his face blanches in pain does he relax, shifting to lower himself on the bed again eyes squeezing shut. "... maybe I can go back to the City. Maybe I can rebuild what is left; maybe, maybe Einheit will not *notice* until I have grown old and died, so that I will not witness. Anything but that. Anything but waiting for a slow death, until I too am... *hypnotized*. Until I become Einheit."

<Tzel> "I.. Don't know. Something has happened. While we've been down here." Again, that slow, wandering of his gaze around the small room, as if it would somehow hold answers for him. "The City is shifting.. Something happening above. On the surface, yet.. Everywhere. Like.. Like a great lid closing. I don't know." Of course you don't know. The whispers have grown few and distant... And you know why now. He draws in a slow breath, his blunt-clawed fingers rubbing slowly in the ruff of soft fur at his neck. "Even if we can't leave, I don't think a slow death will be for us. Time is short now."

* the_Hound 's eyes open, his head turning back to Tzel - regarding the coyote for a long moment. Has hands, still over the blanket, shift slightly to rest on his aching abdomen. he hasn't looked, yes; hasn't *wanted* to look. His ravaged body was only dull and sharp pain, and he was going to keep it that way awhile longer. "... can't leave." Resignation, *hopelessness*; the Hound's eyes go dull, and not even the shimmer of tears could lighten them. It was true, he had never tried to leave in the short months that he had arrived at the City; the short *year*. But it was comforting to know that he could always leave if he wanted; and now? "... at least, then, I will not die alone."

* Tzel locks his gaze upon the source of that infernal water dripping sound, finally. One of the many copper pipes angling around in the room, just now noticeable from catching a drop in the act of falling. A slow sigh quietly whuffs from his nose. "I will watch you, that you hopefully don't die." He smiles faintly there.. Though it's a sad smile, one aware of the overwhelming futility pressing down from above like the weight of the very city so high above them now.

* Tzel gives his head a light shake, reaching a paw upwards to rub again at his forehead. Judging by the manner in which his mechano-lenses have been literally bolted and screwed into his cranium, it's likely that Tzel may be having migranes associated with them. "Anyway. Rest. You will need it soon. We can stay a few more nights.. But not much longer. Not safe for us to stay in one place for long now." This said, as Tzel reaches over to grab a bundle of dusty, rough-fabricked blankets which he piles nearby, apparently where he'll be resting.

<the_Hound> Hopefully he will be well enough. *Hopefully*, they will not be found before then. the Hound, still clutching the vial, the Mask still in his lap, watches Tzel as he makes his bed; but it is short lived. His eyes flutter in weariness, and the dhole yawns - an enormous thing, his tongue curling out, a slight *yee* at the very apex. "... goodnight." An archaic term, for there was no longer night - or day. And the Hound slept, despite his wounds; despite the pain.

* Tzel paused in his bedmaking at the goodnight, ears perked alertly, but the Hound is well on his way into sleep before Tzel really seems to come to terms with it. Probably not just the word, but the punctuation it brought to the end of this particular page in his tale. The black coyote settles down into the bundled, stiff, and roughly-chafing blankets (though it's a king's bed compared to his (usual), a low, canine growling-hum grunting deep in his chest as his weight presses down onto the fabrics. Though unlike the dhole a few feet away. Tzel does not sleep. Maybe he doesn't sleep at all. Or maybe.. Just maybe, the vial he's staring at on the cot next to the Hound's sleeping form holds him awake.

(Characters: The Hound, Tzel)

Departure

<Tzel> The departure from their hiding place was sudden, unexpected, and sooner than anticipated. Even though the Hound had far more healing to go, other factors made Tzel determine that an immediate move was needed. Ministry, Underlord.. Or what, he didn't say, only that they had to leave, and immediately, even if Tzel had to carry the Hound on his back the entire way. With the other canine in no condition for travel on his own yet, Tzel's words became reality when he had to rig up an improvised bunch of straps to tie the Hound securely to his back, and has thus carried him for the past few hours through miles of uninhabited, unmarked, and possibly unmapped tunnel and bridge.

<the_Hound> He was not happy about it. Such a position of vulnerability was unatural to the Hound; he would stumble along as best he could, but *proudly*, and he would likely die just as proudly. But he didn't exactly have a choice. His arms locked loosely about Tzel's neck, the canine tried to keep his head up - even though it wobbled on his neck, his eyes bloodshot and staring straight ahead. He's said nothing for quite awhile; no questions, no words of pain. Once and awhile he'll grunt, or shift.

