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Multiple Settings The Malleum

SerenaTheGoddess

SerenaTheGoddess

There is light, inside the darkness
Everything was fine a month ago....

Everything was as it should be. The world was going on as it has for centuries. People went about their day bustling from home to work. Kids playing at the playground at recess. Buses running late causing people to sigh and cuss. The sympathy of the city was playing its usual song and everything was as it should be.


The secrets we hid in the night....

And as it has been for centuries, witches and magic have remained a story told to children at bedtime, or a bewitching show on tv, or the loner girl in all black at school. Except for a select few, magic and witchcraft were a reality. Those blessed with magical abilities knew better than to share this with the world. For there will always be those who will seek to hunt and destroy them.


Two weeks ago...

A shift in energy felt throughout the magical community caused many to seek answers from their magical hubs, such as covens, magic stores, witch and wiccan meetup groups. During this time high priestesses and priests starting going missing....


The Magical Razing.....

In the we hours of the day that would be referred to as "The Razing", creatures unlike anylike any other that has ever walked the earth, started appearing, hunting and killing witches and magical people. Whole citites were overrun and filled with the screams and blood of witches. Some witches in rural towns tried to escape into the forests... Witches are scattered in the wind... many have been murdered. Society as a whole has fallen into choas. Many non magical people have gone missing as well. Families are torn apart.


This was 3 days ago......
 
The thing about society on the brink of collapse is that no one prepares you for the sheer stupidity that spreads over humanity like wildfire. Which, to some degree, really shouldn't be a terrible surprise. The pages of history account for numerous times that once threatened, human kind's natural response is to panic and make irrational choices, to be selfish and ruthless no matter how small the threat. Religion (the Crusades), politics (the onging war in the Middle East), illness (Ebola), finances(The Great Panic/Depression) – land (The Indian Removal Act) – name it, and humans have had panicked and made a mess of things. Even with evidence backing up the inevitable, the smallest part of hope remained, with every advancement, with every ounce of compassion, humanity would prevail. That was a child’s tale.

The first to suffer the influx of panic? Law enforcement and hospitals. Why? Because people were idiots. To be entirely fair, it started with people being rushed in, mauled and mutilated beyond recognition. People had every right to be a little panicked with the gruesome reality; especially when rural attacks increasingly rose in number by the day – then to everyone’s horror, the hour. Again, that still didn’t solidify that people should act out blind. This was the perfect opportunity to band together, to rely on thy neighbor, to plan and protect. Instead more people were harmed in the backlash of panic than the actual creatures that begun to roam the streets. ERs were flooded, cramming over to three, sometimes five to a room. Patients spilled out into the hallways, just desperate enough to even be near the trauma units. Stating that hospitals, clinics – anywhere that could offer any sort of medical resources were overcrowded would be a gross injustice. Things had grown so dire, they’d begun to mark down the people without hope of recovery, like the nurses of Pearl Harbor and their lipstick codes. The chilling (and entirely necessary) decision of rationing already rapidly depleting resources sparked outroar; shifting from who needed the care most to who was willing to pay for the care. And if that wasn’t nightmare enough, the staff abandoning their posts in blatant fear of their lives (as well as their family’s) was like a match to nitrate film.

People weren’t just abandoning their patients, weren’t just abandoning hospitals all together along with their humanity; people were talking. Talking being just as dangerous if not more than the very real threat in the streets. Someone had the bright idea to spread that if you touched one of the attacked, that you would be marked next. Marked. Like the damn black spot in pirate tales. Some people claimed that it was only a matter of time when wounds would morph into infection, in which case would create a pandemic. Then of course, there were the ones who preached and cried that it was all an elaborate ploy of the government. That if they were ever going to survive, that they needed to arm themselves over the proverbial corrupt beast. With anarchy, came looting. People fighting, losing and taking lives over a damn can of beans. The hospital was put on lockdown to the public, at first guarded by the committed few to providing care to those in need, to the enacted martial law in one final attempt to reign in the masses.

Yadriel was one of the five pediatric nurses out of twenty-eight that stayed behind. Never would he expect that when he walked in on that Thursday morning for the start of his shift that he wouldn’t be leaving. He was well into the late night when he’d caught rumors of the overcrowding in the ER below. If things were so messy in the confines of the building that everyone capable was manning the floor, he didn’t want to picture the chaos erupting just outside these walls. Being certified as a wound care nurse, he was moved every which way until he was seeing double. Yadriel had lost count of the people he tended, not having time to be personable or even so much as memorize a name, let alone a chart. It was the second day in what was to be known as “The Great Collapse” that he’d put his foot down and demanded that he return to his wing, insisting that he was of more use in his area of expertise than another body. Despite the flood of freshly wounded, he would not allow the patients already in care be neglected. At that point, there was hardly anyone left to argue otherwise.

The male would make his rounds as if it were any other day, checking vitals, administering medications, even reading books in between before he would allow himself to be whisked away to any other center – demanding that if there was even the slightest hiccup in his ward that it would take his first priority. No one child was regarded as lesser. Some families stormed the hospital, discharging despite his greater effort to convince otherwise that they would receive the care they needed here. No promise held enough weight to the paranoid mind. Which he understood, he didn’t blame them for wanting to be near their child in what was assumed the end of society. Yadriel refused to take his own grief over being so far from his mother and brothers into account. But even that didn’t deter him, nor the children that were left there, abandoned without the slightest clue of what became of their families. That may have been the true reason for his staying. Couldn’t bear to give up on the helpless when they’d already been left for dead.

It was one of the newer cases that he’d especially taken a pull towards. The boy couldn’t be older than six or seven, brought in during the first waves of the maulings, back when they still suspected freak cases of rabid and frenzied animals. The only survivor of a horrible wreck and subsequent attack. Yadriel didn’t even know the little boy’s name. He’d taken to call him “Güero” due to his fair skin and equally light hair (the light hair that wasn’t stained a bright cherry on account of the bloodshed). No, he was nowhere near the only abandoned child here, but this little boy was unclaimed before the others were left. With the other bodies going unidentified (not that they could by features), they weren’t able to even try to reach out to the family. For all they knew, the little boy was missing and presumed dead. For all Yadriel knew, they weren’t looking because they were dead. To add salt into the wound, none of the other nurses dare went near the boy. They may not say it, but he knew it was because of the ‘marked’ rumors that float around. If anything, they were displeased with his firm stance on caring for the boy, going as far as avoiding Yadriel entirely.

That gave no excuse for what would become of little Güero’s fate. The paranoia (and complete lack of compassion) lead his fellow coworkers practically drooling over the idea of getting rid of the child. If not to save them from being ‘marked’ than in some feeble notion that whatever attacked him the first time may come back to finish the job. And as much as he knew that, the nurse couldn’t devote his entirety to the boy alone. No matter how much it tugged at his heart to leave the catatonic boy alone, he had obligations to other patients as well.

Brushed off the nagging fear in the back of his head that he needed to stay put when he was checking over the boy’s vitals. Repeatedly told himself that the boy was safe here; the people trying to seek refuge (or loot) didn’t even think to come up to the fifth floor. The pediatric wing was a far cry from most people’s conscious. Didn’t meant that he could get rid of the little shiver that made it’s way down his spine when he begrudgingly left the boy that morning. Didn’t mean that he couldn’t stop the little voice from begging him to return to his room the moment he stepped out. It wasn’t until he was on his third wound drain that he’d lost the battle within himself. He’d just go, peak in. Make sure that the boy was still breathing, and hadn’t regained a piece of his mind while Yadriel was out. He was being ridiculous. Just as paranoid as the rest of the lot in this building.

Yadriel told himself as he bounded the large yellow three painted over grey brick that he’d needed some fresh air, maybe a little more sleep. Just a little break on the roof would do him wonders – as soon as he checked on the boy. Imagine the size of his eyes when his fellow nurse, Gina, was leading this grisly looking couple into the Güero’s room. If he was paranoid before, there wasn’t a word to describe the fear pounding in his chest now. At first everything seemed to go in slow motion, watching the trio walk into the room while he was rooted where he stood in the stairwell doorway. His heart rate seemed to slow to a deadly pace, his breathing hitched and caught into his throat, his very core shook, and all at once, as if that one inhale was his savior, he was sprinting down that hallway like a cheetah. Yadriel near tripped over himself as he ran towards the room, having to dodge Benjamin and his cart of medications. Yadriel was in such a frenzy he about ran straight into the closing door, barely having the slight of mind to raise his hands to push at the heavy wood.

