Encounterlogs
Sarahs Odd Encounter Sr Thierry
Sarah's day took a dangerous turn on Guardian Lane when she noticed a black SUV in pursuit of her car. Despite her scientific background, she found herself engaged in a tense, high-speed chase, left to rely on her wits and a vial of acid to impede her followers. As her sports car began to falter from some electronic interference launched by her pursuers, Sarah prepared herself for confrontation, taking up her FCP rifle and making a calculated decision to use her failing car for cover. She attempted to call for backup, but found all her communications jammed by an unknown but clearly advanced adversary.
In the midst of her desperate flight, Sarah found herself face-to-face with a roadblock, manned by swarthy, suit-clad men bearing the Eye of Horus—the Falcon Warriors who proclaimed to be Horakhty's messengers. They sought information about a "false Typhon," and Sarah quickly negotiated her way out of the situation, feigning limited knowledge and directing them northward toward the forest. Despite her façade of control, Sarah's threats did little more than buy time for her to wait for her own reinforcements to arrive, while she scorned the audacity of her attackers and promptly alerted her organization to seek vengeance upon the mysterious cultists. She then settled, safe but stranded, waiting for civilization from Haven to reclaim her.
(Sarah's odd encounter(SRThierry):SRThierry)
[Sun Nov 26 2023]
On Guardian Lane
The hard-packed dirt road is wide enough for two cars to passs but just barely. Along each side, the foliage has been left to grow as it will with no attempt to tame it or trim it for appearance. Overhead, the tree branches grow thicker than previous, causing more of the shade during the day and an even deeper darkness at night.
It is noon, about 40F(4C) degrees,
(A group of supernatural hunters is out to get your target. Maybe for sport, maybe from ideology, in either case they need to survive for long enough that their allies can come and help them deal with the threat.
)
Sarah stands by the road, wearing her lab coat opposed to her combat uniform. She's looking up and down from her compass, sighing. "No gate here I suppose." she concludes, then turning back to her car. She starts stepping into it with an exhausted expression, a hand brushing the hair out of her face.
Back in the car: it starts, driving, when behind Sarah begins to notice a black SUV following her. Something about it seems off: while roads pierce the outer forest to reach the mundane world, this isn't one of them, and the way it drives, accelerating to pick up speed in an effort to find Sarah It sets up every hackle on the back of her neck.
Sarah grimaces, then speeding up. Her car is a sports car after all - and the scientist no stranger to breaking some traffic laws. She raises one hand, re-arranging her mirror to catch a better look at the vehicle, then she would speak into her earpiece - perhaps uselessly so, this deep into the forest, but she tries. "Roberts, I am being followed. Prepare to path if I contact you again."
As Sarah races down the forest road, she observes the black SUV in her rearview mirror. It's not just maintaining its pace; it's inching closer, its front grill looming larger and larger. The vehicle's headlights flicker through the trees, casting an eerie glow on the path ahead. Suddenly, a sharp glint catches her eye?a reflection of sunlight off something metallic in the passenger's hand inside the SUV. Sarah's heart skips a beat as she realizes they might be armed. At that moment, a loud crack echoes through the forest, startling her. It's unclear if it's a gunshot or something else.
On her phone, there's no signal. The Hand is not new to technology, and the ugly red blinking light in the upper right hand corner of the screen suggests Sarah is being jammed.
Sarah curses, speeding up further, every intention to escape before her pursuer would catch up to her. Her mind races with thoughts - can she take her pursuer? Possibly. But hwile she
Sarah curses, speeding up further, every intention to escape before her pursuer would catch up to her. Her mind races with thoughts - can she take her pursuer? Possibly. But while she's jammed, she doesn't have backup to depend on. Not immediately, anyhow. And by the time they would arrive, it may well be too late for her. A risk. She despises risks. She lowers her head, trusting in the speed and make of her sports car, rushing down guardian lane. She presses down flat on her pedal, then finds herself with an idea. She rolls down her left window, then drops a vial. A desperate gambit, perhaps, but worth a shot, if it can secure her this once.
