[PG-15]Generation Five(IC)

[Bravado]

"Calamity will overtake that city in which indecision lies..."

A sure and steady heat wave was in the process of coating the city as the Progression Leader mused, fingers playfully skimming across the armrest of the couch.

"These lowlifes know nothing about the condition of the world. They argue fragility when we in reality are stronger than we have ever been. I see no black plague, I see no jump in infant mortality. What I do see is a refined system of education, an exemplary economy, and a fair division of 'haves' and 'have-nots'. There's nothing more to it. That Lark must be damned blind if he can deny progress. He can't. It pisses me off."

For a moment, he rose to his feet, and with a swift and frustrated motion, released the captive green parakeet alongside him.

"Here, Dearest. Keep me company. You're very good at that."

Latching the cage shut, Mr. Goodall took his seat once again, this time accompanied by the bird on his shoulder. Perhaps if his companions would not leave their rooms, he could seek solace with his faithful bird. Upon being seated, he allowed himself to briefly flick on his television set with a look of sheer disgust.

"Drivel. Drivel. All mindless drivel. It is a pity, really, when Man has such technology at his disposal, and these are the products. Faulty, eh?"

As if expecting a response, he turned to stare directly into the face of the parakeet, who in turn stared unblinkingly.

"Of course they are, you pretty bird. And that's what I'm out to correct. The system is ideal, but it will take people like us to work out the kinks in it. I don't blame the modern man for indulging in pornography, honestly. I really don't. Hell, I'll have a watch if there's nothing better to do. You make money how and where you can. But those Restorationists....My God, they've got it all backwards. They think that 'what is thermodynamics'--"

Catching his verbal error, the young man scowled, turned off the television, and continued to speak, free of the thoughts of the Jeopardy contestants.

"They think that industry is going to destroy the earth; make it inhospitable. But I know better! Only through development can we form the technology capable of keeping the earth safe. People will always litter, Superior or Standard, and I'll bet you a dime to a dollar that they do it too."

Once again, the parrot offered a blank expression to its owner.

"Enough rambling. I'm sure you're tired of my voice. As am I. That idiot Jaccard's got a laundry list of plans for us in that woods home of his. I know it. Perhaps I can enlist some Rats to help me get in there."

At this thought, he cringed. Often, Rats could be angry and intimidating people to conduct business with; many hated the dominant, twisted politic.

"Yes, a non-neutral Rat may be better. The Neutrals have no passion, and frankly, I find them rather frightening. It matters little, though. I could simply take out the defiant with a member of my Party."

In that instant, an odd hush fell upon The Pinnacle, and a soft, gradual darkness infiltrated the building.

"A storm is moving in... That was to be expected. It's been rather humid lately... The fuck with this small talk to myself! I think we need to call a meeting to order regarding our next move. To hire mercenaries or not... I'll leave the question on the table for the others. Come, Dearest. We'll call a meeting."

With that, Mr. Goodall rose once again and proceeded to ring the largest clock's alarm, a chime which could be heard throughout the Pinnacle.

"We'll see how this goes."

[Kebert Xela]

You cannot! petition the Lord...with prayer!

'Modest', was perhaps one of the biggest understatements used in reference to the home base of the nation's Restoration leader. However, David had never been one for a lavish abode, and found himself quite capable of deep thought within an isolated area. His methods in dealing with his rival were unsophisticated; if he fights, fight back. He wasn't in any particular mood to hunt a man down. It was beyond his morals, and, aside from that, his own imagination. By fighting a man of great evil with the man's own tactics, no achievements would be made. Clockwork had powers quite beyond the control of a simple man. It was this very concept, this disturbing break in mental clarity that served as a constant reminder of Paccard's most chilling fear: he could never be sure what Clockwork was up to, but he was probably being watched on a big screen that very minute... Time to take a break from the norm.

Can you give me sanctuary, I must find a place to hide...
A place for me to hide.