He knew how he looked; panting, flushed, and eyes wild as he stormed through the door with a loud crack in the wall. He barely spared Gina a glimpse as he strode forward, getting himself between the intruders and the bed. He didn’t want to take his eyes off of the strange people for one second, why, he wish he knew. Call it a hunch, intuition that they were not here to do the lord’s work.

“Yadriel!” Gina gasped, though he wasn’t sure if it was out of surprise, or if it was meant to sound as condescending as it did in his head. Maybe a little bit of both.

“Why are you in here?” He questioned, licking over his lips to help calm his nerves. In the back of his mind he knew that he should be polite, that this was the most unprofessional that he’s ever acted in his life. His mother would sooner have a stroke than approve of the way that he was eyeing the trio. And that was suspicious. Just as suspicious as the two newcomers.

So he gathered himself, took a moment to raise his hand to indicate that he needed to catch his breath first. Needed the minute to get his head in the right place if he was going to be of any help whatsoever. He leaned more casually into the foot of the bed, picking the clip board he’d left out to feign interest in the charts. He was being absolutely ridiculous. He was over reacting -

“These are his parents, can you believe it? We finally found them!” Oh, that cheer in her voice was way too fake.

It was then that the male came forward. “We were so worried, we thought that maybe -” He paused, taking his wife’s hand in his own to give what could be a reassuring squeeze. “Well, you know.” The way that he smiled, to the way his wife was eagerly nodding his head was complete and utter bullshit.

But he couldn’t let them know that he was onto them (especially in the very slim chance that he was being over dramatic), so he too smiled, bright and beaming as he set the chart under his arm for a single clap. “That’s amazing! I was terrified that no one was going to show, but how did you find him?” Reasonable, perfectly reasonable question. Just keep his face from betraying his turmoil.

This time it was the wife who spoke for them. “We were planning on leaving, to find my mother just north of here, but I just couldn’t stand the thought that my baby was still out there. I cried for Hansen to bring me here, call it mother’s instinct, but I just couldn’t let us leave without searching one last place.”

Yeah, because now, three almost four weeks later you check the hospital. Yadriel had to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth, had to keep the smile well in place. “I’m so glad that you finally found him, I can’t imagine what you two felt over losing him, thinking that he was well -” Another smile, even a small laugh. “You know.” Finished just the same.

The way that she nodded made his stomach churn, or maybe it was the way that her husband seemed to almost be leering at him.

“Yes, we’re very relieved.” And she was pretty, so damn pretty even with the dirt caking the side of her face. He wanted to believe the pretty beryl glint in her eyes. He wanted to see a mother with rosy skin, and not see her marred in scales like a perilous python, just waiting to strike. But what did he know, really? He was being so protective because of how attached he’d grown, because of how he’d seen his fellow colleagues treat the poor soul like he was tainted in ash. Yet he stayed where he was, not willing to give so much of an inch of ground to allow them forward.

A thought crossed his mind then – and well, he was already lying. He was already so deep in, what was one more little lie? His mother could wipe the floor with him afterwards if he was wrong, but heaven forgive him, he just needed to know.

So he kept his composure as he stepped back a pace, lovingly running his hand through the little boy’s hair, pushing the overgrown bangs out of the eyes that never opened. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to keep Jackson here? At least until he doesn’t need my aid any longer, of course you’d both be allowed to stay.”

He didn’t miss the flash of annoyance cross the husband’s face. “He’s been away from us for long enough, don’t you think? Are you imply that I can’t care for my son?”

Wrong, oh so very wrong.

“What my husband means to say,” She piped up, face carefully controlled in a kind smile. “Is that we’ve long since spent enough time away from little Jack, and we need to get to my mother’s right away.”

One more side glance at Gina and the way that she eagerly nodded her head, chiding him and encouraging his discharge, what a coward.

“I see.” Yadriel spared just one more smile, not at all trying to hide the disappointment in his features. “If I can’t convince you otherwise, I’d at least ask if you two stepped outside while I remove his catheter and give a final dress to his wounds. Gina, would you please stay to help?”

They didn’t look like they wanted to, but god was he relieved when the pair agreed and parted the room. He waited until they were outside for him to grasp at Gina’s wrist, pulling her in deeper to the room to the furthest corner.

“Idiota! Did you even try to verify their identities?!” He hissed, still careful to keep his voice as low as possible as not to be heard from the open doorway.

“Of course I did!”

“Bullshit!”

But before he could get out anything else, there they were again, rushing into the room having the audacity to look outraged.

“What is going on in here?!” Hansen bellowed, looking like he was going to start throwing fists at any second.

“I don’t know who you are, but you sure as hell aren’t this boy’s parent’s.”

He should have known better than to think that this could be resolved in a civil manner. In the next few seconds, he was thrown out of the way by the woman, Hansom ripping the IV and wires straight out of the boy as he fumbled with getting the child into his arms.

“Let go of him!” He cried out, fighting against not only the woman, but Gina as well. “He won’t survive out there without my help!” It was feeble, but he tried to reason with them anyways, believing more than anything that he could speak to their sense of humanity.

And why on earth would he think that, when Hansen was already barreling out the door, and the woman was holding a knife out to keep both he and Gina out of grabbing distance.
 
| Forgive any grammatical errors in translation, using google translate |

“Birdie, sumus positione lucis stante viridia”

The coms crackling to life sent a small ripple through a small group well hidden in dark underbrush, silently waiting for their next set of orders.

“Ita ut, ex illis fumigant” The gruff voice of Booker whispered back, readying himself to move, steadying his breathing until he heard the hissing sound of thermite cutting through metal, something he’d grown to truly enjoy.
Hearing the sound of two distant pops told him the flashbangs had been thrown in through the small hole cut in and no doubt more serious means of flushing people out of a hole in the ground would be undertaken.
Hearing the confirmation that the smoke had been dropped, the group waited, carefully positioned on either side of the metal door leading into the ground.

There was no question the inhabitants of the bunker knew they’d arrived, the security cameras had been shot out as soon as they’d come into range. Breaking into a well armored hole in the ground wasn’t a very quiet affair, with one entrance and several layers of concrete and steel.
Growing up in one of the more advanced underground bunker cities he’d seen, Storm had become a bit of a doomsday snob and found himself judging the overall make of the building they were about to break into.
Sure there was a good chance the structure could handle a few decent blasts from missiles, there were far too many smaller issues, like the air vents, they could take advantage of. Straight up and down with no mapping or bends meant the group was able to drop smoke bombs directly into the main air supply and have the inhabitants break the door seal themselves.

Hearing the sound of a creak, Booker knew the men wouldn’t move until they were instructed, instead waiting for the first line of defence to stumble out blindly. Cloaked by magic, the group would be entirely missed by the first four men who would carefully exit with their guns drawn.
Seemingly unaware of the dangers lurking just beyond their mortal vision, the group signaled back and were immediately cut down silently by the four cultists hidden away. Without hesitation the group moved quickly into the bunker in a single line, guns ready, masks pulled into position to help them through the magical smoke dropped in.

Two armed security awaited them but could barely see through the thick grey smoke filling the underground fortress, both quickly dispatched by the man taking point ahead of Booker. Six down, at least six more to go if their intel was correct. Knowing better than to underestimate the security measures laid out for such an important figure to the humans, the group were prepared for a much larger force than they’d been warned about.

“Clarescat”
“Clarescat”
“Clarescat”

The three different voices signaling a clear hallway was what the group needed before they began moving in unison, carefully opening the next door and filing into the empty next empty room.
Hearing the sound of a few shots ricocheting off of the concrete farther down told him the group above was engaging through the air vents to provide more of a distraction for the team inside. A well oiled machine, Booker and his men spread out across the dark room and advanced down the only hallway available.
Expecting a greater struggle, Booker only fired three shots during the entire raid, dispatching one of the remaining security agents struggling to find them in the fog.
The sound causing the remaining five to rush into the room, a group greeted by a higher male voice shouting a spell.

“Avaskata!”

Ancient Sanskrit weaponized by one of the younger members of the cult had all five security agents suspended in the air, struggling to free themselves from an invisible hold. Booker actually huffed out a small laugh as he watched them helplessly attempt to carry on protecting the package awaiting in the next room. Panic clearly written on each face as the magic held easily, humans always seemed so startled when faced with their own limitations, it was almost endearing.
Striding through the floating bodies, Booker admired just how easy it was for the young witch to keep five humans so easily suspended. His own powers were limited to physical enhancements and magic absorption, really he was a magical void that selfishly fed off of everything his mismatched eyes locked onto.