In truth, she does not even know if it works. It more likely than not would not - the sizzling liquid while quite acidic may find itself challenged by the strong bonds rubber has.
The vial Sarah drops tumbles onto the road, its contents hissing as they make contact with the asphalt. In her rearview mirror, she sees a brief cloud of smoke rise where the vial shattered, a small but noticeable obstacle for her pursuers. She can't tell if it's effective, but the SUV swerves slightly, its tires screeching against the road as it tries to avoid the acidic substance.
As she continues her high-speed escape, Sarah notices the dense canopy of trees above beginning to thin, suggesting she's nearing a clearing or intersection somewhere in the middle of the forest. This could mean more traffic and potential witnesses, which might deter her pursuers, but it also means less cover.
Sarah's observations are interrupted by a sudden jolt as something hits the back of her car. She glances in the mirror again and sees that the SUV has launched some kind of projectile - it's unclear what it is, but it's evident that her pursuers are not hesitant to escalate their tactics. Indeed, almost immediately, Sarah can feel a sudden drag on the vehicle, as if something is slowing her down. Looking back, she can't see a cable or anything else, and instead the car is starting to show electrical faults.
"...Unpleasant little..." Sarah hisses as her car betrays her. She doesn't push on the steering wheel or press deeper into her pedal as some may, instead accepting her car's failure with an irritated expression. She pulls the lever of her seat, flattening it, then takes her FCP rifle from the back couch. Then she takes a risk - she's not far from potential traffic, she knows that, but there's also a chance she may not reach it at this rate - and she needs the advantage. She breaks off her - rather expensive - rearview mirror and then turns around in her seat, keeping the pedal down with her toes, her other precariously trying to keep control of her steering wheel as her vehicle slows to a crawl. She aims down the sighs of her FCP - behind her, as she uses the mirror to keep an impassive glance on the road.
A difficult maneuver to be sure. Inhumane, even. But she is no human. She would fire at the car behind her, given the chance, hoping to distract it enough to buy her precious time.
As Sarah fires her FCP rifle, the pursuing SUV momentarily swerves, its driver grappling with the sudden onslaught. But Sarah's focus quickly shifts as she notices something alarming ahead: a roadblock. Two more black SUVs are positioned across the road, effectively cutting off her escape route. Men stand outside these vehicles, their stances menacing and disciplined. They are armed, low submachine guns -- they seem Israeli-made, dark blued steel -- trained with a chilling precision.
The most striking detail Sarah observes about these men is their appearance. Swarthy-skinned, they seem North African, with dark suits and beards. Pinned prominently on the lapel of each of their suits is a small gold Eye of Horus pin. Overhead, like some living drone, a falcon circles.
Sarah's car, slowing more, crawls towards the roadblock, even as the SUV behind her crashes into a tree with a titanic sound of shaking branches and leaves. "Stop!" cries one of the men at the roadblock. "We do not seek your life," he shouts. "We seek knowledge of an apostate, and you have it."
"Should have sent an email." Sarah hisses under her breath as she rights herself in her seat, keeping as low as she can. She makes a quick decision - with the car still slowed, despite the faith of her pursuers, she takes the last momentum it has to make a sharp turn, then stepping out, intending to use her car for cover as she hides behind it. She tries her earpiece again, "Roberts!" she tries to command, then shouting loudly from cover. "If you had questions, you should have contacted me appropriately!" bellows, as she checks on her ammo. "Do you have any idea who you are dealing with? You're not from this town, are you? By what force do you expect to leave this town alive without my say-so when my people find out you've attacked me?" she tries, though not seeming too confident. That does, after all, require her making it back to warn them. And sanctuary is hardly infallible. "Abandon this idiocy!"
Just hissing into the earpiece: the jamming is still active.
The tense standoff intensifies as Sarah swiftly maneuvers her faltering car, using it as a makeshift shield. Her sharp retort to the armed men echoes through the clearing. As she crouches behind her vehicle, rifle at the ready, it is hard not to be troubled by the distance from the town and its safety.
