amato_icon.gif dina_icon.gif ethan_icon.gif munin_icon.gif sylar_icon.gif

Scene Title Turnabout
Synopsis …is fair play.
Date November 9. 2008

Roy Wilkins Park

Carrying a sack that looks quite like a body over one shoulder, having the proper survelliance is definitely important. It's at least wrapped in a black wool army blanket for the trip from the alley to the park. With a soft grunt, Amato slides the dead weight from his shoulder, delicately propping the body against an iron fence railing near a flagpole. His expression is solemn as he unwraps the naked, beaten body, as if he were preparing it for some ritual.

"Munin, he says in a cold, business like tone as he pinches the freed blanket between his thin, gloved fingers. "This needs to be in strips, but no one can touch it, and we cannot use a blade. Sylar will lift the body, then secure it using these strips once we've rung up the flag." The flag, of course, is in Amato's coat pocket. "Dina will be ready in case something goes wrong, right angello?"

For once, the tall, rail-like man doesn't look like he just stepped off of Wall Street. His attire is still mostly black, but a stocking cap covers his bright hair, and rather than his wool overcoat, he sports a shorter, but still warm jacket made of black leather. Dark jeans and boots complete the ensemble.

Who ever said Kazimir's Conscience couldn't get his hands dirty?

Dina watches the whole thing. She's got a weapon of her own, since she's playing backup. But then, she pretty much -always- has a weapon. Somewhere. Today, it's a large-caliber automatic pistol, worn under her jacket. God love winter. More places to hide things. "Always." She looks over to the blanket and the body, seeming untroubled by the prospect of what they're doing. Most of her attention is on the perimeter…that's what she's here for, after all.

Tools aren't always used as weapons. Sometimes… they are just tools. Sylar can appreciate this, even if the idea of playing with corpses beyond investigating their brains comes off as somewhat… boring to the serial killer. Kind of like the paperwork of Vanguard. Only… really not. Still, he didn't complain when Amato asked him along, intrigued by the fact that he even was asked along, and besides… it's an opportunity to show off.

He's dressed in a thick woolen double-breasted coat of navy blue, hands in gloves to combat the cold of the evening, jeans and boots completing the ensemble. When the instructions are laid out, he casually peels the gloves from his hands, pocketing them, and starts his work. The blanket is telekinetically yanked from Amato's hands, and Sylar makes small gestures as he tears the item into sturdy strips of fabric.

He dons a look of concentration in favour of boredom, as this will take some doing - enough that Sylar even stops Listening to what's going on around them as he can complete the fine work of tying the strips to the limbs of the corpse without touching it. Dina is here to look out for them, after all, and he trusts her to do it.

"Thank you." Munin's voice, though soft, is alert. The same cannot be said for the expression on her face. Night isn't the best time for her to be exercising her ability; most birds don't take wing after sundown, and those that do — the owls and nightjars — are too busy hunting to be much use as sentry. Seeing through their eyes won't do her much good if they're watching for movement on the ground and in the leaves rather than the gates, pathways and other points of entry into the park. "S'not easy, trying to do two things at once…"

Like Amato and Sylar, the young woman is dressed not only for warmth but utility as well; her regular pea coat has been switched out for a lighter jacket and a thick pashmina scarf that she wears wrapped around her neck to protect her mouth and chin from the cold. Leather gloves, a gift from Elias, serve a similar purpose while ensuring she doesn't accidentally leave her fingerprints on anything that might incriminate them later. Like Dina, she's keeping a lookout.

Though Amato looks between Sylar and Munin when the former takes the latter's responsiblity, his expression remains a guarded one. The only hint at his inner embarrassment is a tight and quick swallow followed by a short, "My apologies," to Munin, regarding his forgetfulness of the concentration required of her.

So as not to waste time, Amato reaches into his coat to extract the folded white cloth. He steps over the low fence in order to replace the American flag that is flying, unlit (because someone was a Bad American and didn't change a light bulb), with the PARIAH banner.