* Tzel leans forward into his march, as he has for the past set of miles or however far it's been since they began. Even though the Hound is somewhat light, carrying someone on your back is rarely an easy task, yet Tzel seems to have extraordinary endurance and speed. Or maybe just determination. The only sound that'd have come from him would've been scattered huffs of exertion, or more audible breathing during the steeper parts of their journey. Much of the trek has been through pure, unlit pitch black with not even the biolumescent glow of fungi or the hellish illumination of magma, yet he seems capable of sight nonetheless. "Hound." Comes the black coyote's rough voice as they're ascending a stone stairwell. He swallows before continuing. "Did they have songs in Argent City?"

<the_Hound> At first, it may be that the Hound hasn't heard - or that he's actually fallen asleep with his eyes open - the mask tucked against his stomach. "Yes." His head shifts a little, perhaps to gaze at the black nothingness that surrounds them. "Einheit plays many of our operas for their propaganda videos. They were never a military bunch... to begin with. They can only steal." Still; perhaps it was a good thing that those songs would never pass, even if their meaning changed.

<Tzel> "Hunh." He grunts breathily while scaling a rather large stair. Some of these steps are unevenly sized, some of them small and clumped together while others are so large that Tzel has to almost climb them, as if their being carved from the solid rock were done in a hurry, or simply with very, very primitive tools. Judging by the sound Tzel's foot pads and blunt canine claws make against them, they seem to be solid stone. Metallic clankings have been few and far between, and in unusual places. The air here is ancient and still. Tzel stops for a second, a big coyote ear brushing across the Hound's face as he turns his head sharply. Being as close as he is to Tzel's head, the Hound could probably hear the faint hum of the larger canine's glowing goggle-eyes as they survey the black. The silence here is almost nightmarish. Tzel looks ahead and resumes his climb.
<Tzel> "I was never told much of Argent, other than what you know I know... About the Hound." A dry sniff from his nose takes in a whiff of the stagnant, rusty-smelling air. "Tell me about your city."

<the_Hound> "... it is..." No. It was. The Hound swallows, audible; his head does not turn with Tzel's, but his ears settle back. "... beautiful. Maybe not by Einheit standards. We have farms where everyone could go, if they wanted. No one went hungry. The Castle was not tall, as the Toride is; it went far, far below the earth. We called it the Grand Staircase. It was... well. It was dark; concrete,
<the_Hound> though we did make some parts look... fancier." There is a splash of wetness on Tzel's shoulder, but no comment about its presence.

* Tzel turns his head slightly at the moisture upon his shoulder, his nose twitching somewhat with a few soft sniffs as if it would somehow help him discern more about its source. Though he keeps moving up the endless stair well, his head hanging forward a little as a few labored breaths are huffed from him, black tongue lolling from his jaws. "The-.." He pauses, taking a breath and clearing his throat. "The farms. Tell me of them." There's another intake of breath as he pushes up the stairs before continuing his voice. "We had no such thing in the Empire. Only chemical-farm factories."

<the_Hound> "They were vast. I was taken to see them and learn about them as soon as I could walk, and understand. Micro-filament plastic stretched over them, so we could control the temperature and climate. It was... pleasant. The Castle was pleasant, in it's own way; but the fields were like a paradise. I can still.... remember, sometimes. The smell of green, and growing things. They were destroyed."

<Tzel> "Green..." He repeats in a distant, thoughtful sort of tone. The stairs seem to end here. Tzel looks around for a moment, noticing three tunnel doorways. He settles on the middle one with little hesitation. Apparently he knows his way around here, somehow. "Never saw green.. Plants, where I came from. Only dark-growing fungi. Did not know it existed until I w-... Until I came here." He leans forward as the tunnel seems to take an uphill incline, his footpaws crunching on the occasional cluster of small rocks. "Watch your head. The ceiling gets low here."

* the_Hound obediently hunkered down, twisting his head to lay his cheek against Tzel's shoulder. "Hnhnf. We had... advantages. Things that allowed us to grow Greens. ... Einheit knows how, as well." He sounds accusatory now, as if they had stole the idea, the technology, from Argent City.