“Dolo occidit eos” Booker said, rounding a corner into the final chamber of the bunker where a man in a pinstripe suit huddled in the far corner. Despite the dim light of the room, the black eye he’d been blessed with picked up on the ultraviolet highlights of his target. A heavy coughing also helped him zero in on the man who was doing his best to hide behind the only overturned piece of furniture in the room. Perhaps he assumed they were there to kill him,

“I can see real good in the dark mister and you’re not very quiet, I’d recommend you just get yourself over here and we can take a walk” The low drawl that left Booker was no doubt confusingly calm and polite for someone who had just brought a team of highly trained killers through this man’s security investment. “If you’d be so kind as to disarm yourself and come along quietly, we’d like to bring you home in one piece, doctor” Booker wasn’t asking but rather telling a man struggling to breathe that he would behave himself as they escorted him back to their mysterious vault.
“If you put this bag on, you’ll be able to breathe” The final words from Booker were followed by him tossing the bag over to the man and watching him agonize for a few moments. Survival winning out as he pulled the magic bag over his head and began taking deep breaths of air, it was shocking to see a bunker like this lacking any kind of mask.

Returning to the rest of the cult members, Booker saw they had indeed executed the remaining security agents. Careful to steer his now blinded captive in between the bodies to avoid adding further stress to the situation, a few comments were spoken among the group as they carefully took their leave.

“Are you speaking Latin?” The doctor asked, his voice gently muffled by the magic fabric obscuring his vision and allowing him to actually breathe. A pause in conversation was followed by a low hum of laughter from a few of his captors.

“Yes” Booker said firmly, using the hand he’d planted on the doctors shoulder to push him towards the exit tunnel. An uneventful return to the extraction point followed the only moderately bloody mission, no witch casualties meant things had gone almost alarmingly well for the group. Booker refused to truly relax until they had landed back in the Maze District and found the ancient looking entrance to the bizarrely advanced magical vault.

Gaining entrance to the vault was far from normal with the group needing to follow a fairly specific path through the Maze itself. Needing magic to enter through the actual gates located deep within the Earth, the group filed through bizarre honeycomb of the outer layers with their captive. A near endless march until they were able to push the good doctor in through the screening process and actually deliver him to the deeper levels of Edens Vault.

Only after they’d spent hours in debriefing and infection screening did the group disband and wander off into their respective home regions of the underground city. Artificial sunlight filtered down from a mottled source high up in the cavern, a gift of some of the more powerful magical beings taking shelter within the cult. Without bizarre robes or really any lack of uniform, the cultists looked like completely normal citizens of any mortal city Booker had visited. Perhaps the normalcy aided in convincing those stolen away of the safety offered so far beneath the surface.

Pushing open the heavy metal door of his apartment, Booker heard the low growl of Roland greeting him. His familiar had opted for the form of a mountain lion and Booker could really think of no better creature to have his back. Nodding at the creature, Booker pulled a bag of raw meat he’d picked up in the market during his short trip home. Tossing the entire bag over, he watched the creature shift into a disturbingly spindly form of shadows and tear into the treat.
Only three days and the beast was acting as though he’d been left with nothing at all, despite the ample amount of supplies left behind. Booker was positive the familiar would eat himself to death if the opportunity presented itself.

A loud ringing went off seconds after Booker had finally sat down, earning a loud groan from the already exhausted scout. The form of a hooded council member appeared before him, somehow managing to loom in the artificial daylight filtering in through the windows. Booker didn’t bother hiding his expression, letting his superior know he wasn’t excited about her arrival. He’d quite literally just gotten home, though he knew better than to voice his complaints, the world was ending.

“You’re going back out in six hours. Horus Wellender’s family was intercepted enroute, his son is alive. You will retrieve him. He is fragile, use caution”

The form vanished one she’d finished speaking and Booker let out a long groan at not even getting to grab some solid sleep before having to trudge back out into the imploding world and find a wounded child. Booker almost wished he’d pulled market duty rather than scouting, sure he was able to actually visit the outside world but sleep seemed to elude him far too often.
Letting himself fall over sideways on the couch, Booker didn’t remember falling asleep, only being woken by the polite nudging of Roland. The beast rumbling as he began pushing Booker with more and more aggression, jolting the witch awake and forcing him to pull himself up into a sitting position. Groaning, this time at the stiffness in his joints, Booker wasted little time in wallowing and set to re-packing hit kit and gathering up everything he needed before heading off to the main headquarters.

Roland had refused to stay behind on this run, having spent too much time away from Booker to remain comfortable. It would be in his best interests to have a formidable teammate he could completely trust, even witches had their limits when pressed by hunters and humans alike. Attempting to explain his concerns to the creature was pointless, Roland wasn’t concerned by hunters or humans despite his vulnerabilities.
The pair traveled in silence towards the main meeting point outside of the internal offices, a walled city within the underground city, Eden had always been obsessed with safety.

----

“We lost track of the group outside of the city, Irina Wellender and her security detail are confirmed dead. Council master Wellender is demanding we get his kid home as soon as possible”

The orders had been repeated at least a dozen times by the time the group was in transit to the impressively far hospital, the witch family never stood a chance moving across the country with only three escorts. Booker had rarely left the vault with less than five other teammates, even now they moved in a group of ten. Bouncing along in the plane, the group had tracked the boy down to one of the last standing hospitals in the area, the other two long since overrun.
If records and intel were correct, the boy was alive but barely stable after so many days under human care. Magic would only serve to help the boy make it back to Eden, his survival was dubious at best but everyone onboard knew better than to voice their concerns.
Only a short amount of time until the drop zone meant they only had a short window to get focused and plan their move into the hospital.

Many of the cities were down to those holing up at home or within the hospitals, news reports had spoken of hospitals around the world being overrun and taken over as makeshift fortresses for groups looking to survive. At least there was no concern for an armed militia waiting for them, just the usual mess of panicked humans and potential hunters lurking down corridors.
Feeling the plane landing, Booker was up and moving as soon as they were given clearance, rushing off into the night with the rest of his team. Once more they were using a two pronged attack to enter the hospital, the teams splitting off as they moved into different entrances.
The many signs throughout the hospital and the complete lack of staff helped the group move quietly through the back halls. Making their way to the pediatric wing to retrieve the young man, a voice lit up on his comms to let him know there was an absolute scene happening in the children’s wing.

Forced to speed up, the group didn’t have too far to go before the shouting could be heard from down the hall. Booker glanced down at Roland and nodded, letting him stalk forward, sliding into the room unseen and happily providing some eyes on the situation.
Booker couldn’t help feeling some anxiety for his familiar, a mountain lion indoors wouldn’t be welcomed in any situation.

The sound of Roland screaming as he lunged at the man in the room trying to take the child was enough of a signal for the rest of the group, a healthy spray of blood up the far wall told Booker the first hunter hadn’t stood a chance. Seeing the man lying in a pool of his own blood, Booker glanced up to see Roland stalking back and forth between the three remaining adults.
Booker’s eyes narrowed at the woman wearing street clothes, her hands darting to her bag as she registered just what was happening. She dropped before she could retrieve whatever weapon she’d brought, the bullet to the head eliminating any remaining threat.

Seeing the male nurse dive into action while the woman stood by idly made the next decision for the group. A muttered spell had the female nurse collapsing while the group quickly filed in to watch Yadri tend to the wounded child on the ground, shockingly focused for the sheer insanity that had just exploded through the room.

“That boy is important and you will keep him alive” Booker said firmly, certain Yadri was smart enough to understand the nature of the situation. Two of the cultists would step forward to carry the boy carefully between them as the group moved quickly to vacate the hospital as quickly as possible.
 
Later, much later he would think that perhaps it was pathetic that he was so weak to be near sobbing as he was restrained from the boy, first from the two women, then to his coworker. All the while begging, pleading that they would leave the boy behind. Later he would hate himself for letting the tears to flow freely when he was being threatened with the knife, that he would even allow things to get so far out of hand to begin with. He heard the pitch - that ungodly pitch that filtered throughout the halls, stirring a primal fear from within that called for his sense of self preservation. Pulling and clawing at him from deep within to run, to hide if he thought it would help, just to get to even the smallest notion of safety and never look back. The pitch would be nothing compared to the deafening toll of a gunshot, bouncing off the small confines of the room and echoing insistently throughout his ears. For another few precious moments it all seemed to go by in a blurred haze; the way that the woman's - that wife's head snapped back with the force of the bullet, the tousled brunette hair flying forward to shield the sides of her face as she fell, though it did nothing to spare him the spray of blood and goop that spewed from the back of her head.