The odor began with the click of a match. 'Mama', he called it. Mama separated the real friends from the judgmental masses. Mama made the pain go away. And Mama...made David a little boy again. It turned him into Lark; gave him his wild imagination. It kept people away, and attracted the lovable rich freeloaders. Mama came in many other forms, but David preferred to take a big drag of Mama when things got too bad. She turned David into Lark. He wondered if the same was true for Clockwork... As the shadows danced across the paper walls, Lark came to visit David. Splendid! Glorious! All things, mental and physical, began to smile with him, and slowly blend...

Can you find me soft asylum, I can't make it...anymore...

Lark was a very different man than David. Lark was happy, sane, personable. But both loved to think, and both loved their space. Right now, both were helpless and scared. The shadows upon the wall had ended their dance, and had now taken to closing in on both David and Lark. Both were huddled up within each other, hiding from the oncoming threat of their treacherous mind. Something large was beginning for the double persona...

The man is at the door.

[Familiar]

Demitri's room, if it could truly be called that, was just about as bare and impersonal as it was possible for a room to get. Bare white walls, a clinical looking single bed and a deep brown wooden table were the only things that populated the room and he couldn't even remember the last time he used the table. For his part, Demitri lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, not really thinking of anything in particular.

It was the ringing of the bell that shook Demitri out of his reverie. The bells meant that Clockwork was calling a meeting which in turn, meant that Demitri would probably have work to do in short order. He didn't mind the work, in fact he looked forward to it, but things had been heating up lately; he had been getting called into action more and more often, and even Demitri knew that that did not bode well for the fragile state of peace that had existed for the past few years.

Still though, if there was going to be a conflict Demitri knew his place; he was a sword, a tool, nothing else. He would fight for those that took him in, for those that had saved him, even if it cost him his own life. Rising from his bed, Demitri left his room, not bothering to lock the door behind him. The meeting room was a ways away, so he really needed to start moving.

[TZS]

They had decided to trade in the jeans for a one of those knee length tartan skirts; Catholic School Girl style (and borrowed-without-intent-of-returning from a real live Catholic School Girl even!), and while they agreed it was a good look with Benny's handed down black military boots and matching tank-tops (red for Trip, black for Shuffle, they matched the skirt, not each other) Shuffle thought it was a bit drafty. And she didn't like their knees.

"We look fine." Trip drawled. "We look great. People are actually staring at us because we look cute. Tell me I'm wrong?"

Shuffle folded herself against her sister's side as they crossed the street, tucking their scratchy, knit sweater closer around them both. "Poster child for conjoined twins." She murmured, then caught the eye of a business man standing on the corner waiting for the light to change; and promptly clamped her teeth down on her lollypop. But Trip felt her tense and swung her head to glare at him. She didn't need to know what he was thinking- she didn't need to know what Shuffle had heard verbatim; the look wasn't one they got often, but it was unmistakable.

"Freak!" She wrapped an arm around her sister's waist and flipped him the birdie. "Spit that out Shuffle you're only giving the perv more to work with."

Shuffle choked on her lolli and blinked at Trip incredulously- but a smile tugged at the corner of Trip's mouth. "Sorry, was that incestuous or narcissistic?"

And that got a laugh from Shuffle, but she only mumbled around the candy. "Yer bad... Did you remember to buy rice? I wasn't looking."

"No, you were oogling the grocery boy." Walking without her sister concentrating on the same task was tiring, but with the shared goal of getting home, off the street and away from the press of minds that made Shuffle want to draw back into herself... A nap was in order, and a bubble bath, but they would be fine.

Shuffle swayed suddenly, and they almost tripped. Trip caught the plastic bag of groceries and braced her left hand against the alley wall, arm behind Shuffle's back. "Hey, hey, pretty what's the matter?" She turned Shuffle's face to look at her and pulled the candy out of her mouth, pressing it into her sister's hands. "It's ok, I'm here. Talk to me, mei mei get it out of your system."