* Tzel lowers his stance some in order to compensate for the lower ceiling, his big ears folding back against his head as if it would help streamline him any better. The incline in the tunnel begins to even out here, slightly, as if it's about to become more level up ahead. It's hard to make out, but there's a slight change in the black.. A blurry smear of slightly lighter black up ahead. It's so subtle and easy to miss at first that it could be considered a trick of the eye initially. "Einheit knows.. Many things. Something from every Colony, and then... Something Else entirely."

<the_Hound> "No." The Hound's head shifted, as if he saw the Light ahead; yet it still lay on the coyote's shoulder. "It takes. It takes from Something, and stands on it's shoulders, and declares itself the Only. It is so obsessed with seeing if it can, that it never stops to ask if it should." The Hound's voice is not passioned; it is dull, and knowing.

* Tzel takes in a slight breath, his mouth opening as if to say something to that, but something makes him change his mind. His jaw clicks shut, and the Hound would feel Tzel's meaty shoulders rise in a shrug underneath him. He's occupied for some time with navigating this treacherous floor, as there's a few areas which feel rather unstable, and the air's gentle movement here gives the impression that there may be some vast space nearby for it to move to or from.. Somewhere that would not be well to fall into. "I suppose that is true." His tone isn't unsure or argumentative, yet somehow resigned.

<the_Hound> "What is in the vial?" The Hound's tone is a little demanding, now; though he was careful not to move. "You can see something, and the Ministry wants it. What is it?"

* Tzel swallows as he starts to straighten up a little more - as much as he can while carrying the Hound on his back, at least. The faint change in darkness up ahead is a little brighter now.. Just slightly. Greenish light of some kind, however hazy and distant it is. "... I don't know." His words are somewhat forced. "I can't dwell upon it long. It's like.. A roaring fire in the cold. Too far from it, and I cannot sense it. Too close, and it burns."

<the_Hound> "I wonder if it is meant to. If it is something they have used to breed Purebloods into docility." Or try to. Why the Hound is so stuck on his theory is anyone's guess; tzel is likely sick of hearing it, by now. But the dhole's voice is slurred; his cheek hot on the coyote's shoulder. "Are you safe?"

<Tzel> In past months Tzel might've put up argument with the Hound's theory, yet tonight there's only numb silence, as if the subject has been nearly lost on him. Even his previous reply was somewhat labored. Unusual for someone who was previously so enthralled by whatever it is he saw in the City. "Safe?" He grunts while padding down the tunnel bend. The ground seems to be paved here now.. Asphalt or concrete, possibly. Or just very smooth stone. "I doubt it." Of course you're not safe anymore. You could have been, if you'd just-.. He sniffs sharply, a hint of a grim, bitter laugh.

* the_Hound snuffs heavily at Tzel's laugh, now raising his head - but only a fraction. "Who *is*, here? But you won't become like the others, would you?"

<Tzel> "..The others?" An ear lifts as Tzel turns his head a little, as if he were about to look back at the Hound questioningly, though it's quite impossible with the other canine hanging on to his neck at this proximity. "Others who?"

<the_Hound> "Here. Everyone. Too terrified. Too *tame*." He does not wave a hand, but his arms twitch about Tzel's neck. "They jump at shadows, they whisper, they breed - but they have no purpose. No life."

<Tzel> It's a while before Tzel answers, which might have something to do with the light up ahead. After rounding a bend in the tunnel, the source becomes apparent: a single lone glowbulb hanging in a metal cage from a tall ceiling. A rather mundane source of illumination.. Which is probably why it's a somewhat welcoming sign, a hint that they're not as lost as they could be. After some more walking, Tzel shakes his head slowly. "There's.. Purpose, still." He bites on his lip for a minute, his mind wandering on to what that purpose is now, and what it used to be. He doesn't think on that too long, and puts his mind elsewhere. "What about you?"

<the_Hound> "I am Argent. I can never change. I cannot be seduced, or trained; I can only be destroyed." He turns back to Tzel, a cold and wet nose likely poking him in the neck. "What purpose? They just mill around in their own filth, mating like animals when the mood takes them - cowering and hiding when their Masters decide to travel amongst them."