Yadriel was far from a stranger when it came to the smell of blood, he was a god damn wound care nurse. He knew the copper smell, knew the difference between the bright crimson, to the sickly brown of infection, the smell of necrosis spider webbing it's way across flesh. He knew what to expect. He knew it as well as the Nightingale Pledge. He'd been covered in it many times over before he took his station in pediatric care, back when he would run three-twelves on the floor. He could handle that. He could handle holding his hand to a gaping wound in dire hope of stopping the bleeding. He could handle seeing patients with things that most certainly should never leave the human body hanging out onto the floor, the smell of burnt and charred flesh. He could handle the stupid fucking stench of the wound drainage which seemed so frivolous now. All of these things were fixable - or at least, they could manage it. Nothing, nothing at all could possibly prepare him for the stench of this, of an execution style death, coating his nostrils and the back of his throat so thoroughly it invaded every sense, every breath, every -

It wasn't the time! Just peeking out from the doorway he could see the little bare foot, now laying in a pool of cooling blood. He didn't have to think about it. Didn't need to grasp for air or to huddle away in a corner like his instincts cried earlier. Now, he was scrambling to his feet, not so much as caring to wipe the droplets of crimson from his face as he rushed out the door, making haste of getting the little body into his arms and off of the floor. They'd been so careless in their attempt to flee they didn't spare the possibility of a drop. The boy was in a damn induced coma. How were they expecting to keep him alive if they didn't have a steady stream of fluids? How were they expecting to extract the little feeding tube (which he now noticed was half out of his nose from the commotion)? How on god's earth were they expecting to drain the wound at his calf, or to treat the varies series of cuts and gashes that were littered over the body? If he didn't die from the drop, or god forbid a hemorrhage, it would be from septic shock. Neither of which Yadriel would wish upon anyone.

All very valid concerns intensifying to the nines when the boy was not only taken from him (this time much, much more gently) but was told he was solely responsible for his survival. The very first of his thoughts? I'm not qualified. Quickly followed by something even a little more daunting; I have nothing. Even if he were to speak these words, he knew that it wouldn't be taken into account. If anything, he could look forward to the same fate as the married couple at their feet. No one else would willingly go with these men, that was carved into stone the moment that they shunned he and the child. If he didn't go he wasn't just responsible for the loss of his own life, he was responsible for the failure of Güero’s as well. So really, was there much of a choice to be made when he was stiffly nodding his head, rather uselessly wiping the blood off of his hands and onto the already ruined scrub bottoms.

"I needa - I need -" A shuttering breath that would curl his toes and sit so heavily inside of his belly he thought he just might vomit again. Inhala, exhala. Inhala, exhala. Make a list. Yadriel was excellent at making lists, compartmentalizing everything in his life down to a grain of salt. "Fifteen minutes," To add on almost desperately "Por favor, just fifteen minutes to gather what he needs."

"Watch the boy." The burly man said quickly, moving to follow after Yadriel, quite confident the nurse was more than honest with his intentions (or, that's what he was hoping that was what was happening). The low rumble of Roland could be heard as the lion laid down with the boy and let his intentions to guard be known. That was.. He wouldn't quite say promising, not when the animal's maw was still stained and dripping with Hansen. Who was he to ask questions? The situation itself was entirely ludicrous, blind faith was all that he could operate on.

Blind faith that was certainly not shared between he and the few that still lingered in the hallway from the initial commotion. Yadriel didn't make it two steps before their cowardliness was put on full display as they locked themselves away into rooms. As if that were really going to keep them in the line of safety. No matter, they could have their false sense of security as long as it meant that no one was going to get into his way (or, his very big shadow's).They didn't matter. The only thing he would allow for himself was to march right on the arrow, using that very same cart he just about tripped over ten minutes ago as aid for the various items; gauze, suture kits, drainage receptacles, sterile kits, gloves, tape, needles and various bottles, a fucking sharps box. The items compiled growing by the second, enough to have a field medic whistle. It was when they were passing the blood bank that he was pausing. He had a draw kit, no doubt it would come into play at some point, it was a matter of the willingness of the cause here. Yadriel was O-, Güero was AB+. They weren't screwed per say. In the event of an emergency he could give his blood, but he would also need to be the one to set the line, to stabilize whatever problem there was, and he couldn't do both. He shift from foot to foot, thinking idly of the amount of space that was already being used by the Recon Antibiotics and insulin. Lord knew if he stuffed it too tight and the bag burst.. Just one. He could fit one bag, it would be snug but it would fit.

Supplies accounted for thrice over and he knew he was running out of time, hard to forget the limit when there was the sound of heavy footfall after his every move, a presence so powerful just looming over him and making his palms sweat. They couldn't take the cart. That would stupid to even hope for. Just as stupid as heading to the lower levels in search of reinforced boxes. Believe it or not, even the pockets on his scrubs had some limitations. A bag from the storage closet would surely rip and ruin the supply. A cardboard box would be tedious in nature to carry. God, he just needed a bag big enough - of course!

Now there was truly some fire in his step as he jogged down the long corridors, the sound of a squeaky wheel chattering out their location. Yadriel didn't want to think of what it must look like to the people they passed, didn't have the time to care. The only thing stopping them now getting his damn key into the lock, easier said than done when his hands were practically shaking as he pushed them around the ring. God how sketchy it must of looked for them to be in the nurse's station, heads peering up from the makeshift beds with the same look of bewilderment. Kept his head down as he made pace through (thankfully only having to stop twice for someone to clear path for the cart) to doorframe separating the lounge from locker rooms. Had to remind himself it wasn't stealing as he pushed open any unlocked door, remind himself he wasn't taking anything important from someone. It wasn't until he got to the third locker that he had any luck, unceremoniously dumping the contents of the duffel onto the bench and floor before he was replacing it with the items from the cart. This isn't stealing. This isn't scavenging. Whoever this belonged to would understand. Perhaps they weren't even here anymore.


Kept repeating it to himself until the bag was zipped. Kept trying to push it away as he made way for his own locker, already having the bloodied top over his head before the tiniest inkling of modesty took over. This is so stupid. Yadriel made damn sure to keep his eyes zeroed in on the hooks in his locker as he shoved down the bottoms and undergarments, doing his damnest to keep the flush of his skin under control as he kicked away the offending articles to rifle around his own back pack and throw on the very first thing that he saw - the clothes he was supposed to leave in after his shifts, right. Taking his bag wasn't for debate. They were going to be on the move from the sounds of it, and the less they carried the better. Had some piece of mind to remember his sweater and rosary tucked into the hidden inseam pocket. God forgive him leaving his uniform shoes there on the floor, still with the bits of brain matter seeping into the tops, swapping them out for the pair of streetware he came in with. No use fussing over them the bag was already slung over his shoulder and he was already making way back to Güero.

The only thing that left his lips were the soft whispers of a prayer.

"Ángel de la Guarda, dulce compańía, no me desampares ni de noche ni de día."
 
Booker couldn’t help but respect how calm Yadriel stayed during what was no doubt a marvellous peak into hell. The group standing before him in dark robes and masks were rarely a welcomed sight to any they came across, like modern plague doctors running amok at the end of the world.
A small pack of cowards shuffled out of sight as though they were worthy enough to be taken, skittering away like insects and leaving their colleague to a dubious at best fate. Sickening really to see how little human loyalty held in the face of something unknown, though Booker would admit a mountain lion and group of armed men and women in robes might cross a few lines with many.

Fifteen minutes had been all he’d asked for, no mercy, no plea to let them go free with a promise of silence. At least there had been a sensible medical professional in the room, he’d managed to slow down hunters that would no doubt try to use the child as a bargaining chip. A power move if he’d ever heard of any, the council would have taken what could only be described as rash action. Magic and egos seemed to run freely when paired, the most powerful users in Eden held themselves above all else. Stealing witch royalty was certain to accelerate the timeline laid out by their founder, nothing could go against the plan and no one could get their hands on something that would compromise a member of the council. Booker could never quite grasp how other beings could allow their emotions to spiral out of control, irrational decisions often lead to self destruction.

Perhaps the only lesson he’d absorbed through years of ‘education’ through the group was the necessity of compartmentalizing everything.