Sylar hears it before anyone else does, the sound of footsteps, and a fluttering heartbeat, rapid enoughto be that of Agent Ivanov's. But the other sounds aren't quite right; slurred breathing and a faint hissing sound, like pressure very slowly being released from a full-blown tire. It comes from the bushes near some of the park benches, and not more than a moment later the sound of rustling in them is clear enough to be heard by the others as well. Rising up and moving through the overgrowth, staggering to shake off part of a cardboard box, is a middle-aged man with rich chocolate brown skin, but hair a light ashen gray. A spotty beard covers his slender face, and his thin, almost gaunt exterior looks vaguely skeletal in the pale moonlight from the sliver in the skies.

"Mmnhr… s-som'na fell?" He murmurs in a manner only Sylar can hear, "F'sn itches… s'min i'ma arm…" The ragged and old man, dressed only in a threadbare sweatshirt that hangs too loose off of his narrow frame is not nearly warm enough for this chilly late autumn night. When he looks up from his right arm, which he is incessantly picking at and scratching, his eyes blearily focus on Amato and the people gathered around him. "E-ey! Any'un y'calla doc?"

Taut knots are tied around legs, arms, around the corpse's throat, Sylar keeping his hands still but elevated as he keeps his concentration on his task, not responding to Munin's thank you. It's why he's a little late to realise there's another presence here, heard not through heart beat, but through foot steps, and a certain way of breathing. "Someone's here," he murmurs to the rest of the group, not pausing in his activity. "To the left."

On cue, the man makes his presence a little more known to the group, beyond what only Sylar can hear, and the killer looks back at Amato for instruction, though the corpse is now being lifted off the ground like a gruesome doll, as if by the scruff of its neck, stiff limbs hanging awkward. Caught red-handed, but by a homeless man.

Two screams punctuate the darkness not far away, sharp and shrill sounds of pained terror that pierce the night like gunfire. From over the nearby rise, from the direction of the Wilkins Children's Center, two figures come running as fast as they can. One of them looks like a woman, long hair in a tangled mane with fingers clutching the sides of her head. She's dressed in little more than a tanktop and a pair of low-rise jeans, with a loose flannel shirt tied around her waist. Scratches cover her right arm, dark red lines showing fresh blood. She screams, like a wild animal, running at full speed in the direction of Amato and his contingent.

The man just behind her looks to either be giving chase, or running away from the same thing she is. Notably, his footfalls are uneven, staggered from what looks like a sprained ankle. He trips almost immediately upon grabbing at his head, rolling across the hill and cartwheeling as his shoulder strikes the wet grass. His right shoulder dislocates with an audible snap, but the moment he stops tumbling he's getting back up on his feet, hands clutching at his head as he arches his back and cries out in wildly agony.

The woman keeps running, and as she draws closer, there is something horrifyingly wrong with her. Those scratches on her forearms aren't just scratches, jagged protrusions of bone are jutting up through her skin, looking like twelve-inch long knives of calcium. From her shoulders too, these bony protrusions are piercing up through her flesh, some have torn through her knees and through her jeans as well, staining the denim with blood.

Hearing Sylar's comment, Dina pulls her pistol from out of her jacket. Quiet may be called for, and she starts to attach a silencer…and then WTF?? Suddenly the night turns into a bit from Resident Evil. Oh, SCREW this noise. She raises the pistol, and gets a sight picture on the woman. "There any reason not t' blow this bitch away?" she asks Amato, who she considers in charge at the moment.

It's the screaming that ultimately rouses Munin from her self-inflicted stupor. She blinks once, and the glassy sheen covering her eyes begins to fade as her vision shifts, distorting her perception of the world around her. One minute, she's skimming the treetops on the back of a barn owl; the next, she's staring down the pair running toward them with her lips slightly parted and a silent question balancing on the very tip of her tongue. What's going on?

