Alexander was fairly quick to react to the sudden change in emotion, that Arata displayed. Watching the young male stride toward Godfather, he picked up his shotgun, and gave the slide a quiet, half-rack to ensure a shell was in the chamber, before sliding it back forward. The man wasn't about to lose there only leader, to some kid, with issues about losing friends. Alex had watched faces come in, and disappear from his bar from years. Each one wearing down on his soul in a different way...kids, adults, mothers, fathers, and everything in between. He was more than happy to contemplate blasting a round of buckshot clean into Arata's back. The youth would barely feel it, he wouldn't even hear the shot. His heart...ribs, lungs, everything would be sprayed across the apartment, but the killing machine that was so unpredictable would be out of play.
However he reminded himself Arata was only a kid...Setting the gun down, he stood up, and walked over to the bag of clothing. He'd be dammed if Arata was going to become a lifeless, blood hungry zombie. Alexander couldn't bring back the dead, but he could remind the living of why they still needed to be themselves.
"I'm going out to run some errands. I'll be getting essentials, and...salvaging." He remarked, as he picked out a t-shirt, and a pair of jogging pants. Easy to move in, and easier to hide a gun in. Slipping a hoodie over top of it all to cover his upper half.
Leaving the body suit underneath was intentional, it was burn proof, and would help him salvage things a bit easier. Though he did grab some leather gloves, slipping them on his hands as a way to help him grip onto hot items, without burning himself too bad. His final step was to look through the guns Jill had brought. Grabbing a USP 45, and a few magzines, he slipped the weapon, loaded into the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging the hoodie down over it to make sure he wasn't showing off the handgun. The few extra magazines found there way into his pockets. A knife and sheath, an aged M9 bayonet was pressed into the pants he wore as well, giving him the proper equipment, though the lightest possible load to defend himself while he was out.
Though for a moment the RONIN reconsidered his choice. Fumbling about, he found a suppressor for his handgun, perhaps the luckiest find he could ask for. Screwing it onto the USP, he slipped the weapon back into its makeshift holster. Certainly he wished he could bring more firepower, however it would be too suspicious, and much too loud. So instead the RONIN stood back up, and walked toward the door, pushing it open,
"I'll back back in a bit, if I'm not. Assume I'm out drinking..or dead."
His remark sounded a bit colder, as he adjusted his hood, and pulled it over his head.
"Fox. If I don't come back. You better kill two clerics, for every one, that someone else gets in my memory." Chuckling a bit to himself, Alexander was gone, shutting the door behind himself. Walking down the steps of the apartment, his step had less of a bounce...it was hard, each footstep echoing his determination, to finish the job. To get some sort of vengeance for the bar, the friends, and everything he had lost that day. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he practically rammed his shoulder into the door, and burst out into the streets.
Alex felt like a new man, everything was gone, just himself and a gun were left. All of his memories in the Afterlife. Were burnt to a crisp, each thing that mattered to him, meant nothing anymore. Yet he knew something might still be there, that the others wanted. That was perhaps all that pushed him still, the idea of making the others happy again.
It hadn't hit him, but Alexander had took off running, and before he knew it, he was within a few blocks of the Afterlife. Ducking into an alley right next to the building, he pulled out his knife, and pistol. Racking the slide back, he was happy to load the first round of .45 ACP, twelve shots, he had twelve shots that he'd need to make count. He only had brought along thirty-six rounds of ammunition. He could only pray there weren't more than a dozen or so clerics left watching the place.
Granted, he got his answer when he poked his head around the corner. Two clerics, talking, less than ten meters away. It was be quick and easy to kill them. Yet he took a chance to survey the area around the two, making sure to check for any potential witnesses. Seeing none, Alex took his chance, He threw his knife with a grunt, the blade flipping through the air, thrown by a man flooded with rage...but forced to hold it back. It slammed through the face plate of the Cleric's helmet, a face plate which Alex knew quite well, because he wore the same helmet before today. The blade buried itself firmly in the front of the cleric's skull, killing him instantly.
A dead sprint forward, Alex rammed the barrel of his suppressed pistol into the second cleric's neck, likely shattering his windpipe with the focused impact. However he pulled the trigger to make sure. Spraying the man's throat, and fragments of the bones in his neck across the ground. He watched the man twitch for a few moments on the ground, before his brain finally accepted it was dead. Bending over Alex ripped his knife out of the other cleric's skull, wiping the blood off on the man's uniform.
The smell of smoke was overpowering now...the smoldering ruins of the Afterlife were in view, and a sigh left Alex's lips. He was reminded of his purpose. His blood lust could wait for a moment. Now came the fun part, entering the afterlife...and clearing it room by room. He looked down at the spare Cleric's helmet he didn't destroy, pulling it off, he put it on. Disabling the radio, he turned on the life support system. He would need the oxygen just to survive.