Watching his new captive move fluidly through the hospital halls had Booker believing there wouldn’t be any attempts at treachery. With the child being seen over by five armed cultists and two hundred pounds of teeth and muscle waiting for any opportunity to flex, they were likely the safest group to be with for several miles.
Booker couldn’t help but notice how violently the blood on his uniform showed up through his ultra violet eye, a neon aura hanging around his target. Often those he come in contact with never understood how even simple perspiration could leave an impressive trail.

The pace only seemed to increase as the pair moved through different areas where Yadriel collected a variety of different supplies, it was a relief to see he could handle himself with the constant pressure of Booker looming over him. Of course Booker gave the young man enough space to move around, keeping a professional enough proximity as the pair ran off to the next area.
Booker could feel the anxiety radiating off of Yadriel as he attempted to open the door to the locker room, impressed when once more the nurse pulled it together and opened the lock. It was nice to see someone withstand so much turmoil and soldier on, Booker was impressed by this point. Seeing the way the supplies were smartly and carefully packed from the start bolstered his confidence in keeping him alive.

Perhaps it was strange but Booker averted his gaze when he saw Yadri moving to change, not one to completely destroy basic boundaries.
Not wanting to cause further discomfort from someone he needed to be functional and able to perform, the bare minimum he could provide was politely turning away from Yadri in the locker room and only moving once he heard steps drawing closer, certainly a risk but one he felt comfortable enough to take.

Seeing Yadri in clean street clothes and fully loaded down with medical supplies, Booker would nod before calmly reaching out to the rest of his team in their signature Latin. Dialing out a plan to rendezvous outside of the hospital and allow the group to move to safety in order to stabilize the boy.
Booker wasn’t sure his new companion would be thrilled about the events over the next half hour or so but there was little choice. Keeping the boy alive was the top priority for the group and though they were fairly talented when it came to magic, the boy was in dire need of someone who knew how to care for such traumatic wounds.

Finding the group waiting outside, the boy held carefully on a makeshift stretcher between two cultists, Booker quietly spoke an order. A young woman stepped forward, smashing a large pearl like object into the ground and pulling the group into a supernova of light. The group vanished in a blink and found themselves miles away in a very deep and very well reinforced shelter.
Booker, Yadriel, the boy, Roland, and three other cultists would find themselves in a dimly lit room with a barracks-like setup across one side and a small kitchen and living area along the other. The two toting the wounded boy quickly set him down on the first free bed and stepped away to give Yadriel ample space to work in. One young woman offering any assistance he might need, strangely friendly for an armed group of cultists.

Roland wasted no time in settling himself in the bunk directly next to the boy’s bed, his sharp eyes moving between Yadri and the wounded child in a silent reminder he was watching. Though he wasn’t quite able to communicate with beings outside of Booker, the big cat held a deep intelligence in those glowing yellow eyes.

The others split off to activate the water, electricity, and air through magic. Food seemed to be a priority as well, one of the cultists muttering over the stove in the kitchen to summon a few staples for a decent meal. Despite being witches, it was clear the group was incredibly cautious about their magic use out in the world. Unwilling to risk attracting hunters, Booker hated bringing Roland out for the target it placed on his familiar.
A concern he continually beat to death as he would promise himself over and over again to avoid putting his protector at risk, then revel in the irony of his hopes.
 
What was he supposed to expect when the robed and armed forces came piling into his wing of the hospital? Leaving out of the front door for all of the world to see them was suicide; between the stragglers pleading desperately to get through (and some without noble intentions) and the wreckage of ambulances and abandoned cars, they would sooner find the cure for cancer than to come out unscathed. Even knowing that they would need to be creative (careful) in their leave it did nothing to prepare the young nurse for the next few events. One moment they're standing in the corridor of the pediatric wing, and the next he's blinded, lungs tight as their whisked away to musty smelling room. A credit to the others, clearly used to means of travel with how they were able to bristle about as if they had a lovely car ride and not a rip into time and space, while he was leaning over with his hands on his knees, heaving for breath. Something told him it wasn't the right time to completely lose himself, much less to be throwing up on the only pair of clothing that he brought along with him.

Another surprise? Aside from being with some freaking magical beings and a still very dangerous mountain lion, he was being asked if he wanted.. help? It was official. Yadriel really hadn't survived the fight in the hospital room. He was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood while the two stole away into the night with the boy from his care, all of this being some sort of hazy dream in his final moments. A test of will perhaps? Whether he would be strong enough to fight on (even if he was already dead) for the betterment of others than to take comfort in his own selfish needs. Abuelita always said that the lord worked in mysterious ways. Here his soul was being tested of it's worthiness of the afterlife and Yadriel hadn't been to mass since the last time that his mother dragged him along (forty-six weeks ago, not that he was counting). Testament of will and character or not, Yadriel couldn't just wallow in his fears while there was a very real (possibly) little boy in need of care. Those payasos had done more damage than savoir with their little attempted heist.

"Okay," He breathed out shakily as he stood a little straighter, ringing his hands together as he took stock of the room he was supposed to be working with. The bed being at a slightly lowered height would make it difficult for them to work standing, and if they couldn't be standing than a simple table wouldn't be of much use for holding the supplies that he would need. Sure, he could ask the woman to hold and hand him things, but if he needed an extra hand with things, then they'd need a whole extra set of hands to take on the job that she'd be leaving behind. That idea was scrapped. The chairs at the little table were low enough not to interfere with with the lowered stance he would be taking, but they didn't offer nearly enough space to place out everything. Using the floor alone was out of the question. It wasn't until he was moving into the makeshift living area that he found his saving grace in form of a coffee table. "Please, help me move this over here?" Not that she seemed as if she would deny him when she'd already offered her help, but Yadriel was still grateful when she took to his polite behavior to stand opposite to lift the table to where they needed it.

The first thing that he did was to take off his sweater, not caring where it landed when he'd thrown it over his shoulder. His shirt under wouldn't be missed if ruined, more importantly the shirt was clean, he'd taken it right out of the dryer the morning he left, his sweater on the other had gone without a wash for an embarrassing amount of time. If allotted more time and the supplies, he would have grabbed a change of scrubs or in the very least the paper suits meant for surgery. He would just have to make due with what they did have.

"Is there water?" Asking made his cheeks flush a bright cherry, honestly, if they were able to conjure them into another location they shouldn't have trouble having a damn water source. Still, the woman remained calm as she directed him to the sink, a kindness he would give back when directing her how to wash her hands and up to her forearms in the warm water - if they were going to do this, they were going to do it right. There was no room for him to be working on anyone when his hands were still covered in blood, sweat, and god knows what else. She teased him lightly after he sanitized the table and covered half of it in plastic just to wash his hands again. The cold of the underground had no effect on him when he could feel the color down to his collarbones, meekly explaining that they weren't to take any chances of contamination when dealing with wounds as severe as the boy's. With their station set and vitals jot down, they would work their way through the most pressing injuries first.

By the time that they were finished, the small waste bin was practically overflowing with bloodied gauze, dressing, and old tubing. Yadriel would be almost hysterical at the state of how once healthy and pink wounds were swollen and showing the barest hints of infection from mere minutes of exposure. Honestly, septic shock may as well been knocking at this little boy's door the second that Hansen lifted him from the bed. It was a wonder how they expected to keep him alive when they were careless enough to dislodge the feeding tube (how were they even going to feed him?) and the ruptured IV. They were lucky that the boy's veins hadn't collapsed, much less bled out from the sheer force and angle that the IV was torn from. The woman - Clara she happily provided - questioned everything he was doing. Yadriel couldn't be sure if it was because of genuine curiosity or mistrust, regardless explaining his every action and the significance of it eased him so that he was able to completely forget the word around him, like he was walking through a lesson to one of the rotating first years and trainees instead of being watched by a perilous cult and a very large killing machine (Roland). The last tasks that they were met with consisted of dragging over the lamp from the sitting area to use as hook for the IV, a bucket of hot soapy water, and plenty of towels. Yadriel didn't believe that mere words were quite enough to thank her as she changed the soiled bedding and laid out the towels beneath the boy, much less the stable hands offered when he needed them. Clara had gone as far as to ask the others to turn away to offer privacy for patient and nurse as he dipped the fluffy flannel into water to begin washing away the grime tainting the fair flesh.