She glances back toward the man who emerged from the bushes and slips her hand inside of her coat, reaching for the switchblade she keeps there but not yet pulling it out. Munin will wait for Amato's command before she takes action, much as she might want to start moving now.

Amato tenses as he looks from the first man, upon Sylar's cue, to the pair running toward them, screaming their heads of. Amato mutters something in Latin before he fixes his icy eyes on Sylar and gives the flag a final jerk, letting it sit halfway up the pole while the stars and stripes law discarded at his feet. "Finish. /Quickly," he says through gritted teeth, glancing once again from the homeless man to the screaming pair. "Then add /them./" But leave a mark - no bullets, if we can help it, but safety is paramount."

On that note, Amato turns and walks back toward the group, easily stepping over the fence, and nears Munin. "Get out of here," he says firmly. Dina has a gun and Sylar is an arsenal in and of himself. He puts his hand in the pocket of his coat, curling it around the grip of the same pistol he practiced with last night, hoping he doesn't have to pull it. "Show me how softly beat the wings of angels," he says in a slightly louder voice - both challenge and command.

Finish? Sylar rolls his shoulders a little, and all at once, the beaten corpse goes rising, and he tries to ignore the piercing screams. It's not easy. Arms up, fingers outstretched, he works his telekinesis as quickly, as nimbly as possible, making use of telescopic sight to really see the details of his work and make sure the knots hold. The job is finished efficiently, but hopefully he has time to round on those approaching once he's done. Either way, once the corpse is hung aloft, he's turning back to the ruckus, hands emptied and ready, making strides to meet the threat head on. Who first?

The screams. They're getting annoying.

Sylar focuses on the woman, a hand coming out in order to close her throat from a distance, taking in her ghastly appearance.

With a jerking, uneven motion, the rail-thin old man in the sweater on the other side of the group lets out a low, groaning moan, clutching at his midsection. "Huurrrrhhh…" A retching sound, deep and heavy, followed by a wet cough as he begins choking up blood, spraying it onyo the grass and his bare feet. "Hoooo-ruggggh!" Another deep vomiting motion as another torrent of blood sprays forth onto the grass, but something is terribly wrong with the scene beyond the deep crimson stains running down the front of his mouth.

His eyes, wide and wild, waver from side to side as he look sup, trembling from head to toe. Then, in an instant, he clutches his head and lets out a baleful screaming sound much like the other two as his knees give out and he begins to fall to the ground. A second later, there is a flickering spark of something on his shoulder, then another, then another, and suddenly his eyes open wide with a brilliant shifting hues of green-white light, followed by a scream so loud Sylar can hear the man's vocal chords straining and tearing under the exertion.

A moment later, everything erupts into madness. There is a blurring distortion around the ash-haired homeless man's fingertips as swirling motes of blue-green light catch in the low fog near the ground, then a sudden eruption of lancing beams of blue-green energy fire wildly from each of his fingertips. Most of the beams harmlessly fire up into the sky, some of them sweep through the air in wide arcs as his hands shake in pain. One such beam swipes through one of the lamp posts, and is accompanied by a shearing sound, and the lamp-post scrapes, and then slides for a few inches before falling into two pieces split at a diagonal angle. The glass cage of the lamp strikes the park pathway with a shattering crash, sending glass across the ground in sparkling pieces. One beam of light rips thorugh the dirt at Munin's feet, scoring a blackened gash in the earth. Yet another beam rips past Sylar, piercing a straight line through his extended arm just below his wrist. There is a sizzling line of smoke that issue forth from the pinhole sized lancing of the laser beam, followed by searing pain — Enough pain to cause his telekinetic chokehold to falter.

