'Give us strength, and give us time. And for what you've put us through today, it's the absolute least you could do for us right now..' - prayers unanswered Baltor’s Gate Rook Island Her eyes were hollow from crying. Salted streaks stained her cheeks and deep in her chest was an unseen pit because for the life of her she could not shake that it was her fault. If she drove better… faster… something… maybe he’d be… But Parasyte did not have time to grieve, to mourn. Her skills were invaluable in finding information on Baltor to begin with, and it was only through her efforts that they learned of the warehouse that may hold further valuable information. The Ironwoman’s head may had been mostly caved in, but it still held the address. Now it holds nothing. More survivors were brought to her, men and women who had nary a clue what they were about to get into, and how bad things could suddenly turn. She looked up at them, from her seat beside the unmarked police van, a single lower ranked officer standing at the door of the van, and Lt. Prescott standing to their left. The officer was an older man, perhaps in his 50s, and looked somewhat Irish. Lt. Prescott still looked tired, dark bags on his fair skin, and his badge still shined despite the rest of his uniform showing the wear of the battle from earlier. “Alright, you may be wondering the specifics of the mission today. I know you all have recently undergone a horrible, horrible tragedy, and you may be able to hold claim with it being worse than what we’re going through,” he spoke, with his best attempt at an understanding voice, “But we’re in this together. More than the blast today, there was an Ironman attack on the White Queen Bridge. Due to the actions of An-- Parasyte, we have ascertained the potential location of where the bombs may have been manufactured, or some other part of the attack planned. We,” he looked down to her, meeting her miserable gaze, “We don’t… know for sure. We can’t right now afford to send officers over there in any proper number, so… we’re sending you, and Parasyte. Her skills will be invaluable there; keep her safe.” The gathered survivors standing before him in various states of disrepair and confusion and understanding would of course have questions, but Prescott didn’t let them voice them; time was of the essence and he needed them briefed and on the road, now. “Get in the van, Officer Inver will drive you to the location,” he said, stepping away from the van as Officer Inver opened the van up so they could easily file in, the first of which being Parasyte to the front passenger seat. “In the back of the van are ballistic vests, and side arms. I know you don’t likely have the trigger discipline that we’d like, but you’re not going up against a damn evil wall, so we trust you to not fire upon each other or innocent civilians,” he grimaced at that notion, his lips curling up as he referred to earlier problems. “If you are not comfortable with a weapon, or think your powers, whatever they may be, will suffice, you are not obligated to take a gun anyway,” he continued, “Lastly, there are radios to let each of you talk amongst each other, and with us if you need help or extraction.” Lt. Prescott almost walked away at that, to attend his other duties, “Speaking of extraction, we can’t keep Inver in the area after you’re dropped off, he’s needed to help oversee the White Queen Bridge… we need to reestablish ground connection to Ground Zero. So if you have to call for police help for extraction, it’ll take maybe five minutes at most before help can arrive. Account for it.” Abandoned Warehouse North Eastern Rook Island Coast The van arrived at the north east side of Rook Island, not too far away from the bridges that connected to the Blue Moon District. The warehouse loomed over the lower wharf lands, the entire area fairly empty save vital security moving around; possible aid if things get out of hand at the warehouse but what help they could give may be negligible against a berserking Ironman, and ideally the group wasn’t going to send out ripples to alert others of their being there or why. So Inver drove them discretely to a back alley behind the warehouse, dropping them all off out of sight of everyone, and then driving away after they loaded up as they wished. Parasyte took both armour and gun, before she said the first words she had said since the team of would-be heroes met her. “If you see them start drinking an orange vial… shoot then or drop the gun, it’ll be useless otherwise.” So she looked over at the back entrance into the warehouse, a simple locked door, mirroring the locked door of the warehouse behind them. The alley was filled with random pieces of trash, a few dumpsters, and waste bins. Off to one side, against the opposite warehouse, were a series of cages and boxes; empty cages, but one couldn’t tell with the boxes without testing them. There were no windows on the warehouse at ground level, but there were whereabouts a second floor would be, quite a ways off the ground. It appeared that there was also another door up there as well, but there was nothing for it to step off onto; judging by the opposite warehouse there used to be a fire escape there, but it was gone now. The very walls of the warehouse didn’t look too sturdy from the outside, and if they had brought some rather simple tools, it’d have looked like even normal people could have broken in with only little effort. So all that was left, was deciding how to do this, and Parasyte was in no position to take charge.