Trip petted Shuffle's hair while she mumbled incoherently. She had a loud brain, she knew, While Shuffle could hear other people, Trip could make other people hear her, and she was just grateful they were immune to each other. Stronger minds, louder minds, tended to trample Shuffle over completely like this, and Trip hated them for it.

"clockworkandit'stimemotherit'stimethey've got it coming there's someone here- I can't take this anymore please help me pleasehelpme I want to go home!"

Trip hugged Shuffle tight and pushed just a little-physically- to take full control of their legs. She didn't know if that last part was Shuffle or the request of someone else, but their little nest, an old abandoned shipping container out by the docks was usually quieter than town. Trip wasn't sure but she thought something about the metal walls helped dampen the telepathic field. They would have to make another trip to the library to see if she could find a book on it or something. But not today.

"Come on, sister. Pretty sister." She pressed a kiss into Shuffle's hair. "Let's go home. We're going home. It's okay."

And she pushed out mentally, shoving apathy and preoccupation out into the minds of anyone within a block's radius who would hear it, and hurried her sister home.

[Alura]

Brown pencil skirt shifting gently high above a designer pair of pumps, Sarah stepped lightly through the street, adjusting the collar of her crème-coloured sweater and glancing about her surreptitiously. Today was going to be a dicey day. However, those often turned out to be the most entertaining. She had recently taken a position with the Progressionist party. Nothing fancy, really, just an assistant to an assistant in charge of the normal secretarial duties of a party book handler. The position was high enough to be useful in gathering information, but low enough not to draw undue attention.

Today she had been recruited to attend Samuel Lemming throughout his daily routine at headquarters, take notes, and generally shadow his movements. If it went as most things did with lower-level bookkeepers and such, she would likely be doing his job for a day. Nonetheless, it was an excellent way to move virtually unseen on the premises, and that was invaluable.

A small chime sounded as a gentleman opened the door for his little daughter to come through as she approached. Sarah’s eyes darted to the reversed sign of the little coffee house through the transparent door. Smiling, she slipped behind the pair, feeling the rush of warmth as the cold was sealed out behind her. Looking about at the half-awake individuals propped upon the cluster of tables in the shop, she ran her fingers through her hair and negotiated the maze of chairs and patrons to the counter with the ease of someone used to the task. The barista toweled off her hands, glancing up with a usual greeting.

“What will it be today, Anna?”

Sarah smiled to the woman, acknowledging the pseudonym without pause.

“Macchiato please, as usual.”

The girl nodded and changed the order smoothly, moving off to fill it while Sarah idled near the bar, rummaging through the assortment of nibblies before deciding her waist could do without. The barista chimed out and she took the warm cup, wrapping her chilly fingers around it and bidding the girl farewell as she reluctantly returned to the street before the shop.

Eyes roving, she ignored the rather dingy looking fellow loitering in a little niche of a shop entryway a few paces from the coffee house entrance. She was fairly certain he was a Rat. At any moment, friend and enemy was a relative thing to the woman, and one new face was not cause for any new alarm. Setting off once more along the now crowding way, Sarah headed towards the point where she was to meet her driver. It took a bit longer than she might have liked, but she was not particularly tall and so had to weave her way among the people filling the heavily trafficked area in order to catch sight of the staunch man who matched the description she had previously been given. Picking up her pace, she trotted towards him, carefully keeping her heels out of the dips between the cobbles.

“Hullo there, is this the car for Mr. Lemming’s office?”

The man was stone-faced and thuggish, but he nodded, so she smiled and slipped into the back of the auto to which he was holding the door.

“Thank you.”

Armed with her bag and a fresh cup of caffeine, she studied her new surroundings. The windows were darkened deeply, making it rather difficult to see her surroundings from within… that was odd. Brushing it to the back of her thoughts, she blew lightly into her cup, sipping tentatively and allowing the warmth seep into her throat.

“Was Mr. Lemming not to be coming along also, Mr. …?”

The man glanced up to glimpse back at the timid question.

“He’ll be meeting you there.”