The blonde woman howls in pain as she's lifted up off o fher feet with that throttling motion of telekinetic force. He legs kick and arms flail wildly as the muffled sound of bones breaking beneath the meaty pop of flesh fills the air, followed by spines of calcium extending out of her back like the quills on a blowfish. She reels backwards, her jaw snapping and cracking as her bones manipulate and distort, allowing it to unhinge more, and her teeth begin to narrow down, sharpening to long finger-like blades. A scream passes out of her lips, followed by a trickle of blood, and then as Sylar's concentration is broken by the beam of light she's back down on her feet. She leaps from that crouching position straight past Amato in a burst of adrenaline like a hastened blue of pale skin and dark blood, right towards Munin. She pounces on the young woman like a rabid dog on a helpless bird before the girl has but a moment to react to Amato's order, bone protrusions lashing out at the young woman before she chokes, retches, and sprays a viscous shower of bood directly down on her, followed by a wailing, screaming moan of pain.

The third figure, a young college-aged man who had dislocated his shoulder in the stumbling fall, staggers to his feet, letting out a burbling sound until one of the blue-green laser beams rips past him, slicing his right arm off at the elbow with a cauterized stump left behind. His screaming does not stop, and neither does he. There is hardly a reaction to the severing of his arm, as if he does not even notice the injury. But his screaming continues, accompanied by the low, crackling roar that builds up in the back of his throat, followed by a blast of blue flames that is exhaled from within his mouth, a cone of intense heat scouring the grass black in front of him, several embers of blue flame crackling and snapping around his jaws. Blood sizzles and pops around his mouth, drying quickly, but otherwise the flames seem to have no averse effect on his mouth.

Oh, HELL no. Fuck orders. And anything else, for that matter. It's time to put some fockin' mutant zombies down. Munin's is first…Dina turns, and there's a very rapid doubletap as she snaps off two bullets, aiming for the head. She's assuming these are zombies, after all. Next one, the dangerous one, that would be the damned laser beam one. Zombies with frickin' lasers. Time to get down. After shooting at Munin's Zombie, she turns back, diving for the ground so she's less of a target. Head-shot is too iffy from that range with a pistol. Instead, she fires at the legs. BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM. This is combat, not surgery, dammit.

Torn between her duty to their work and concern for the only family she has, Munin hesitates when Amato gives the order to retreat. She stands there, the indecision clear on her pale features as her gaze darts between the three of them, the moonlight illuminating her green eyes and the natural highlights of her hair.

In the end, it doesn't matter — for in the instant Munin turns to run, realizing she's more likely to be a hinderance than a help, she's slammed to the ground with enough force to knock the breath out of her lungs. If she could, she'd be screaming. Instead, she gives a few frantic kicks, trying to thrash her way out from beneath her attacker like a rabbit caught in a snare; the more she struggles, the more damage she inflicts on her own body.

There's a spray of blood from the side and a bright flash of gunfire, and the wild bone-barbed woman atop Munin finds a bullet piercing through her mouth and exploding out the left side of her cheek. The next shot hits her in the cheek, exiting out beneath her jaw in another spray of blood and fragments of bone. She rolls off of Munin from the impact of the small-arms fire. But then like a feral animal, rises back up to her feet, her jaw hanging limp from the shattering of bone caused by the gunfire. The spines in her back bristle and tremble, bones rattling together as her head cranes to one side, followed by a piercing and hollow-sounding howl of pain, blood pulsing from her wounds. None of which were precise enough to kill her instantly.

Her focus, like that of a wild animal, moves to the sourceof danger, and she springs up from her haunches, soaring through the air towards Dina, landing down in front of the woman, even as a sweeping beam of laser energy slices off the tip of one of the bony protrusions rising up from her back. She lunges forward, her forearm spurs sweeping out towards the irishwoman's midsection.

The second volley of gunfire strikes the older homeless man in the shoulder, sending him spinning onto his back as beams of light sweep up through the air, slicing a branch off of a nearby tree that crashes to the ground in a flurry of dead leaves. He convulses, spitting up a shower of blood as his back arches, and his hands swing forward, bringing five flickering beams of weakened laser energy across Amato's legs, strong enough to burn through the fabric of his pants like needle-thin claws, and also score deep burning cuts across his thighs. All this, however, is before a rapid-fire stacatto burst of gunfire pummels his midsection and chest, sending the old man head over heels across the grass, only two of the bullets connecting. He struggles up to his feet, groaning and gurgling as blood spills out from where the bullets tore through his stomach.