The men at the roadblock don't seem perturbed by Sarah's threats or her position. They maintain their disciplined stance, guns still trained on her, but there's a pause, a momentary hesitation, as if weighing her words. The leader, distinguishable by his slightly more ornate Eye of Horus pin, speaks again, his voice firm yet not devoid of reason. "We are aware of your influence, doctor. But our need is demanded by entities greater than your mortal Hand."
Meanwhile, Sarah's attempts to communicate through her earpiece are met with silence, the frustrating buzz of a jammed signal her only response. She's alone in this, at least for now. Overhead, the falcon still circles, its occasional cry cutting through the other stillness.
"Are you willing to negotiate?" the leader asks, his voice accented with the faint sounds of Egyptian Arabic overlaid with some English boarding-school accent. "This is not really your fight," he tells her. "You do not need things to end in violence."
Sarah spits, a sour look on her face. "I hate dealing with these pious freaks." she complains to herself in a lower voice, then raising it again. "Some claim to be made in the town we rule!" she shouts, then adding, "...for a fourth." in a noticeably smaller voice. She raises her voice once more, "You can ask your question but I promise no answer. You see..." she lowers her voice to normal speech, perhaps unhearable. "I, for one, find the idea dragging you all up a tree by your toes and bleeding you to death by a thousand cuts to be an image so delicious it makes my hunger unbearable." She raises her voice again, "I am running out of patience."
The man with the elaborately-oiled beard speaks up. "So are we, doctor, and we have the upper hand here." Indeed, while Sarah has been taking cover, men are clamboring from the wrecked SUV behind her. They seem dazed from the crash, but if she was to try to effect an escape on foot, that door is closing.
The Horus-eye leader speaks again: "Adherents of some rebel cult have taken up residence in this town. You have some association with them," he says. "Don't deny it. They worship a false Typhon, an outsider who tries to upset the House of Ra, and we are Horakhty's messengers," he says. "Where are they setting up their home base?" The question comes with speed, an arrow flung across the gap between the roadblock and Sarah. "Give us the location and we will leave you be."
Sarah snorts, then shaking her head. "Is that all?" she wonders to herself, "Do these people not have a network to trace the other members? I may be the only one not frequently there." Then she's raising her voice again, loudly. "Very well. They are in the northern forest of town. I do not know the precise address," she lies easily, perhaps intending to buy them some time, "However.. My association with them is one purely of gains," She raises herself, looking downright furious as she glares from over the top of the car. "The disrespect of messing with the President of the Hand, opposed to some of the /pets/ within that cult, will not be forgotten."
There's some conversation amongst the men at the SUV, a low discussion in Arabic that carries through the air. Overhead, the falcon circles as their discussion seems to take longer and longer. Each passing moment is a tick-tick-tick, the sizzling of some fuse leading towards an explosion.
Behind Sarah, the men from the ruined rear SUV have taken up positions, now. They call out in Arabic to their companions, as whatever jamming is suppressing Sarah's comms seems to be doing the same for the Falcon Guard.
Sarah looks into the forest. She could run, of course. But would she be able to win? She doesn't seem to have confidence in it. Perhaps especially because of the recent series of forest abductions. She instead stands, tapping her toes on the ground. "I am not sure what you know of my organization," she shouts loudly, "But the President does not usually disappear on Comms for over an hour while taking a quick drive check for a gate. Are you confident you have the time to be standing here and talking?"
At last, the men cease their discussion. "I am confident that you will be fine," the leader says at last. "I am confident, too, that I will be fine." He has a low laugh. "North of town, in the Forest," he says. "That is enough." He delivers a long, sing-song set of words in Arabic, and then the men in the roadblock are mounting up. In two columns, their SUVs sweep forward, past Sarah, to pick up their fellows from the ruined car behind her. Then, unless stopped, they are heading down the road in a plume of dust.
Behind, Sarah's car is now completely broken. If she inspects the back, she will see that the thing lodged in her rear liftgate is some kind of stone projectile, carved round and round with hieroglyphs.
Overhead, the hawk seems to linger, watching Sarah's movements.