<Tzel> The ruff of Tzel's neck fluffs up a little at the nose piking it, the cold sensation sending a bit of a chill down his spine. Up ahead is a lift platform, rusted and cobwebbed over from years of neglect.. Yet a few small points of diode light are visible on its old terminal, blinking as a beacon for users who haven't come down here in years. "My purpose?" His ears lower somewhat, as he doesn't even know the answer to that anymore now. But before he can let his mind wander there, Tzel occupies himself with getting onto the lift platform, its metal floor rattling underneath his steps as he moves over to the terminal. "Right now keeping you not dead is my purpose." With the Hound still on his back, Tzel inspects the terminal. Luckily it's analogue and not digital. He never could understand Einheit City's clean-running computing engines with their glowing screens. Where were the gears which processed numerical and alphabetical values? He pulls a couple knobs which causes the lift to give a loud clank, followed by a charging whirr as its motor grinds to life and begins to ascend the platform.

* the_Hound sniffs heavily, finally lifting his head enough to look around at his surroundings. "... feels like home."

<Tzel> "Home?" He asks over the rapid clanking of the lift, a big ear turning back and probably in the Hound's face again. "How's that?"

<the_Hound> That ear flicked back in his face again, and it's almost instinctive for the dhole's own ears to back - his muzzle jerking up to nip at Tzel's offending ear. "... gears. Metal. Levers. Concrete." In a feverish haze the Hound looks about, his nose twitching.

<Tzel> "Hnh. I did not know tha-" The sound that interrupts Tzel's words is an earsplittingly high-pitched squealing yap of shock as his ear is bit by the Hound's needle-sharp teeth. His head turns violently, though he can't really turn around to glare furiously at the Hound anyways. It's more the intent of the gesture that matters. "Stop that." He growls over the metallic clattering din of the lift's ascent, his teeth baring in a warning manner, though his tail sways a little from side to side.

<the_Hound> "Huhn." A laugh? From the Hound? And the slightest stirring of a bushy tail. "That's just for what you did before." The world is truely coming to an end. The dhole glances up, nose twitching - his laugh interrupted by a hitch of pain. "Where does this go?"

* Tzel snuffs loudly, his lips eventually twitching back down to conceal his fangs once more. He gives his head a light shake, ears tossing about as he throws off the stinging sensation in the one that was bitten. "Up." He nods upwards, as if pointing with his narrow snout to indicate. "Hoping to find your men before long."

Characters: Hound & Tzel

Location: The Undercity


Arrival

<the_Hound> How long they had walked, the Hound could not tell; he had fallen asleep many times, to awaken again to Tzel's rhythmatic stride. Many times, there was nothing to look at; it was too dark, or little more than ash-laden, concrete wilderness. Other times there were *things* - Bio-luminescent creatures long-forgotton, beautiful carvings and statues shoved together as if it were some giant basement storage. The Hound lifted his head, his muzzle suddenly poking Tzel in the neck. "That way." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

* Tzel lifts his head at the Hound's poke, ears rising as he glances in the indicated direction and altering his path towards it. His leg trembles for a split-second on a loose piece of metal flooring that wobbles when he steps on it, though manages to catch himself with a few rapid, almost stumbling steps, his claws scuffing against the cold steel. "Th-" His voice is painfully dry. Tzel swallows and clears his throat. "This looks familiar?"

<the_Hound> "Hnn." The Hound only answered with a grunt, his body suddenly shifting in that direction almost auomatically. "Stair grates. Down there. A door."
* Tzel slows down to half-turn in order to look back in the direction they'd come from, big ears swiveling around as heavy, strained breaths shoot puffs of hot mist from Tzel's half-opened mouth, a few inches of his black tongue lolling from between his long white fangs. Satisfied with the lack of any apparently unwanted trailers, Tzel continues down the grated stairs and towards the door, then stopping outside it. Presumably the Hound knows what do to here.

<the_Hound> The Hound swallows thickly, as if he were about to speak - a passcode, most likely. But before he could finish the door suddenly shrieked in protest - sliding into the surrounding concrete with rusted effort. What follows is a gun; attatched to that gun, a lion with one arm. It is aimed straight at the coyote's head, the feline's eyes narrowing.

* Tzel doesn't move or twitch when the gun is aimed right at him. Though his lips twitch faintly, as if some instinctual spark were telling him to snarl, though he manages to hold it back for the most part, his lenses regarding the lion and weapon with a cold, mechanical stare. "I brought The Hound."