Of the four vanguard assembled, only two are really cut out to deal with this sort of thing anyway. Amato is, regretably, frozen to the spot when the female zombie leaps at Munin, but he is entirely in Dina's debt when it is shot at so efficiently.

He barely has time to move toward the girl to pick her up when the woman who was supposedly dead does not stay that way. Gritting his teeth, Amato pulls out the pistol and takes careful aim, trying to imagine a target on the back of the demon-woman's head. Once he's sure he has the shot, there is only a split second of further hesitation before Amato squeezes the trigger. Once. Twice. Third time's a charm.

There's a loud pop in front of Dina, just before the bone-spurred woman wound have moved close enough to eviscerate her. It is followed immediately by a spray of blood across the front of the woman's uniform as Amato's bullet does strike her in the head, but only on her right side, the bullet blowing her ear clear off of the side of her head and onto the grass. She reels back, shrieking like a banshee as a line of blood trickles out of her nose and from the tear-ducts of her eyes. Her arms shake, trembling violently, and she drops to her knees, her jaw working from side to side as the bones mend shut, leaving ragged and torn flesh and muscle hanging off of the side of her face.

That first attack of lasers gains a roar of pain from Sylar, whose telekinesis instantly drops as he doubles over, clutching his arm to himself, like a white-hot needle driven through skin, muscle and bone. The true pain is over fast, although the damage still makes its presence known, a hot sort of pain that's unignorable, but he can take it. He's taken worse. Of course, now he's angry, and he rounds on the man with his laser beams, watching as he staggers to his feet. For now, the pyrokinetic seems far away enough to not be a concern, and so it's the crazed, vomiting homeless man that scores Sylar's steely attention.

Though the man was struggling with getting up before, now he slides smoothly into an upright position as Sylar does too, and in sync, they walk towards each other, posture the same, hands kept down at his sides and arms stiff. The only difference is that Sylar's face is a stoic mask, and the homeless man's is the picture of pain and terror. As they get within feet of each other, Sylar's hand raises - although the homeless man's does not - and frosty blue starts to pour from his fingertips, coating the man's chest, throat with ice.

Dina was NOT expecting the woman to still be alive. Otherwise she'd never have gone prone -and- put her back to the enemy. She hears the shriek, and rolls over, eyes wide. "Fockin' hell, don't y' ever fockin' die, y' zombie bitch?" She proceeds to unload the remainder of the clip at the woman, growling as she fires shot after shot. Hopefully the wee bit's alright.

The pyrokinetic, thus far having been left to his own devices, staggers and lurches forward with a loud shrieking scream. His cauterized stump flails ineffectually, leaving a smoking trail through the air as his other hand claws at the side of his head, fingers digging into flesh and fingernails peeling back skin as if he tries to claw through his own face. He rockets forward with a few stumbling strides, then, coming to a halt he opens his mouth to reveal a bright blue glow, belching forth not only a torrent of sizzling blood that sprays across the grass, but a collumn of blue-white fire that flares out towards Munin and Amato in an ever-expanding ball of heat and flames.

The osteokinetic rises with a shriek, taking a bullet into her chest. That stop her for a moment, as she lets out a confused, ragged gurgle, followed by a muffled yelp as eight more bullets perforate her body; three hitting her in the chest, two more in her abdomen that blast out her back into the dirt, two into her neck that shatter her spine, and the last bullet square in her forehead sending her falling back with a shower of bone, blood and gray matter. But when she hits the ground, something else happens. Her body begins to sizzle, smoldering and then like some sort've sick science experiment, bubbles and oozes as bone, muscle and flesh begins to liquify.