There was a little vague, but she simply nodded sheepishly and accepted the answer, and the lack of a name.

In the end, she had not very long to wait. The security was considerable, and she took mental notes to all of it, watching both the driver and the men at the checkpoints carefully. Getting in might one day be as important as getting out could feasibly be today. Sifting the contents of her bag through her fingers, she found a mirror and touched up her lipstick, fluffing her hair a bit before relaxing back against the leather interior.

The fidgeting was something many women did when nervous, and she wanted to give the impression of a flustered first day assistant. Her mind, however, touched from the man who had been lurking outside the coffee house to the man she was going to meet. Perhaps someone among the Rats suspected her of consorting with the Progressionists. These factions were bothersome at times, hounding their agents like a lot of swooning, jealous schoolboys. Still, interest meant marketability, so for that she must remind herself to be gracious.

She allowed her mind to wander, to refresh the notes she had forced herself to memorize for this little excursion. All too soon, however, the car pulled along a paved drive, and the door opened to reveal her unnamed escort once more.

He helped her out, leaning back to collect the bag she had intentionally forgotten to bring along and handing it back to her. With a nervous little giggle, she blushed faintly, smoothing her skirt and taking it from him. She had barely taken a step, however, when a man fairly ran from the building and took her arm, cutting off her mumbled apology to the driver. She was guided from the car at a pace so quick she nearly stumbled along beside the man, who in a flurry of speech identified himself as one Mr. Samuel Lemming, her advisor of the day. He twitched and muttered something about it being a terrible day for visitors. It took but a few moments to see this was a thin, grey man with a personality that was as enchanting as a toad’s. He had the slightly stoop-shouldered intonations of a man who had long been accustomed to saying “Yes” and scuttling to do his employer’s bidding.

Finally they arrived in a large vaulted chamber that was clearly assigned to accounting and bookkeeping. A bound legal tablet was shoved into her hands, along with a stack of files. Mr. Lemming was waving a lot and speaking unintelligibly about some sort of meeting. He was really too distraught to make sense, but she gathered that something unplanned was happening and she was to take minutes for his employer. Simple enough, she thought.

He ushered her once more along, through a collection of corridors in which other suits and ties and pencil skirts were beginning to bustle past in equal tizzy, gesturing her through a doorway, but hanging back himself. Who were these people and where were they coming from? In a confused flash she made the quick judgment that the rooms lining the corridor must belong to various members of the party – or their supporting staff. She gave one last drowning look to Mr. Samuel Lemming as she was carried along in a little group of young assistants like herself into the room through the doorway, but he was already walking away. It was a stately room, clearly intended for conferencing. She allowed herself to follow the tide of other legal tablets, floating into a chair against the wall. Choosing a spot directly beneath a sconce, so that the light would blur her features should anyone look directly at her, she tapped her writing instrument with her thumb, waiting, and murmured to herself.

What have we waltzed into here, Lu?

[Stream]

The contentious progessionist was no stranger to leading shepherding his flock away from the bourgeois teachings of the "old world". Most people had never even heard of thermodynamics, no less thermoeconomics. Too many had been duped into believing they too could be successful through the wonders of the free market if they worked hard enough. Wealth, the ideal dream.

"My dear, you're ignoring the countless examples we've had of failure in both socialism and capitalism. Society cannot sustain itself at its current rate of consumption, as illustrated by peak oil," he said. He drew from his cigarette, taking care to keep it away from the young woman sitting with him.

"We have plenty of oil left in the ground!" she exclaimed. "Your peak oil theory has already been disproven by the scientific community."

Howard smiled, crossing his legs under the table and leaning back in his chair in a leisurely fashion.

"Oh? It has? Which scientific community; the one upset and baffled by our energy crisis, or the fictional one that has annulled the extreme dips in oil reserves," he said. The flustered woman twitched her head in annoyance.

"How rude! No manners this day and age from men. What makes you such an expert anyways?" she asked. Howard leaned forward and stuck out his hand.