Sarah stares at the SUVs, watching them leave, waiting for the jam to go, patiently. "Surely it was on- ah." she smiles as her communications reactive. It is an unpleasant smile - a cruel one. She immediately gets to work. First, vengeance. She contacts her bodyguard, "I was attacked by some common rabble associated to a cult. I want as many as you can find in my torture chambers before the week ends. They speak arabic, carry some sort of eye symbol." she instructs him, moving onto her the second, calling in her faction. "Car broken. I want a new one of the same make delivered before the hour ends." is commanded, a grimace takes place on her face. "I do not care how 'difficult' it is, it /will/ be arranged. Additionally, a ride /will/ be arranged. Guardian Lane. Now." She doesn't wait for a response, ending it immediately. Lastly, she coldly informs the cult they're being looked for, rattling off the descriptions impassively, then seating herself on the car, where she would wait for her ride.
Sarah is a distance out from Haven, and it takes a while for the Hand to get reinforcements to her. It is a long wait, with that hawk circling slowly, slowly, slowly overhead...
...and then it is gone, as the Hand caravan rolls up. There's a medic there, a ritualist, some bodyguards, a new car. All of the comforts of 'civilization', in so far as Haven can be said to be civilization, bundling the Hand's president up to take her back to town. As for the Falcon warriors? Well. A search is conducted, but if they are in Haven, they are well hidden. Well hidden indeed.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
Cailyn is sitting on her bed. Lounging, like a lazy ass. When a Missing Person Alert goes off: "The HSD is seeking the public's assistance in locating one Christopher Kirk, who was last seen on October 31st, 2023 around 11:00 pm. He was wearing a blue hoodie, black jeans, and white sneakers. He is described as 58" tall, 150 lbs, with brown hair and green eyes. He has a tattoo of a dragon on his left arm and a scar on his right cheek. James is considered to be endangered as he suffers from diabetes and requires daily medication." Since Cailyn is in the Order, she gets a little extra: He was seen deep in the woods of the Haven forests."
Cailyn is indeed a lazy ass. She lingers her phone above her face, emerald eyes looking over the report curiously. "In the woods? It's nearly been a month at this point."
With a grunt, she rolls over out of bed and throws on her jacket. She turns her gaze towards the bed and dips down to collect an MP5 from underneath. "Okay, might as well check it out," she murmurs.
Cailyn gets her shit! Everything seems to be in order, now where to?
In the midst of her desperate flight, Sarah found herself face-to-face with a roadblock, manned by swarthy, suit-clad men bearing the Eye of Horus—the Falcon Warriors who proclaimed to be Horakhty's messengers. They sought information about a "false Typhon," and Sarah quickly negotiated her way out of the situation, feigning limited knowledge and directing them northward toward the forest. Despite her façade of control, Sarah's threats did little more than buy time for her to wait for her own reinforcements to arrive, while she scorned the audacity of her attackers and promptly alerted her organization to seek vengeance upon the mysterious cultists. She then settled, safe but stranded, waiting for civilization from Haven to reclaim her.
(Sarah's odd encounter(SRThierry):SRThierry)
[Sun Nov 26 2023]
On Guardian Lane
The hard-packed dirt road is wide enough for two cars to passs but just barely. Along each side, the foliage has been left to grow as it will with no attempt to tame it or trim it for appearance. Overhead, the tree branches grow thicker than previous, causing more of the shade during the day and an even deeper darkness at night.
It is noon, about 40F(4C) degrees,
(A group of supernatural hunters is out to get your target. Maybe for sport, maybe from ideology, in either case they need to survive for long enough that their allies can come and help them deal with the threat.
)
Sarah stands by the road, wearing her lab coat opposed to her combat uniform. She's looking up and down from her compass, sighing. "No gate here I suppose." she concludes, then turning back to her car. She starts stepping into it with an exhausted expression, a hand brushing the hair out of her face.
Back in the car: it starts, driving, when behind Sarah begins to notice a black SUV following her. Something about it seems off: while roads pierce the outer forest to reach the mundane world, this isn't one of them, and the way it drives, accelerating to pick up speed in an effort to find Sarah It sets up every hackle on the back of her neck.