There is time now for Amato to at least bend to start helping Munin up to get her away from the now presumably acidic bone-devil that is the closest threat. With his body between the self-deprecating, flame-mouthed man-thing, his back, shoulder, and the left side of his face take the brunt of it. Amato winces away at the same time he turns to make his protected back take the brunt, but the fierce sensation on his face can't be a good sign.

Then again, Amato isn't exactly the model of pain tolerance.

"Dina!" he screams, not caring too much about keeping the 'volume' down now. Priority number one has shifted to Survival.

An explosive fount of blood is the homeless man's dying words, spattering low onto Sylar's coat, his shoes. And blue and white ice travel up the man's throat, over his scraggly face and into his mouth, over wide-open eyes, freezing that expression solid. No more lasers. Not from this man, anyway. Dead, now, the marionette strings break, and Sylar lifts his other hand to keep him from collapsing with his telekinesis. As if unaware of the frantic nature of the scene just behind him, he almost reverently lowers the frosted corpse to the ground. No breaking for him. Sylar wants to take a looksee.

Then, he turns back just in time to see that blast of eerie blue flame. Even as Amato cries out Dina's name, Sylar lifts a hand in the direction of the sheared-off lamppost from before - the glass is collected from the broken light on the pavement, small shards and bigger, dagger like pieces alike collected off the pavement, and sent hurtling the fire breather's way.

Dina looks over, worried. The one she'd most worry about saving is Amato…and the second is probably Munin, though she hasn't admitted that yet. But the slide on her gun's locked back. "What n' hell d' y' want me to do, piss on 'im?!" She's angry with herself for not counting her rounds…rookie mistake…but also with the fact that she's out here with a single pistol and none of her heavier gear. Or her explosives. "Bloody shite, this is stupid…" But she gets up from her prone position, and rushes the firebreather, even as Sylar's throwing glass at him. She's ready to dive off to the side if he Molotov Burps in her general direction, but if not, she's going to tackle his ass.

Munin grabs hold of Amato's arms as he heaves her off the ground, though her grip on him isn't nearly as strong as it should be; her clothes are soaked with blood, not all of it belonging to the woman who attacked her, painfully bright in comparison to the chalk-white pallor of her skin. Crushed against Amato, her chest rises and falls, heaving with a combination of terror and exertion — she paints an almost perfect picture of what it means to be panicked out of one's wits. The only thing missing is the heat of her breath on Amato's throat as her mouth opens and closes, opens and closes, trying to pull air back into her battered lungs.

Suddenly, the deathly pallor of her skin makes a lot more sense.

Stumbling, moving as fast as he can as well as he can considering the circumstances, the only thing Amato is truly in tune with is Munin. He actually pauses in his retreat when he doesn't feel her breathing like she should, and drops his head to stare at her, wide-eyed and panicked himself.

"Eileen," he says firmly, searching her eyes before he locks his gaze with hers and holds her head still with one gloved hand. "Eileen, breathe with me." This isn't the first time Amato has been near the young woman during an attack when she didn't have an inhaler handy. He exaggerates his breathing as best he can, taking slow, deep breaths. Once he's sure she's got the rhythm, he picks up his staggering pace again, not as worried about Sylar and Dina as he is the much more defenseless Munin.

They were supposed to meet. And if anything Ethan would have taken longer, having to make sure the police could no way track him or his vehicle after the job. But no one was home. Everyone unreachable. It was -supposed- to be a simple job, especially with Sylar and Dina on board. But no one had been home, and no one was reachable. So, Ethan high tailed it back out of his apartment. Got to make sure the pack is alright, after all Amato was left in charge…

So this is why headlights shine on the very strange happening at Roy Wilkens at this time of night. This is also why a black car tears out of the parking lot of the park and onto the actual grass. Ripping through the stuff comes the black vehicle at an alarming rate. The engine grows louder as the vehicle tears through the grass towards the incredibly odd and alarming sight. He would have liked not to get his tire tracks on the grass, but, desperate times call for… something.