Now off of everything save for antibiotics and a drip, Güero would wake from the induced coma, hopefully with a functional brain. Yadriel had expressed their concerns for the boy when he'd been bought in, how his temporal lobe was swollen upon arrival to add to the heap of problems the poor thing suffered. When asked if they could do anything at all, Yadriel simply offered a bittersweat smile. "Keep him comfortable, monitor his vitals, talk to him. Make sure he doesn't wake up alone." While she didn't say anything other than to nod her head, he could read the dissatisfaction in the green of her eyes. He'd seen it enough in the faces of distraught parents and family members to see it easily. She stayed near, swapping out the bucket for fresh and warm water when the pink tinge turned a sickly brown. He'd actually forgotten that she was beside him until she asked why he was quiet if talking helped.

She had a point. What was stopping him? Nice as she was, he felt like they were being intruded upon. One glance at the hefty beast still watching him ever so intently didn't help fray his nerves. He was being silly, he knew. It's not like this child was his own, or that he even had the liberty to ask them to leave entirely when they were already doing so much to compromise as is. His normal chatter of hopes and dreams seemed childish now, and despite being the sole caretaker of the boy for the past few weeks he still didn't know enough to talk to the boy about his former life. His mother would suggest that he pray. That hardly seemed appropriate around this group, the last thing that he wanted to do was offend. So he did the very next best thing he could think of; when he was lifting the cloth to dot along the lithe shoulder he started to sing. Softly at first.

Pimpon es un muñeco, Muy guapo y de cartón

Sweeping over his arm, careful of the new bandaging and the IV in his hand.

Se lava las manitas,

Back over his arm and up to his neck to press a little more firm at the blotch on his jaw.

Con agua y con jabón...

By the time that the lullaby was completed, Yadriel was tucking the boy into the soft blanket provided. Even then, he didn't leave his spot on the floor near the boy's bedside. One arm folded over the edge, he rested his head there while the other hand combed through the sunny blonde hair. "Estás a salvo ahora mi Güero." He whispered, not expecting for Clara to still be near, he was spooked to hear her pipe up from her perch on the coffee table.

"Güero, what is that? Is that what they said his name was?"

Not moving from his spot, he smiled fondly as he carefully untangled some of the wispy hair. "It's like.. Someone with very fair skin. He was brought in a a John Doe - I didn't have the heart to refer to him as some nameless being like everyone else." She stayed quiet, assessing the information given. Yadriel didn't mind, still far too distracted by the little tangles than whatever she would take from his confession. He barely heard her stand, though he was thankful to finally have at least one pair of eyes off of the back of his head.

"It's Wellender, Tobias Wellender."

"Tobias," He sighed, the barest of smiles lifting the corners of his lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Tobias."
 
The grinding kick of the generator would let the group know power was now running through the hidden room, a noise that would drown into a low hum just as quickly. Underground facilities seemed to always fair better with magical reinforcements, something the underground society had mastered over the years.
Sad as it may seem, they were much more stable as the world rushed to an end, though Booker was one of few who experienced extended daylight.

Entering the main common space once more, Booker immediately moved over to where Yadriel and Clara were busy tending to the boy. Distress one could notice without any medical training radiated from the boy and the sheer amount of work that went in to stabilizing the boy showed off the horrific wounds he’d endured. Even Booker couldn’t hide his disgust at what the poor child had been through, grateful they’d intervened at the hospital. Surely being able to take a quiet exit with Yadri and the boy on an actual hospital bed would have been the preferred outcome of the plan, the group knew better than to expect anything to be peaceful now. The razing had taken its toll on the accuracy of intel and the overall culture of traveling through the shattered country.

“Giatí na férei ton ánthropo?”

A question that Booker had long expected soon cropped up from one of the young men across the room. Bringing the human had been entirely necessary and Booker was certain this young witch was well aware of the reasons. The creatures were able to wound witches in ways magic couldn’t hope to cure, trained doctors, medics, and nurses were the best hope for survival. Booker had been positive the surge in human medical personnel had directly correlated with this discovery, though he was certain anyone with two brain cells would catch on.

“Eínai polýtimos kai frontízei gia to agóri.” Booker replied, his tone firmly shutting down any follow up questions. The boy needed a consistent and skilled medical professional to keep him alive long enough to return home and of course hopefully help him back to full health. A great opportunity for Yadriel to secure guaranteed safety in the coming months of hell, though he would need to scale back his open faith enough to keep witches from taunting him over false gods.
Despite not being quite as devout as his fellow cultists, Booker knew well enough to play along and keep his spot. The overall treatment of captives had been overall fair, or rather as fair as removing someone from their loved ones could go. A few captives had been allowed to request family and even a few pets after shows of excellent performance, in truth the leader was almost alarmingly generous to those who served them without hesitation.

Waiting until things with the young boy seemed to be relatively calm, Booker took his time in walking over to grab a pair of kitchen chairs and carry them across the room. One in each hand, he placed one close to Yadriel and placed the other facing the boy in the bed and his caretaker, sitting and waiting. One Yadri joined him seating (or indicated he would remain standing), Booker would remain sitting tell and keeping his mismatched eyes fixed on Yadri’s, whenever he could capture a moment of eye contact. Used to his gaze being deemed unsettling, Booker took no offense and simply cleared his throat.

“Good evening, I imagine you’re a little confused about all of this. The boy’s parents hired us, so I can assure you we have the boy’s best interests at heart” Booker spoke in his deep, even tone. Little room would be left for question as he continued speaking. “I’m going to need you to answer a few questions, when we are finished with my questions I can answer yours as best I can”.

Clara seemed to dart off the moment Booker had settled himself, Roland rolling over to close his eyes with the promise of a watchful eyes over the boy. As close to alone as they could be in such a small space and with little time, Booker didn’t wait to dive into his line of questions.

‘What’s your name?” A simple opener that would provide at least some base connection between the two, though Booker wouldn’t be giving his own name just yet. Needing to keep Yadri talking while things were still relatively fresh in his memory.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Once more aiming to establish a friendly connection, they shared a very common interest in keeping the boy alive long enough to at least see his father. The resources available in Eden were much more modern than anything found between a safehouse and bag of medical supplies, the boy just needed to live long enough to give an unstressed medical team a chance to save him. Seeing how pale and weak the child had become was enough to have him dedicated to keeping Yadriel comfortable and happy in his treatment of the child.

“What is your medical training?” The most important question he would ask all night, soon discovering he truly was the perfect person to snatch along with the child. Booker kept his poker face well enough to hide the small amount of pride that bloomed deep inside of his chest, validating his judgements. At least they had the best possible person for the job at hand and of course someone who would be more than helpful back home, perhaps he wouldn’t completely balk once he saw the city for himself.

“Did the boy come in alone? What happened to the others?” Booker wouldn’t tiptoe around the truth, Mrs. Wellender wasn’t the type to let that child out of her sight for a moment. Hearing the confirmation would at least ease any concerns about missing the boy’s mother, the rest of the team had turned up nothing in the records.
Keeping a flat expression as he asked his questions and listened quietly to everything Yadriel would have to say.

“Is there anything you might be curious about?” Booker’s tone still calm and casual, his focus never leaving Yadri’s face.
 
Yadriel would have been perfectly content staying where he was kneeling near the bed, just petting the pink tinged hair and block out the rest of the world around them (much easier said than done when he could still feel the big cat's eyes on them), wishful thinking. There was no reason for him to believe that he was going to be ignored. He was brought here for a very specific task, with it completed it was only a matter of time before he would have to face the music of the mysterious group. Didn't make it any less unsettling when he was approached by the same man that had given him such a task. Maybe a part of him should feel reassured that it was someone whom he'd previously dealt with and not a constant string of new faces and personalities, instead it made the room feel like it dropped several degrees. Nervous or not, he did sit in the chair indicated, hoping to work through the jittery nerves by twiddling his thumbs.

“Good evening, I imagine you’re a little confused about all of this." And there was the understatement of the year. "The boy’s parents hired us, so I can assure you we have the boy’s best interests at heart."

He was smart enough not to snort, to roll his eyes at being told yet again that complete strangers that abducted him and the boy were hired by his parents. He needed to keep his wits about him if he was going to survive this and have any hope at all with continuing G- Tobais' care. That boy needed him - if these uses of brujas were unable to do it themselves, surely he served a greater purpose, didn't he? Clara herself didn't present herself as threatening, not with the careful attention to detail that she took when helping him with the boy, but this man? Just the deep rumble of his voice made Yadriel fidget in his chair like a toddler.