Besides, the helmets thermal imaging would help him to make out the shapes of Clerics moving about. Trying to clear out the last of the Afterlife. Entering the open front door of the burnt down ruins. He was quick to crouch down, and turn on the helmet. Blinking a few times as he adjusted to the light, he looked around for targets. The first one was a cleric behind the ruins of the bar, that Alex used to work behind. Glass was everywhere, the bar itself burnt to little more than the shape of a counter.
Rushing forward, he gave the Cleric but a moment to gasp, before he jumped over the smoldering wood, and rammed his knife into the man's stomach. Alexander showed no mercy as he stabbed the blade in repeatedly. Covering the sleeve of his hoodie, and his leather gloves in the lifeblood of the cleric. Each slam of the blade lacked precision, and only showed rage. However the blade was ripped from the man's stomach, and slammed into the back of his neck. A rough tug to the side, and the Cleric's head was left hanging on by a few threads of flesh, lolling to the side, as the corpse collapsed to the floor.
"No one, ever comes behind, my fucking bar, without permission."
Moving forward, Alex was a bit more calm in his approach. However he really had to strong arm his way into parts of the bar. Shouldering his way into the next room, the door practically crumbled. Most of the place was completely blocked off by rubble. However with the amount of dry wall on the upper floor, Alexander assumed he could kick his way through a few walls to get what he wanted. It was the lower floors that were a problem.
Naomi...Naomi was the first on his list of rooms to recover. He took a chance to look at the layout, and remember it, it was with the other NOAH rooms. Yet the hallway was blocked by part of the roof that had caved in. Muttering in frustration, he looked at the door to his left. Kicking it down, he moved into the room with his weapon raised. Happy to see no one, he slammed his body into the drywall...and hit a stud. The wood causing him to fall onto his back. The hot ashes clinging to his clothing. He brushed them off quickly, muttering as he realized he'd ruined his pants completely, and would need to acquire a new set of clothing quickly after leaving.
Readjusting his course a bit, he got through the wall this time. Crashing into the next room, he saw a Cleric, standing there, looking rather confused. Aiming his pistol quickly, Alexander shot off three rounds, dropping the man to the floor, as one found it's mark in the man's exposed stomach, and the other into his neck. An area which Alex had trained to shoot for, for years now. Eight rounds left before a reload was needed.
However that wouldn't matter, as two more Clerics burst into the room...apparently the Cleric who he had killed had managed to say something over his radio, before dying. Alexander stared at them, watching them go to raise their rifles, he lunged forward. His body was low, as his shoulder slammed into one Cleric, Alexander tackled the man to the ground, and jammed his knife into the soldier's helmet, burying it deep.
Rolling off the corpse, he heard several shots slam into the body of the dead cleric, the metallic thud of ricocheting bullets filled his ears. Landing on his side, Alexander squeezed off the last eight rounds of his pistol in a panicked rush. Dropping the other cleric by luck alone. As a few shoots managed to hit the unarmored areas of the cleric.
Pushing himself up, Alex reloaded his pistol, and racked the slide, taking the empty magazine and putting it in his pocket. He knew conserving every material was very important. However now he had to act fast. Turning on his helmet's radio, he heard the chatter instantly. They were asking the dead comrades what had happened. Responding as calmly as possible, Alex spoke into the mic,
"Just some scavenger, with a knife. he's been neutralized. Carry on with the search, best not leave anything for those rebel bastards."
Listening to a bit of the chatter for a few minutes, he sat in the room, collecting his blade from the dead cleric. Before turning off the radio again, it seemed the remaining six clerics in the building were willing to accept the answer. Little did they know half their squad was dead. Walking out the door, he saw Naomi's room was just down the hallway. Jogging down toward it, Alexander saw the door was gone...knocked down. Crossing the threshold, it was completely ruined. And the only person there, was a long dead Cleric. One lost during the fighting for the Afterlife most likely. But a tin on the floor caught his eyes. "What's this? Naomi never kept jewelry I thought." Alexander asked himself, as he bent down and picked it up...it was fairly big, square in shape. Opening it up, he took time to look over the contents. Several files, about the Oracle project. He couldn't make sense of them, and he didn't have time to. Along with a very strange looking bullet, the caliber he wasn't sure of either. Not wanting to ponder too long, Alex took the tin, and tucked it under his arm...he really should have found a backpack.
Granted he only needed a handgun to clear this place out, and the metal tin could be dropped fairly frequently and sustain no damage. Onto Arata's room, the youngest NOAH left alive. He approached it fairly calmly. seeing a single cleric sifting the ruins of the room, he gunned the man down with a clean shot to the back of the head. Watching him drop with a small spray of blood across the charred walls.