"Dr. M. Howard Scott," he said smiling. "Physicist, mathematician, geologist and Progressionist."

"I've heard of you! You're a progressionist? I should've known," she said, shaking his hand. "I apologize. I had no idea I was talking to someone with your… teachings."

"Oh my dear, there's no need to apologize. This happens quite often, really. Most people have only heard of Clockwork, though I try my best to get attention," he said. He laughed. "He's quite an amazing man though, I can't blame anyone."

"Have you met him?" she asked. She leaned forward with widened eyes, seeming genuinely interested.

"Well, yes. He's not too awfully hard to reach. Most of the time it's Clockwork calling us really," he said. He heard a faint vibration against the leg of his wooden chair. His phone was ringing.

"Is that him?" she asked. Howard retrieved the phone and glanced at the glowing front screen.

"That's not very good manners to ask," he said smiling. "But I'll forgive you, because you were right. Pleasure talking, but I really must be leaving."

The man stood, setting his hat back upon his head and extinguishing his cigarette into a glass ashtray next to his coffee. He picked up the half empty cup, the styrofoam still warm from the contents. Just as he was about to leave, the young woman stood up and grabbed his overcoat.

"You forgot this," she said, setting it on his shoulders. He pulled his arms through the sleeves and buttoned it up to his ties.

"That would've been drastic. The trench coat completes the look, don't you agree?" he said. He laughed and nodded his head. "Thank you."

With that, he exited the diner. There were important matters to attend to.

[TZS]

Shuffle was sick in a trashcan before they got home. Trip held her hair out of her sister's face and rubbed her back while she shook, biting her lip in worry and willing extra force into her 'look away' bubble.

This was bad, this was worse than she'd ever seen- They'd been practicing this meditation thing the past few months and she'd thought Shuffle was doing better than ever. If Benny was sober she'd take Shuffle back to him, he was the only one of the Rat docs she trusted, she'd sooner take them to a public hospital and risk the state finding out about them being not only psychics but thanks to that new law illegal immigrants to boot than go to one of the other Rat "doctors". At least they could count on Benny to mean well, but it was the first weekend of July, he'd have been on a bender for the last three days Trip knew...

"Can you make it home?"

Shuffle wiped her mouth and threw her handkerchief in the trash. "...think so. Sorry 'bout that."

Trip juggled the rest of the bags. "No worries, pretty. Come on let's go home."

Shuffle practically leaned on her the whole way back to their little hide out in the wharf. It was an old shipping container, rusted and dented and abandoned- it was too expensive to dispose of properly or something. But it kept out the wind and rain and the heat surprisingly well. Trip pushed the heavy tarp aside and dropped the bags on the counter- three 2x4's propped across a mini fridge (which wasn't plugged into anything, they had running water but no electricity, but they put ice in it once a week and it kept already cold stuff pretty well insulated) and a couple crates stacked up as pantry shelves. The sink was a sink propped up on one of those giant spools, fed from a hose trailing from a spicket outside through a hole where sea water had rusted through the dent in the metal wall and drained out through another that ran down and along the ground and out under the tarp to the dock. They had to be careful food didn't get washed down it but it worked otherwise.

Trip wet a cloth while Shuffle popped a cough drop to suck on and they flopped down onto their nest of a bed. Shuffle rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Sanctuary...It's the bells and capitalism- I can't make sens of it. Trip I don't feel good. It's too loud."

"I can call bossman ya think? He might know something, all the pies he got fingers in." She pulled Shuffle's hands away from her eyes and laid the cold cloth over them. "Cell phone still in your pocket?"

"Mm, yeah." Shuffle muttered around the candy medicine. "It's a clock. I don't know what it means, but it's about a clock."

Trip nodded. "Just keep breathing through your nose and tell me if you need to be sick again I think the trash can is still behind the bed." She fished the phone from her sister's pocket and punched in the number to the Big Rat. It rang twice and Shuffle hiccuped in pain- Trip didn't bother to introduce herself when the line went live.