To his relief, the first question was easy enough. "Yadriel.." He piped up, maybe a little too eagerly, suddenly feeling so bashful as he once more advert his gaze. "Yadriel Ángel Buenaventura Castañeda." Something like saying his name (that he'd normally so proudly chirp) shouldn't be bringing heat to his face like this! Told himself to get a grip, if he was going to pass this job interview (because that's exactly what this felt like) he needed to present himself as professional and confident in himself as possible. Admittedly, he was taken back by the second and third question, hesitating just a second before he answered. "Ay, no. I - I think I'll be okay for now." Being asked about his training however? Now that he could answer with his back straight, voice completely devoid of the nerves. "I've been a registered nurse for four years now; I specialize in pediatrics and wound care."

All of that confidence shot straight to hell with the next question. He could make eye contact for just a second, knowing damn well it was sketchy not to be able to hold the gaze, but god help him this man was so damn intimidating! He thought of his mother then, knowing the look she would be giving him for his behavior. As much as he wanted to hide away in the little world he built with the child, he breathed in deeply through his nose before catching the burly man's gaze once more. "Yes, though the details are vague. From my understanding the vehicle he was traveling by had been in some sort of wreck; his body was found a few feet away from the wreckage, like he was dragged from the car. There were no other survivors that we - I - know of. "

Yadriel would be proud of himself - if he didn't immediately falter with the last question. Is there anything that you might be curious about? Mother forgive him, he could feel the heat down to his collarbones. Yadriel was shit liar. Couldn't possibly keep the eye contact as he chewed on his lip, shaking his head as he did so. The little white lie wouldn't harm anyone (perhaps himself) and the guilt was already settling itself in his chest, almost making him feel pained just to breathe. Dios, how he hoped lying wouldn't be something that he was asked to do - the hospital, that was one thing who even knew where that little burst of confidence came from - but now, being scrutinized by this towering figure, he was hopeless. If he hadn't already painted himself the picture of a blubbering fool, he hoped to redeem himself now. "Just if I'll be able to resume care for him - that I'll have the materials provided for it?"
 
Interrogations had always been a type of window into the soul for men like Booker, a way to truly peel back the layers and get to know someone through not only their answers but overall body language.
Speaking briefly with Yadriel told Booker a few things outside of his answers, the confidence gave away the complete honesty being offered with each answer. Clearly he had chosen to take the right medical professional with him and the overall skills offered would be prized in the vault. Of course that entire conversation would be best saved for when they returned to Eden and the overall reality of his fate would be revealed.

Booker had learned just how desperate humans or even witches could be when given no choice, the fight or flight reflex was best left untriggered to ensure a smoother transition. Hearing about potential imprisonment underground was far from pleasant news for most, often leading into a discussion about just how unsafe the outside world was. He could quite easily forgive humans for being so resistant to the idea of submitting and moving along quietly, how often would a promise of safe haven really prove to be true?
The anxiety radiating off of Yadri was kept in check and Booker was ready to applaud Yadri for not completely buckling under the stress of the last hour.

“You can call me Booker”

Perhaps not the first answer Yadriel might expect after only asking after the boys continued treatment. “You will and I can assure you where we’re going has a real hospital and real doctors” He offered, not sure if his word would be taken so easily. He was certain the man was anxious and Booker needed to keep him focused on the child's overall wellbeing.

“Roland, will you be so kind as to keep Yadriel and Tobias here safe?” Booker asked, glancing over at the big cat perched so closely. A low rumble could be heard as the creature quite clearly communicated back to Roland, yellow eyes glowing gently in the dimly lit bunker. In the dark nothing seemed natural about the familiar, his outline nearly dissolving into the shadows like a poorly formed ghost.
The silent way the creatures could move after dark had always given Booker anxiety when sent after rogue witches, he’d nearly met his own end at the claws of desperate familiars.

“He won’t hurt you” Booker said, doing his best to seem polite through the heavy mask he still wore. Unable to risk chances of infection from the boy, he was at least glad humans didn’t seem susceptible to the infection, only the carnage from the hosts.
The entire explanation would of course be too difficult for Booker to really handle, not being any kind of medic himself. Sure he could patch something up enough to get home but he was far out of his depth in explaining contamination to someone with a real degree.

---------

The remainder of the evening had been uneventful and filled with the group sleeping in shifts, waiting for any sign from the outside. Final communication that the path before them would be clear enough to move a seriously wounded child to safety.
An all clear arrived in the early hours of the morning and the group shut down the underground pocket in little time, soon forcibly transporting them all to an incredibly remote section of forest, forced leaps in a strange pattern that would eventually land them in a deep canyon. Incredibly high walls striped through with rich earth tones would nearly block out the full moon glaring down from above, the soft light playing off of every ripple in the rock. Shimmering patterns of runes could be seen glowing dimly along the walls as the magical group waited patiently for the gentle hum that signaled their acceptance. Through blood magic and an impressive level of paranoia, the vault had fail-safe security Booker wasn’t sure were necessary but still deeply appreciated.

Turning to face Yadri and the child who had been transported on a stretcher rather than someone’s arms, Booker quickly glanced around at his fellow witches before approaching. Clearly intending for only Yadri to hear his next words, the mask lowered fairly close to the captive’s ear.

“You will trust me” Booker said flatly, no explanation offered as the walls began simering brightly with illuminated symbols. The humming evolving into a murmured chanting as the world began wavering, a path quite suddenly opening in the Earth below them. The group moved quickly into the opening, Booker walking through last to ensure there were indeed no stragglers in their small group.
Entering a large, empty room, the staircase vanished quickly and left them in darkness once more, a deafening silence enveloping them.

Another lightshow would begin soon with dozens of pea sized spheres of light flooding into the room and dancing around the group. A strange magical way to check for the virus, the group would soon hear the sound of machines whirring to life as the entire small room began descending into the Earth, moving smoothly through the warm Earth.
The trip down would be brief, silent, and dimly lit by a sea of strange lights as the sound of breathing seemed to be swallowed up by the pressing darkness at the rooms edge. An impressive measure built in to ensure no parties could communicate if they’d ever breached the outer magics.
Booker was certain a multitude of other nasty traps awaited anyone trying to break in, not being an engineer meant he didn’t quite need to be told about just how dangerous the vault could be.

“Welcome”

A pleasant voice spoke before the side of the room slid open to reveal a row of armed city guards and a few familiars waiting to escort them along, normal processing forgone in the name of moving the wounded child into a hospital as quickly as possible.

“Humans need to-” One of the men in front began as he rudely reached out to grab at Yadri, his words cut off by the unnatural growl and vicious warning swipe from one suddenly agitated Roland. The guard yanked his hand away immediately, a crow above squawking its displeasure at the threat to its companion.

“He’s mine” Booker said firmly, bunching up the left shoulder of Yadri’s clothing in his right hand and pushing him forward to walk with the rest of the group. A mumbled protest following after him, there was no time to jump through political hoops when the child was in such a fragile state.
Certain Yadriel would be less than pleased with Booker’s declaration of ownership, he hoped to actually explain his intent leaned more towards responsibility. Booker had quite firmly taken on complete responsibility for Yadriel within the Witch centric domain. Despite the short window of actually knowing his latest captive, the scout had been fairly certain Yadriel was far from deceptive or dangerous.

Only one stop remained before the group could finally leave the receiving halls, the surrendering of any and all equipment or weapons they’d taken along. A smart measure really, the council wasn’t foolish enough to send anyone out into the city with weapons. Magic could of course be used but strangely keeping firearms at home was greatly frowned upon, perhaps viewed as too human and barbaric. If only the elite witches knew their precious home was guarded by human and magical means, there would be a flood of ‘well bred’ tears flowing through Eden.

Disengaging the valves and locks on his mask always carried a freedom wrapped in vulnerability, being sent back into regular citizenship for a time was both relaxing and painfully boring for a group used to venturing out into the slowly burning world. Pulling it free and blinkin the artificial light for a few moments, Booker enjoyed his first taste of magic purified air without a breaking mechanism jammed into his face.
Realizing this was likely the first time Yadri was seeing any of their faces had Booker feeling the slightest bit of understanding for the anxiety they likely caused. Perhaps seeing the group looking human would be something of a relief.

The final door would grind open to reveal a very strange city carved into the very rocks with magic, living quarters honeycombing the walls and truly revealing just how wide the underground city was.
A lake of moonlight flooded down from the ceiling that lit up the rows of bioluminescent streaks crawling up the rocks and cliffs decorating the cavern. Another escort awaited the group, an actual vehicle to transport the boy farther into the city to a large building that would reveal itself to be the hospital. Set up for magical beings and stocked with a few non magical medical professionals, the place had seen its own rush of extracted witches coming in wounded.