<the_Hound> "I can see that." The lion's voice is even more heavily accented than the Hound's. But the dhole was calling out, now, in that harsh and multi-syllable tongue; back and forth the pair go, right over Tzel's head. The gun is lowered; and finally, put away with a backing of the lion's ears. He moves, as if he's going to pull the Hound from Tzel's back - but reconsiders, instead waving the coyote in impatiently. "The newscasts say you are dead. In the back." Perhaps spoken for Tzel's benefit; as soon as they're in, the lion put his shoulder to the door - shoving it closed laborously, with another screech of metal-on-stone.

* Tzel stares at the lion for a moment, as if about to initiate some kind of faceoff, though when it becomes clear that he can continue on to the back, the coyote does so, moving over towards the indicated area before he starts to loosen the straps he'd rigged up to carry the Hound on his back. He huffs lightly at the mention of the news claiming the Hound's death. What other threat could the Ministry have found now that would make them no longer desire using the Hound as a scare tactic to keep the hybrid public dependant and frightened? Despite his obvious fatigue, Tzel manages with some care to loosen the Hound enough to let him be set down.

<the_Hound> The Hound blanches, gripping at Tzel's wrists as he wobbles on his feet. There are cots back here, though most lie empty. In fact, it seems that only one is currently occupied, blankets toussled and neatly, metal boxes stacked under. The Hound gingerly, and stiffly, sets himself down, though he does not release Tzel's arms. "... they can hope a little while longer," he rasps, his eyes widening and blinking - the room spinning rather suddenly about him. The lion watched, his pale-blue eyes never leaving Tzel. He says something then, in Argent; something that causes the Hound's head to tip up sharply, to stare at the feline and question it.

* Tzel doesn't force the Hound to let go at all, far more than content to let the dhole hang on to his arm as long as needed, even adjusting his position if it seems that it's required. He swallows heavily, his facial muscles tightening somewhat against the scraping feeling of his dehydrated throat squeezing itself. His goggle-eyed face turns towards the feline upon hearing his foreign speech, a big ear tilting in the Hound's direction. "..What did he say?"

<the_Hound> "He said..." The Hound looks about wildly, perhaps for the first time noticing the general *emptiness* of the bunker. He swallowed hard, releasing the coyote to sag onto the cot, a fresh spread of blood tricking onto his bandages. "They left." "They tried to." There is a grimness in the lion's voice as he pushed himself away from the wall to step closer to the Hound - though he hovered just out of reach. "The City called them, and they lost their way." His single hand gently pressed against the holster at his side.

* Tzel crouches beside the cot as the dhole lowers into it, one large paw restinf on his thigh, the other on the edge of the cot, a few inches from the Hound's side. He turns once more to look to the lion, though his voice is directed to the Hound: ".. They?"

<the_Hound> Where he might have cried in front of Tzel, it was obvious that the Hound was clamping viciously down on any such behavior now - not in front of the lion. His eyes shone as he turned to Tzel, swallowing a few times before speaking - his voice breaking once or twice. "My men. Argent men. We... a couple, before. They had Turned. But not ev-ery o-one." Save for one. The lion turned away; his steps were heavy as he strode out, the *klong* of flesh on steel heard a moment later as he pounds his fist into the wall. The lion was slouching into a chair, picking up a battered set of headphones - jamming them on his head with a little difficulty before flipping on an old radio. Leaving Tzel and the Hound alone; after all, there was still work to do.

<Tzel> Were Tzel able to blink, he might've done so now as he heard these words. His gaze follows the lion's departure while the Hound's trembling voice informs him. For a while Tzel simply has nothing to say. He never knew the Hound's men, only distantly, but the effect it has on the Hound.. Tzel shakes his head slowly, looking over the dim, empty bunker. "I... Don't know what to say.."

<the_Hound> "Then don't." The Hound's voice is dull as he lowers himself down; shying away from his injuries, and yet trying his best to simply curl up onto the cot - burying his face into his arms. "... when the Ships came, we survived. Why? Why would they throw it away?"