"'the hell is going on Boss?! I got Shuffle puking our ovaries out from some kinda psy- flash flood." She hissed angrily, but she was trying to keep her voice down. She'd only had a migraine once herself but she remembered how absolute shit it was. "We gotta right to know why?"

[Adapa]

"Thanks Joe, you're always a world of help." The store clerk grinned as he accepted the box with the various small bottles, taking out one and inspecting the contents. "Just between the two of us though, and you know I hate to ask this, there's no chance you'd make something stronger for me? That really helps buisness in these parts."

Jostein stopped trying to wring the last of the rainwater out of his hair and sighed. Carrying the package all the way here in the rain had been bad enough, and now he'd had to disappoint a man as well, which was something he really hated doing. "You know I don't do psychoactives Greg. I've already gotten you aspirin and the other medicals you asked for at a far lower price than what the uptown manufacturers would ask of you, can't you just be happy with that?"

Gregory scratched his chin. "I never really understood why though. Aren't you all about making people happy and whatnot?" Jostein smiled faintly, and picked up his white coat again. "It's not as simple as that Greg. I'm not a mere hedonist, and that sort of chemical escapism always brings about more bad than good, even if it makes you forget your troubles there and then. Besides, it goes against my first moral principle."

"And what would that be then?" Jostein grinned and headed towards the door. "Don't pretend like you don't know Greg. We've had that debate about fifty times before, and I know you're just stalling for time so you can have another go at begging me for drugs. Much as I love to chat though, I don't have the time right now. Be seeing you." He heard the words "See you Joe" sail over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him and once again walked into the rain.

Ah yes, the first moral principle. That one had stuck with him for a long time, but since it contradicted itself to let it solidify as an unquestionable law, he often discussed it, and the other three, whenever he had the chance. Our understanding of the universe forms the basis for all our philosophical and ethical decisions. If our understanding is incorrect, we may act unethically without being aware of it. As such, there is a moral imperative to seek and promote the truth. But of course, like all four principles it had to be tempered with the others, and there could be white lies.

His chain of thought was broken by a beggar, a scruffy streetdweller asking for some money for a coffe. After considering it for a moment, Jostein walked to a local coffe shop, and came back with a warm cup of freshly ground for the beggar. The man accepted with with a muted thank you, and when Jostein had walked down the street he turned and smiled faintly as the beggar discarded the cup in a trashcan and then went on to find a new target to ask for money. Some people find escapism easier. Or lack the resources to escape back to reality.

Pushing the hair out of his eyes and readjusting his glasses, he walked on down the streets towards the Sewer Rats' headquarters, humming in tune with the patter of the rain on the streets. The old building may have been a warehouse once, but for now, it was home.

[Bravado]

Mr. Scott, to the conference room please, Marion Scott, to the conference room, please...

Upon leaving this message on the Doctor's answering machine, Clockwork himself found it extremely difficult to bite his tongue and stifle his laughter. If asked why his voice took on a feminine tone upon leaving messages or using the phone, he was likely to answer that the purpose was to conceal his identity. However, the reality of the situation simply rested in the fact that he was a man of simple pleasures and found great humor in the smallest of acts. Smiling to himself, he continued speaking into the phone, hoping to implement the first phase of a simple concept with rather time-consuming execution. As he spoke, he crossed one arm behind the back of his neck, spread himself out on the couch he had been seated upon previously, and braided his legs only once.

Alright sweetcheeks, I do want you to report to the conference room, but not just yet. I've got to ask you to do one more thing for me while you're out and about. Besides fixing me up with a sexy lady, I request that you scour the bowels of the city for any Rats lacking affiliation. You should know who's who, and if you don't, I'll shoot you--

A long pause was taken, in which muffled giggles could be heard.

--a list of available names. But anyway. Find 'em for me, pretty please. I'd do it myself, but I'd rather not break a nail out in the nasty homeless district. Also, I can't get a hold of the RB either, so that's out of the question. If you can find her though, by all means, bring her with you, and I'll be trying to get in contact with her in the meantime. Tell the others to do the same if they're out.