Nothing was going to be saved from here, however he browsed the burned books, looking them over, for some sort of clue about what they were about. Garnering a brief understanding that Arata read a lot of fantasy about nobles, and knights. Alexander made a mental note to stop by a bookstore on the way back to the apartment.
The underground levels...the garage. That's what was left. That would be the least damaged as well. But the most looted, and cleaned out by the Clerics. No guns, no equipment. If he was lucky maybe a vehicle. Alexander ignored everything else on the way through to the staircase that lead downstairs, Tia crossed his mind, her bike. Her bike was in the garage, which was locked up tighter than a nun's virginity. No way in, without the knowledge of the passwords, and the locking system.
Things which Alexander had...plus there was an easy way out. A ramp up to the surface. The bar was burnt to hell, but he assumed it would be easier to get out through the garage. So Alexander approached the door to the garage, fiddling about for a bit, he got it open, and entered. Lifting the heavy door up with one arm, he ducked under the half open door, before slamming it shut, and locking it again.
There it was, among the tools, which hadn't been taken. Tia's bike. Mixuki. Alex grinned at his good fortune, as he grabbed a backpack from one of the lockers in the room, he shoved the metal box in it, and zipped it up. Putting his weapons in the bag as well, he took his hoodie, and gloves off. The blood covered garments being left on the floor. He also tossed off the cleric helmet, leaving it there. A bit more scavenging, and he found a few left behind wallets, and other personal belongings. Around 2000 Valhallan Lions, in a variety of bills.
Slipping everything into one, black leather wallet, he tucked it way in his pocket, and Alexander approached the garage door. He opened it all the way, letting the light of the nighttime flood in. Looking up at the stars, and the moon, he eyed the ramp. Undamaged, and unblocked. Approaching Mixuki, Alex got on it, and rubbed the top of the bike gently, treating it as kindly, as he assumed Tia would. "Alright buddy. We're gonna run some errands. I can't drive you too fast, but I'll get you back to your owner."
And with that, Alex turned the bike on, and pushed the kickstand up. He was careful with the accelerator, only giving a light pull, to get himself going. The bike was riding easy for now, as he drove down to a clothing store. One where he used to get all of his suits from. They knew him very well, so when he entered, and laid two hundred lions on the table, he was in and out within in an hour, with a new black suit, white button up shirt, black tie, a set of comfortable shoes, and a black bike helmet.
Alexander's next stop was a bookstore. Picking up a few novels for Arata, he also purchased the young NOAH's hot chocolate, he wasn't sure if it was the correct brand, or mix. However he hoped it might help the kid go back to his previous self. He didn't want a mindless killing machine, he wanted someone with emotion. He knew one thing, someone with emotion could always fight better, than someone empty and dead on the inside.
Additionally Alexander stopped at a cosmetics store, buying some hair dye for Juniper, in case she wanted to return to her previous black haired self to remain a little more hidden. Along with a stop at a local grocery store, to buy a some more food, since he had guessed Jill had grabbed mostly non-perishable goods, so for the night he bought some fresh vegetables, and meat. Along with a few spices, and some more high end alcohol. Mostly for himself, he needed to remind himself of being a bartender, so mixing drinks, on his own, or just preparing them would cheer himself up. A few lemons and limes to top it all off, and the man in the black suit was on his way back to the apartment.
Two and half hours after he had left, Alexander had returned. The soft purring of the engine as he drove into in the alleyway. After he parked it in the alley way, but before he turned the machine off, he made sure to rev it once as loudly as he could, mostly to let Tia know her bike was safe. He took the keys out, and pocketed them, before walking toward the building. In a fresh black suit, with a backpack filled to the brim with a variety of items, he hoped the trouble he went through, would all be worth it.
Southpaw considered what was going on now, It seemed the room was filled with tension, as Arata approached Gillian, and Alexander seemed considered shooting him. However it seemed to flatten out again, and the tall, RONIN left to go recover what he could from the burning wreckage of the afterlife. The cat continued to purr in Naomi's lap, up until Juniper had sat down. He rolled back over, to have his back presented. He stood up and stretched himself out a little bit. Before walking his front half over to Juniper.
The cat rested himself between the two women, letting his mid-section hang like a bridge, as he plopped his head down on Juniper's leg, and his tail swayed back and forth. He could tell the room was quite heavy, and hoped to perhaps cheer someone up, by being a cute cat. Granted, he knew he could only play this charade for so long.
Eventually someone would point out how strange of a cat he was, and he'd have to explain himself. Perhaps Gillian, or Cassia would point it out. Perhaps they would just ignore him. Either way, he planned to try and remain friendly. After all, this was one of the few times, he didn't have to adopt his killer mentality.