Sarah grimaces, then speeding up. Her car is a sports car after all - and the scientist no stranger to breaking some traffic laws. She raises one hand, re-arranging her mirror to catch a better look at the vehicle, then she would speak into her earpiece - perhaps uselessly so, this deep into the forest, but she tries. "Roberts, I am being followed. Prepare to path if I contact you again."
As Sarah races down the forest road, she observes the black SUV in her rearview mirror. It's not just maintaining its pace; it's inching closer, its front grill looming larger and larger. The vehicle's headlights flicker through the trees, casting an eerie glow on the path ahead. Suddenly, a sharp glint catches her eye?a reflection of sunlight off something metallic in the passenger's hand inside the SUV. Sarah's heart skips a beat as she realizes they might be armed. At that moment, a loud crack echoes through the forest, startling her. It's unclear if it's a gunshot or something else.
On her phone, there's no signal. The Hand is not new to technology, and the ugly red blinking light in the upper right hand corner of the screen suggests Sarah is being jammed.
Sarah curses, speeding up further, every intention to escape before her pursuer would catch up to her. Her mind races with thoughts - can she take her pursuer? Possibly. But hwile she
Sarah curses, speeding up further, every intention to escape before her pursuer would catch up to her. Her mind races with thoughts - can she take her pursuer? Possibly. But while she's jammed, she doesn't have backup to depend on. Not immediately, anyhow. And by the time they would arrive, it may well be too late for her. A risk. She despises risks. She lowers her head, trusting in the speed and make of her sports car, rushing down guardian lane. She presses down flat on her pedal, then finds herself with an idea. She rolls down her left window, then drops a vial. A desperate gambit, perhaps, but worth a shot, if it can secure her this once.
In truth, she does not even know if it works. It more likely than not would not - the sizzling liquid while quite acidic may find itself challenged by the strong bonds rubber has.
The vial Sarah drops tumbles onto the road, its contents hissing as they make contact with the asphalt. In her rearview mirror, she sees a brief cloud of smoke rise where the vial shattered, a small but noticeable obstacle for her pursuers. She can't tell if it's effective, but the SUV swerves slightly, its tires screeching against the road as it tries to avoid the acidic substance.
As she continues her high-speed escape, Sarah notices the dense canopy of trees above beginning to thin, suggesting she's nearing a clearing or intersection somewhere in the middle of the forest. This could mean more traffic and potential witnesses, which might deter her pursuers, but it also means less cover.
Sarah's observations are interrupted by a sudden jolt as something hits the back of her car. She glances in the mirror again and sees that the SUV has launched some kind of projectile - it's unclear what it is, but it's evident that her pursuers are not hesitant to escalate their tactics. Indeed, almost immediately, Sarah can feel a sudden drag on the vehicle, as if something is slowing her down. Looking back, she can't see a cable or anything else, and instead the car is starting to show electrical faults.
"...Unpleasant little..." Sarah hisses as her car betrays her. She doesn't push on the steering wheel or press deeper into her pedal as some may, instead accepting her car's failure with an irritated expression. She pulls the lever of her seat, flattening it, then takes her FCP rifle from the back couch. Then she takes a risk - she's not far from potential traffic, she knows that, but there's also a chance she may not reach it at this rate - and she needs the advantage. She breaks off her - rather expensive - rearview mirror and then turns around in her seat, keeping the pedal down with her toes, her other precariously trying to keep control of her steering wheel as her vehicle slows to a crawl. She aims down the sighs of her FCP - behind her, as she uses the mirror to keep an impassive glance on the road.
A difficult maneuver to be sure. Inhumane, even. But she is no human. She would fire at the car behind her, given the chance, hoping to distract it enough to buy her precious time.
As Sarah fires her FCP rifle, the pursuing SUV momentarily swerves, its driver grappling with the sudden onslaught. But Sarah's focus quickly shifts as she notices something alarming ahead: a roadblock. Two more black SUVs are positioned across the road, effectively cutting off her escape route. Men stand outside these vehicles, their stances menacing and disciplined. They are armed, low submachine guns -- they seem Israeli-made, dark blued steel -- trained with a chilling precision.