The Wolf is still dressed in his suit for his previous job. So, that means, he's basically in a combat suit. Kevlar and goodies to match. A black boot is pressed down on the accelerator as he watches through the windshield. Steady and calm, his heart rate hasn't even changed.

The young pyrokinetic stumbles to the side, groaning in pain as his fingers continue to scrape at the side of his head, fingernails now grinding against exposed bone as he tries to claw at whatever he can within the confines of his own head. A wailing scream of pain accompanies the sound of his motions as his smoldering stump wavers from side to side. Then, a moment later, his mouth opens as if to vomit forth another gout of flame, once more focused on Munin and Amato, but much closer. Dina's charge across the grassy field, however, ends with her leaping up and wrapping her arms around his midsection. The moment she's in contact with his mody, her hands sliding up through the back of his shirt to press her bare hands to his seemingly overheated feeling skin the fire flickers and fades in his mouth, culminating in only a trickle of blood drooling down onto Dina's head.

If somehow that may have spared this man from his grisly, fate, she doesn't have time ot find out, as telekineticly propelled blades of broken glass rip through his throat, the side of his face, pluge into his chest just above Dina's head, and one punches thorugh his right eye erupting out the back of his head.

The young man folds forward, letting out a grumbling gurgle as Dina can feel his bones soften in her grasp, like he was suddenly a trash bag filled with chunky soup. As he folds forward, his skin becomes tacky to the touch of her bare hands, and he collapses forwards towards her, preparing to melt all over her body.

Done. Sylar's hand lowers now that the glass has done its work, and he directs his gaze, now, towards Amato and Munin. From here, he can hear the way she gasps for air, breaths not quite letting oxygen flow all the way to her lungs before expelling is involuntarily. That's not something he can help with, and he stands, quiet, watching the two with an utterly unreadable expression on his face.

It's the sound of the car approaching that breaks his reverie, squinting a little as the headlights spill onto the gory scene. With a flick of his coat, Sylar turns back towards the frozen body at of the homeless man and comes to crouch in one smooth movement just beside his head. The sound of frozen bone being sawn through with telekinesis is too soft a sound for anyone else to pick up, but perhaps the wet snap of bone from just as frozen membrane, as he levers back the top of the man's skull, can be heard. Only a moment later, confusion paints his expression, but his prodding and prying doesn't stop.

"This is wrong," he murmurs to himself.

Dina shrieks a bit, and shoves the dissolving goo at the ground and away from her, fast. Not much will freak her out. BIOHAZARD is one of the few things that will. It's not something she can fight or kill. A quick look about. Hostiles down. Yank over checking one of the bodies. Amato and Munin become her first priority, and Dina pulls herself up, dripping with gore, and heads quickly over towards Munin.

Yes, she's in denial about what's in her hair. And down her top. Time to be grossed out later.

Eileen. Munin's eyes lid shut, the young woman willing herself to focus on the sound of Amato's breathing and the pressure his chest exerts on her own every time he inhales. Terror loses its foothold now that gunshots are no longer ringing in her ears and the guttural screams of their attackers have gone silent. Her body stiffens a little before shuddering, once, and slowly, gradually, the rhythm of her gasps levels out. When she finally finds her voice, she lets out trembling whimper, blinking as tears begin to streak down her cheeks and mingle with the blood.

Grass and dirt flies up as the vehicle fishtails into a stop. The headlights stays on and the car starts to idle. The driver's side door whips open and in an instant Ethan is on his feet storming around the front of the vehicle. His boots squish a bit in the freshly upturned dirt, but other than that he doesn't make much noise. His features are firm and stoney, though no anger, irritation or impatience flickers on them. As cool as the grave, his eyes flick about to his comrades. Making his way to the back seat, he opens the door and gestures Amato to it.

"Breathe, corvo," Amato whispers in between his continued careful breathing on his way to the car. He tenses some when it makes its way into the park, the style leaving no doubt as to who is behind the wheel. Still, the fact that there is now another bit of evidence for the cops to analyze is not something Amato wants on his 'record,' even if it is Ethan's fault.