* Tzel continues shaking his head, at a loss. His arm lifts somewhat, but his paw retracts to his chest, where he proceeds to rub the wrist uneasily, biting down on his lower lip. "I don't know." His rough, dryness-parched voice responds after some time. Quietly. "But.." Tzel swallows, his lenses rotating and dimming somewhat as he looks downwards at an empty spot of cot fabric next to the Hound, his words laboured, as if it were like unlocking some centuries-old chest which'd nearly rusted shut. "..I will not leave you."

<the_Hound> "I..." What could he say to that? The Hound, better than anyone, can read what Tzel means; what that may cost. "I can't ask that of you. Perhaps... perhaps I asked too much of them. They are afraid... were afraid, of the Ministers." Who wasn't? Yet the Hound's muffled, slurred words indicates that there was another reason; that it wasn't just the Ministers themselves. "I cannot call them cowards for it."

<Tzel> "You never asked it." His shoulders rise in a small shrug as he sits on the edge of the cot, a paw rising up to rub at his forehead, palm firmly pressed into it as his teeth bare in a silent grimace at whatever kind of ache may be going on inside his head. "I chose it."

<the_Hound> "And I tell you that I don't accept." The Hound's head twists to reveal a single, baneful eye; his ruff rising around his thin shoulders. "You... you need to finish your task. You can't be here. You must leave me." You should have left me to die, in the angel's arms. Things would have been better.

<Tzel> Just as the Hound's ruff rises, so does Tzel's, the unglossy black fur down his neck and tail fluffing up in aggressive spikes as his teeth bare. "That I will not obey. You may be The Argent Hound, but you are NOT my Emperor." The words are quiet, though heated with a low, rumbling growl within the deep of his chest.

* the_Hound 's head lifts, his lips writhing back over his teeth; but he hasn't the strength. His ruff slowly smooths, but his eye does not leave Tzel. "... fine. Do what you must," he finally growls; his eye disappearing as he rolls his head back into his arms. "I don't care anymore."

<Tzel> Whatever alpha male aggression had been rising up in Tzel at the Hound's growing challenge is swept away like soft dust on a smooth rock before a howling wind upon hearing those four words. From The Argent Hound. Tzel's mouth opens as if to speak... But what could you say? 'The City will send us a sign?', the internal whisper mocks. 'Yes, you would have said that, wouldn't you? But now the City has *completely* deserted you. You know now why She recoiled at your touch and fled whenever you sought Her for the past year...You know why you made the City weep.' Tzel clutches at the center of his chest, lips quivering as he holds back a pained growl.

<the_Hound> "... what will become of us?" A large ear swivelled towards the coyote, though the Hound's head does not follow it. Muffled, the pitched voice sounds resigned. "I will hold the vial, and the Ministry will come for it. What should we do, until then?"

<Tzel> "I don't know anymore." His paw leaves the spot on his chest where it was pressed, slow breaths starting to resume again, though a few lingering stabs of discomfort make it a slow process, that same paw going up to his face to tiredly rub the side of his muzzle. "This place is no longer safe if your.. Men, have left unchecked. We will need to move again."

<the_Hound> "... they have not left unchecked." The Hound's shoulders heave; once, twice, and then they are settled. "They have been redeemed. He has seen to it." The Hound's head lifted now, his eyes red-rimmed - nodding in the direction the Lion has gone. "He serves me still. The City cannot turn him. I..." He knows that the lion will never turn. The Hound's face pulls tight a moment before it is buried back in his arms; for the first time, so uncertain of the statement he's made so many times before. "... but we will move," the Hound chokes out. "There is water. Food. Rest."

* Tzel tilts an ear in the direction looked in by the Hound, though his goggle-lensed gaze doesn't follow, instead remaining on the laid-down canine on the cot, a few slow turns of his lenses being the only movement from Tzel for a few seconds. He nods, eventually, looking off into another direction for a moment. "I will." Emphasis on the future-tense. Tzel will probably not move until it seems as if the Hound has fallen asleep.

<the_Hound> It would not be long. Forgive him as his shoulders shudder once or twice, betraying the canine's hidden face; his inner feelings. He does not sleep easy; but it was soon enough that his body relaxes, somewhat; as much as the grievous wound in his side allows.

* Tzel sits there for some time at the edge of the cot, eventually letting his head slowly look away once the Hound's drifted off to sleep. And there Tzel will sit for a few hours to stare at the door, unmoving save for the occasional shift of his goggles or the twitch of an ear to the drip of water or groan of steel.