The most striking detail Sarah observes about these men is their appearance. Swarthy-skinned, they seem North African, with dark suits and beards. Pinned prominently on the lapel of each of their suits is a small gold Eye of Horus pin. Overhead, like some living drone, a falcon circles.
Sarah's car, slowing more, crawls towards the roadblock, even as the SUV behind her crashes into a tree with a titanic sound of shaking branches and leaves. "Stop!" cries one of the men at the roadblock. "We do not seek your life," he shouts. "We seek knowledge of an apostate, and you have it."
"Should have sent an email." Sarah hisses under her breath as she rights herself in her seat, keeping as low as she can. She makes a quick decision - with the car still slowed, despite the faith of her pursuers, she takes the last momentum it has to make a sharp turn, then stepping out, intending to use her car for cover as she hides behind it. She tries her earpiece again, "Roberts!" she tries to command, then shouting loudly from cover. "If you had questions, you should have contacted me appropriately!" bellows, as she checks on her ammo. "Do you have any idea who you are dealing with? You're not from this town, are you? By what force do you expect to leave this town alive without my say-so when my people find out you've attacked me?" she tries, though not seeming too confident. That does, after all, require her making it back to warn them. And sanctuary is hardly infallible. "Abandon this idiocy!"
Just hissing into the earpiece: the jamming is still active.
The tense standoff intensifies as Sarah swiftly maneuvers her faltering car, using it as a makeshift shield. Her sharp retort to the armed men echoes through the clearing. As she crouches behind her vehicle, rifle at the ready, it is hard not to be troubled by the distance from the town and its safety.
The men at the roadblock don't seem perturbed by Sarah's threats or her position. They maintain their disciplined stance, guns still trained on her, but there's a pause, a momentary hesitation, as if weighing her words. The leader, distinguishable by his slightly more ornate Eye of Horus pin, speaks again, his voice firm yet not devoid of reason. "We are aware of your influence, doctor. But our need is demanded by entities greater than your mortal Hand."
Meanwhile, Sarah's attempts to communicate through her earpiece are met with silence, the frustrating buzz of a jammed signal her only response. She's alone in this, at least for now. Overhead, the falcon still circles, its occasional cry cutting through the other stillness.
"Are you willing to negotiate?" the leader asks, his voice accented with the faint sounds of Egyptian Arabic overlaid with some English boarding-school accent. "This is not really your fight," he tells her. "You do not need things to end in violence."
Sarah spits, a sour look on her face. "I hate dealing with these pious freaks." she complains to herself in a lower voice, then raising it again. "Some claim to be made in the town we rule!" she shouts, then adding, "...for a fourth." in a noticeably smaller voice. She raises her voice once more, "You can ask your question but I promise no answer. You see..." she lowers her voice to normal speech, perhaps unhearable. "I, for one, find the idea dragging you all up a tree by your toes and bleeding you to death by a thousand cuts to be an image so delicious it makes my hunger unbearable." She raises her voice again, "I am running out of patience."
The man with the elaborately-oiled beard speaks up. "So are we, doctor, and we have the upper hand here." Indeed, while Sarah has been taking cover, men are clamboring from the wrecked SUV behind her. They seem dazed from the crash, but if she was to try to effect an escape on foot, that door is closing.
The Horus-eye leader speaks again: "Adherents of some rebel cult have taken up residence in this town. You have some association with them," he says. "Don't deny it. They worship a false Typhon, an outsider who tries to upset the House of Ra, and we are Horakhty's messengers," he says. "Where are they setting up their home base?" The question comes with speed, an arrow flung across the gap between the roadblock and Sarah. "Give us the location and we will leave you be."
Sarah snorts, then shaking her head. "Is that all?" she wonders to herself, "Do these people not have a network to trace the other members? I may be the only one not frequently there." Then she's raising her voice again, loudly. "Very well. They are in the northern forest of town. I do not know the precise address," she lies easily, perhaps intending to buy them some time, "However.. My association with them is one purely of gains," She raises herself, looking downright furious as she glares from over the top of the car. "The disrespect of messing with the President of the Hand, opposed to some of the /pets/ within that cult, will not be forgotten."