Booker wouldn’t let go of Yadri until they were settled in a large, private room, Clara decidedly gluing herself to Tobias and Yadriel once she’d understood Booker’s intentions to beg forgiveness later.

“You’re safe here” Booker said, his mismatched eyes flicking between Yadri and Tobias. Being off the clock meant he and Clara could stay put to ensure no hassles found Yadri. Supervising the human he’d brought in without any formal permission would also be necessary, there was no trusting the witches crawling around the city.
 
Understandably, what little sleep that Yadriel manged to capture for himself wasn't the most refreshing sleep that he's ever had in his life. For the life of him, he couldn't stop twitching and jolting himself awake with his sub conscious constantly reminded him of the critical state of not just the boy who's hand he was currently grasping, but the danger that swept the room in twos. The first time that he woke it was with a muffled yelp on his lips, half jolting in his knelt stance as his mind scrambled to take assessment of his surroundings. The hospital. The child. The bunker. Eyes that he swore were glowing as they devoured him from it's comfortable perch at a nearby bed. That time he really did gasp, hand flying up to his mouth to cover the sound feebly. He didn't need to turn his head to know that there was a masked gaze on him. It wasn't the time or place to be having a meltdown over the past twelve hours events. The second time that he woke he was taking stock of the boy's vitals, having to gather the courage in order to request a writing instrument from one of the masked figures (if he wasn't so haste about getting out of his scrubs, he would have that already). He was directed to a drawer with a simple swipe of a hand the young nurse scurried away with muted gratitude. Time and vitals recorded, he saw no harm in trying to catch another few minutes of sleep.

He couldn't be more wrong. Turns out when you sleep kneeling beside someone's bed and you're asked suddenly to prepare for departure, pins and needles don't come close to describing the shooting pangs going through his legs. Pair that with stumbling blindly throughout the woods (seriously, did those masks come with some sort of night vision?) and Yadriel was downright miserable. He wanted to believe the man, Booker, that he was going to be kept alive out of necessity of the boy but a lifetime of novella watching and Yadriel was almost certain he was being marched to a shallow grave. Even worse - to be sacrificed in the cool moonlight. Speaking in Latin tongue was enough to raise an eyebrow, the pearl orb of transportation was enough to raise his suspicions, but glowing runes scattered among the canyon walls? Yadriel was certain in his fate as a sacrificial lamb. Heavens, his mother always warned him that he was going to be swept away with how much he blindly followed his heart and the siren's call for help. Granted, he was sure that she meant something a little more akin to gang related drama or a sort of dark relationship (Valentino assured him it would be his gory murder). The only person who could have possibly predicted that he would get dragged into something like blood magic (make no mistake, he'd paid attention to the old nursery rhymes and stories of his home country) would be his abuelita. His mother regarded her warnings as nonsense superstitions meant to terrify children in to behaving, but here now? His abuelita was right. He should have listened a little closer to what she was saying. Should have -

“You will trust me”

When on earth did this man get so close to him? If he were any less of a man, he would have jumped right out of his skin. His cheeks flushed horribly, his ears burned as he nodded his head in what could only be considered an eager motion. His mother would be so disgusted with him. But what else could he say? What else could he do? There was just something in that gruff voice that told him to listen. Embarrassing as it was, no matter how terrified he was of the man he did trust him. He could unpack that for a later date to freak out over. Right now he needed to focus on getting his feet to work properly and not send him tumbling into the looming figures and down the decent to break his damn neck. Now of all times wasn't appropriate to develop two left feet like a virgin stumbling around a junior high dance (only one of those things were true, thank you). Easier said than done when he'd lost himself in his thoughts of not wanting to embarrass himself and yet he walked right into the bulking frame when they'd come to an abrupt (it wasn't) stop. He most be the only idiot here, to feel his skin prickled with an angry horde of goosebumps when the room flooded with the echos of a voice. Funny, Yadriel never thought that hell would sound so inviting. Since he was already here, was there really any harm in looking around? What he could only assume were guards armed to the teeth (and wasn't that ironic, that they were keeping people out of this underworld) with more of the translucent animals at their sides.

There was so much harm in looking around, because only a dumbass like him would make himself visible to imminent danger. His eyes widened as he'd seen the hand reaching out his way like a bad nightmare. To his utter horror he was looking for Booker, name already pressed on his lips because he promised that he was going to be safe! Had no time at all to actually voice it out when the world was moving around him in hyperspeed. One moment he can see the long and bony fingers of evil reaching for him, he can hear the commotion of a roar and the sound of birds cawing a hell's cry, and the next he's being grabbed and hurtled towards the opened doors. He was barely able to find his bearings, much less to really process the declaration of ownership - another thing for him to have a meltdown over at a later date. His father would be rolling in his grave with how pliant his son had become to the hands and words of a literal stranger. Again, he could fuss over this later. There were far more important things at hand. Like the way that his breath caught when he noticed the hiss of locks, the sound of buckles and latches giving when his captors were finally removing their masks. Yadriel's heart hammered away, to the point it was near painful. Yadriel was only human; curiosity didn't quite cover the sensation blooming his chest at finally discovering one of the bigger mysteries of the night. Matter of fact he dreamt of what they could look like earlier, half of him knowing that if they were to remove them there really was no hope for his escape. He was starting to feel light headed with the way that he was holding his breath in sheer anticipation, the more logical and polite voice telling him that he shouldn't be staring. That he was being so rude and unbecoming, he shouldn't be invading their privacy by literally staring at the hands pulling away the mask. Another much smaller voice told him he shouldn't be looking because of the horrors that awaited him. Booker could remove that mask and Yadriel would be met face to face with El Cucuy.

The beginnings of messy red hair (or maybe fur? Jesus christ, it could be Predator under that mask) and surely Yadriel was going to faint with the way he was definitely not breathing still - Pale flesh. Pale flesh over sharp cheekbones framed by a damn mountain of a beard, straight nose, full lips, and a mismatched gaze that's just as icy as he imagined it - decidedly human. Very much human. His body finally gave way, sputtering and coughing awkwardly as he diverted his gaze to the nearest wall. Yadriel had spent his life trying to ward off lecherous gazes on the pretense of his pride and not being a piece of meat, and here he was gawking at the man like an old pervert. The color of his face could give a tomato a run for it's money. Another sweep of the room to confirm that no, El Cucuy wasn't even close to accurate. If anything, they were all beautiful. Suddenly the room was stuffy with his own shroud of guilt. The only monster here was him for assuming they were crude beings.

Yadriel was enthralled to throw himself into the city instead of being trapped into a room with the people he'd unknowingly wronged. And what a sight the city was! If he was looking with a lecherous stare before, now he was like a boy in the paleta shoppe. Again he was swept with guilt for assuming that he was being drug down to a hellish underworld. The city was just as beautiful as it's inhabitants. Soft colors radiating off of the rocks in deep pastels, the sky - dios mio - they sky. For the second time he was struck breathless. It was all so overwhelming. He was thankful to be whisked away to a hospital. Even more that he had two very prominent figures at his side. He was flustered at the thought of having his own guard, the implications that he would need it.

"You're safe here."

And Yadri swore that he could feel the sincerity in it. For the first time in what seemed days and weeks on end, he smiled. Not just the meek little thing that he'd given earlier, or the polite pull of his lips, but an actual honest to god smile, one that would light up the golden flecks in hazel eyes. "Muchas gracias Booker, I can't - just, thank you." He'd return the sentiment to his other shadow, Clara (she was just as beautiful as she was kind). Even with the staff that would no doubt be fluttering through, he asked for her steady hand after washing his own. Directing her once more where to hold, where to dab at wounds, chattering insistently as he worked in a blessedly sterile environment with much less hazard of compromise. For the first time in weeks, he felt whole in the care that he was providing.

-

Hours later it seemed when he'd given every bit of the chart that he had memorized on the boy and even bathed him once more and Yadriel was so thoroughly exhausted. He swore that the strands of his hair was starting to feel drained and heavy. He slumped himself over in a chair, feeling like he could actually catch his breath for half a second. He was practically melting into the chair when he'd scrubbed his hands over his face with a languid mewl leaving his lips.

"La neta, I am dying for a shower." He cried, having no real malice or whine to his voice as he let his hands fall from his face. Even with his latest expression, his eyes were fluttering shut and he was focusing on his breathing, feeling now more than ever that he was safe enough to catch up on sleep.
 
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