Amato carries Munin to the car and does his best to get in the back seat without jarring the young woman too much. Blood on Ethan's upholstery is the least of his concerns; he's confident that the Wolf can cope with that.

"You didn't say anything about the potential of the very host of hell showing up, Mister Holden," Amato snaps as he eases Munin into the car, still protectively cradling her to judge her breathing. But it's clear he's stressed, if not from his own drawn and paled face, from the way he carries himself and half-curls around Munin's much smaller frame in order to shield it from…anything.

Reaching to the back of his belt, the Wolf draws a sidearm. His eyes go to Dina, wherein he holds up the weapon, safety left on and then tosses it to her. It is accompanied with his index finger circling around. A perimiter check. Standard. With that he walks to the trunk, it is soon opened and a rag produced. He makes his way to where Munin's blood was spilled and hastily scrubs it up while making sure not to miss a drop. Amato goes unanswered for now.

"This isn't from hell," Sylar whispers his reply as he 'reads' the exposed brain in front of him, as if anyone could hear him from there. He's utterly caught up in what he's doing - although he does look up once to see Ethan taking care of the blood. After a moment, he withdraws his hands - his fingers are painted a sick-looking dark red, and he wipes them on the sides of his coat as he gets to his feet. The amount of ice coating the top half of this man's body will ensure that he doesn't melt until at least morning - but that's too long of a risk.

With a fwoomf, a dose of radioactive heat emits from Sylar's palms, blasting towards the scalped corpse. The grass turns black around him, almost as if there'd been a bonfire, but prompts the ice to crack and evaporate, almost skipping the liquid stage entirely, and blackened skin bubbles over melting innards. It's grotesque, enough for Sylar to sneer, but over now. Again attempting to wipe his hands clean of blood, he looks up towards where they had hoisted the corpse. At least the job is done. But 'disturbed' is written all over Sylar's expression, even as he makes his way towards the car.

It's a mark of general professionalism that Dina doesn't either blow up at Ethan or refuse. She's pretty sure this guy's nose is in her hair…and she doesn't want to THINK about where his eye is. But, she shoves her gun, now depleted, into her waistband and uses the one that Ethan gave her, moving out to do a perimeter sweep. Time to bitch later.

"Amato?" His name tastes foreign in Munin's mouth. Forming the words that follow is difficult, too, and as insistent as she sounds her speech comes out somewhat slurred. "Is everyone— is Sylar— ? Dina— ?" It's clear she can't piece together a coherent thought; no matter how hard she tries, no matter which way she approaches it, nothing fits together the way it should. Maybe she has a concussion, or maybe her bewildered state is making it impossible to think clearly — there's no way to know for sure, because now she's beginning to fade fast, losing her grip on consciousness about the same time she loses her grip on Amato's arms.

Exhausted, Munin slumps back against the seat, her dark-haired head lolling to one side. Her injuries can't be too dire; there's blood seeping out from the puncture marks in her jacket, but the flow isn't heavy enough to suggest her life is in any serious danger. The interior of Ethan's car, on the other hand…

Of course, with Munin passed out, Amato is able to take a moment to relax a bit. He surveys what wounds he can see, and with a sigh pushes a few locks of her hair out of her face with a gloved hand. There will be time enough to answer questions and take stock of the others later - for both of them.

Once the blood is soaked up, Ethan stands. He tosses it in the trunk and gives Sylar a wordless glance. His gloved hand is raised. Snap. The call for Dina to return. He motions Sylar to the front seat, Dina in the back with Amato and Munin. Scanning one last time around the area for anything that might give them away, Ethan makes his way to the driver's seat. And once everyone is in, the car zooms back into the night.

November 9th: The Howell Family

Previously in this storyline…
One of Us, Two of Them

Next in this storyline…
The Doctor is Out

November 9th: Private Care
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License