There's some conversation amongst the men at the SUV, a low discussion in Arabic that carries through the air. Overhead, the falcon circles as their discussion seems to take longer and longer. Each passing moment is a tick-tick-tick, the sizzling of some fuse leading towards an explosion.
Behind Sarah, the men from the ruined rear SUV have taken up positions, now. They call out in Arabic to their companions, as whatever jamming is suppressing Sarah's comms seems to be doing the same for the Falcon Guard.
Sarah looks into the forest. She could run, of course. But would she be able to win? She doesn't seem to have confidence in it. Perhaps especially because of the recent series of forest abductions. She instead stands, tapping her toes on the ground. "I am not sure what you know of my organization," she shouts loudly, "But the President does not usually disappear on Comms for over an hour while taking a quick drive check for a gate. Are you confident you have the time to be standing here and talking?"
At last, the men cease their discussion. "I am confident that you will be fine," the leader says at last. "I am confident, too, that I will be fine." He has a low laugh. "North of town, in the Forest," he says. "That is enough." He delivers a long, sing-song set of words in Arabic, and then the men in the roadblock are mounting up. In two columns, their SUVs sweep forward, past Sarah, to pick up their fellows from the ruined car behind her. Then, unless stopped, they are heading down the road in a plume of dust.
Behind, Sarah's car is now completely broken. If she inspects the back, she will see that the thing lodged in her rear liftgate is some kind of stone projectile, carved round and round with hieroglyphs.
Overhead, the hawk seems to linger, watching Sarah's movements.
Sarah stares at the SUVs, watching them leave, waiting for the jam to go, patiently. "Surely it was on- ah." she smiles as her communications reactive. It is an unpleasant smile - a cruel one. She immediately gets to work. First, vengeance. She contacts her bodyguard, "I was attacked by some common rabble associated to a cult. I want as many as you can find in my torture chambers before the week ends. They speak arabic, carry some sort of eye symbol." she instructs him, moving onto her the second, calling in her faction. "Car broken. I want a new one of the same make delivered before the hour ends." is commanded, a grimace takes place on her face. "I do not care how 'difficult' it is, it /will/ be arranged. Additionally, a ride /will/ be arranged. Guardian Lane. Now." She doesn't wait for a response, ending it immediately. Lastly, she coldly informs the cult they're being looked for, rattling off the descriptions impassively, then seating herself on the car, where she would wait for her ride.
Sarah is a distance out from Haven, and it takes a while for the Hand to get reinforcements to her. It is a long wait, with that hawk circling slowly, slowly, slowly overhead...
...and then it is gone, as the Hand caravan rolls up. There's a medic there, a ritualist, some bodyguards, a new car. All of the comforts of 'civilization', in so far as Haven can be said to be civilization, bundling the Hand's president up to take her back to town. As for the Falcon warriors? Well. A search is conducted, but if they are in Haven, they are well hidden. Well hidden indeed.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
Cailyn is sitting on her bed. Lounging, like a lazy ass. When a Missing Person Alert goes off: "The HSD is seeking the public's assistance in locating one Christopher Kirk, who was last seen on October 31st, 2023 around 11:00 pm. He was wearing a blue hoodie, black jeans, and white sneakers. He is described as 58" tall, 150 lbs, with brown hair and green eyes. He has a tattoo of a dragon on his left arm and a scar on his right cheek. James is considered to be endangered as he suffers from diabetes and requires daily medication." Since Cailyn is in the Order, she gets a little extra: He was seen deep in the woods of the Haven forests."
Cailyn is indeed a lazy ass. She lingers her phone above her face, emerald eyes looking over the report curiously. "In the woods? It's nearly been a month at this point."
With a grunt, she rolls over out of bed and throws on her jacket. She turns her gaze towards the bed and dips down to collect an MP5 from underneath. "Okay, might as well check it out," she murmurs.
Cailyn gets her shit! Everything seems to be in order, now where to?