To conclude the message, he once again took on a feminine tone.

So I'll see you at Olive Garden tonight, honey. Happy Anniversary.

After the message had been completed, the Progressionist leader burst into a fit of laughter and rose to his feet, making his way to the Conference Room in which he had discussed. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a key, engraved with a tiny clock upon the body set to "2:00", and proceeded to unlock the aforementioned. Leaving the door open behind him, he exited almost immediately after he entered, and made his way towards the kitchen.

Momentarily, he took a few paces backwards and faced the room in its entirety.

"What can I set out for these little bastards that will be enough to make me look hospitable but still be disliked enough as not to distract them from the matters at hand?"

Pacing back and forth, though not truly thinking, he allowed his glances to shoot in the direction of the high cabinets. With a scowl, he froze and snapped his fingers, which in turn received the quick response of his bird. Now that he had arrived, Clockwork's expression changed to a smile.

"Won't you please open that high cabinet and bring down the refreshments, Dearest?"

With a squawk, the fair-sized bird made its way to the topmost section of cabinets and obeyed the command of its Master.

"Lovely; thank you. Now, you'll come with me, and we'll set the moods for my men and the scumbags they'll hopefully bring."

[Pastel Apathy]

A fiery young red head sat at a table in a rather grungy room. The table was rather stained, old wood, and the room had almost completely metal walls. It made the girl feel as if she was in jail. Across from her sat a heavy set middle aged man who wore a stained shirt, and smelled as if he hadn't taken a shower in years. It made her almost gag. Her eyes narrowed at him, making him fidget. Her words, when they came, cut through him like a knife, "Tell me, Mr. Rayner. Why the hell should I go easy on you?" Her voice was as cold as ice, her face completely devoid of emotion.

The man who sat across from her spoke in a timid tone, obviously frightened by the young female across from him, "W-Well... I-I didn't m-mean to k-kill R-Rev... I-It w-was an a-accident.." His eyes looked at her for a second before traveling to the table. It was a telltale sign that Rayner was lying. He fidgeted a bit more, adjusting the shirt that was too small for him, trying to tug it over his beer gut.

"Oh, so your telling me, that when you snapped Rev's neck, you didn't mean to kill him? How the fuck does that work? It doesn't!" The red head pulled out a gun from within her clothing, aimed it at the males head, cocked it, and pulled the trigger. The bullet went through the mans skull like a knife cutting butter, blood splattering everywhere. The man dropped to the ground, dead. Smirking, the girl put the gun away just as one of the watchmen rushed into the room. Looking from the dead body to the woman who was now walking around the table, he commented. "Made up some pathetic lie, I'm guessing?"

"Of course. Thought I would believe something that was so blatantly a lie... Heh. Pathetic." Walking towards the watchmen, she let her lips tug up playfully in a sadistic fashion. "Dev, would you be a doll, and make sure the Rats know not to double cross me?" Her voice held a sickly sweet tone.

"Sure thing Boss. Anything for you." With that, Dev picked up the body with some slight trouble, then left the room. With that, the Rat Boss took out her cell phone, dismissing the second watchmen that had been posted at the door. Stepping into the next room, she flipped open her cell phone and answered the call that came through.

"Flash flood? Hm... Tell me about it later will? I gotta know the details before I can explain why. For now though, just stay out of the range of people. I gotta deal with some stuff before I can come see ya." She said into the phone before clicking it off. She quickly dialed a number after that. It rang once, twice, three times. Then, on the fourth ring someone picked up.

"Yeah, it's Ash. I need a quick favor from you. I need you to deliver that package of mine A.S.A.P... Don't ask why, I just need it.... Within the next twenty-four hours... Great. I'll see you then." Ash hung up the phone, and grinned to herself. Today was going to be a marvelous day for the Rats. Now all she had to do was figure out where the hell Jo was, she had a job for him.. Dialing his number, she waited for him to pick up.