Quiet. Just how she liked it. Quiet enough to hear herself think. Her life over the past year had simmered and become more routine, calmer. With her track record, this is usually where she would bolt. Time to leave in search of...well, if she knew that, she'd be happily ever after someplace. The Scathachian never knew what she wanted, not really, nor why she wanted it. It was as if her soul craved chaos, unrest. Perhaps, as someone once told her, she thrived on drama, on stress. Her body and mind only truly focused when they absolutely had to: in the pinpointed moment of battle, in the instant of explosion, the split second she heard a scream for help. Maybe that was her true home: not a place, but a time. Was she forever chasing the sensation of adrenaline, a pounding pulse, rapid breathing" Was she always taking flight looking for that next fight or flight situation' Is that why she never stayed in a relationship" Is that why she never stayed in one place too long"

Quiet. Quiet enough to hear herself think. It wasn't always a good thing.

Isuelt's strong back was pressed up against the stone ediface on the roof of the First Goblin Bank of Rhydin, next to one of the corner gargoyles that adored the building's rain gutters. Her chin was lowered, letting the sparse and sporadic moonlight brighten the crown of dark hair atop her head. Her black lashes were slightly shaded toward the street, though her espresso eyes saw nothing. Not that there was no activity tonight, but that she wasn't seeing. Apparently, tonight her sight was turned inward, remaining vigilant on why she seemed so restless about not being restless. This life, this routine had become nearly cemented: Sleep, eat, watch, arrest, pray, sleep, eat, watch, arrest, pray....And yet, she felt secure with no real desire to run.

Perhaps this is what scared her most of all.

"You planning on robbing the bank?" The voice almost startled her, so deep was she in her own private thoughts. "Or do you just come up here for the view?"

Her head snapped back to look past her shoulder to see Watch Sergeant Richard Cullen standing there with something of a cocky grin on his lips. For a moment, Isuelt was embarrassed and wondered how long he'd been standing there. She let out a rather large exhale as her heart rate simmered. She worried that she was losing her razor-sharp edge.

"I'm only asking because you're setting off a few alarms." After a pause, Cullen's next words seemed to fall out of his mouth, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I mean...that the bank had installed lately...and...see, they're up on the roof here..."

Isuelt turned around slowly, her back pushing off the stone. The Watch Sergeant's recovery allowed for one of her own. She wasn't sure what she was more disturbed by: her impending stagnancy or her failure to hear him coming. "Evening, Cullen..." She employed her usual response to him.

"DeRomiano..." He returned the favor.

"Sorry," her hands, vacant of gloves this evening, were shoved into her pockets just in front of her blades. "I didn't know they were here."

"No, you wouldn't have. Just apparently had them put in this last month. Something about extra protection from a slight surge of the usual stuff around here. S'possed to be in a while ago, but that blizzard slowed things down. Guys told me that they were unsure if they even worked right yet, since they're still testing 'em..." He reached up and scratched at his salt and pepper stubble, rambling now.

"I guess they do." Her chin turned to the left and sat parallel with her shoulder as she looked past the edge of the building and stared at the street below. The Judge took a moment to wrap up her earlier thoughts and tuck them away for further exploration later.

"Everything okay, DeRomiano?" Cullen noted that she lacked her usual wit that would have probably resulted in some smart ass comment to him or a joke about his response time. She was uncommonly quiet and something about that disturbed him greatly. He was nearly sure he was about to be told of some heinous new threat or a grotesque finding. He braced for it.

"Mmmhmm." A slight nod as she looked back to him was her only response. It did little to win his confidence.

The Sergeant's legs started for her and she took it to mean that he had some new case for her. How convenient that he would find her up here setting off the alarms. Efficient. Isuelt straightened her posture and raised her chin, preparing herself for whatever horrific news he had for her.

"Issy," stopping just short of her, he raised his arm and placed a hand on her shoulder. The wool of her cloak beneath his fingers was frigid to the touch and he deduced that she'd been up here on this roof for far longer than any tripped alarm indicated.

She exhaled and looked at directly at him, he was only slightly taller than she was.

"Iz..." he used a familiar term that only a handful of people in the city would dare. Though, truth be told, he'd earned that right. "I've known you for quite a while now. Worked with you pretty closely through some tough cases and one thing I know for sure is that you aren't yourself." Cullen was quiet for a pause as he let that sink in. "What is it?"

Her dark brows tightened and her lips set themselves in a firm line. Her gaze at the Watchman sharpened and he just about tensed himself thinking she was about to deck him.

Her shoulders lifted and fell suddenly and she sighed through her words as her body relaxed, "You know, it's absolutely nothing." Well, she didn't exactly lie. Isuelt's lips curled in a soft smile, "I think it's time for bed and a bath, that's all. Long day."

"Mmhmm." Cullen's nod was sharp, but not as sharp as his attention on her. She's not telling him the whole truth, but that was her right. She had no obligation to even tell him that much. "You take care of yourself, okay DeRomiano?"

A side-swept smirk as she nodded and began to side-step the Sergeant, "Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

As she moved away from him, he continued, "I mean it. This city needs you at the top of your game." He said this with such total conviction that she actually paused in her steps and turned back to look at him. Tall and lean against the moon's light, his salt and pepper stubble showed off more salt than pepper. His broad shoulders cut a sharp outline against the background, arms folded over his chest. Isuelt thought at that moment that he looked more like a Watchman than she'd ever seen. Not behind a desk, buried in paperwork, but a strong man out in the middle of the city he fought so hard to keep order in.

"Yes, sir," her words were quiet, nearly whispered; had there been a breeze at that moment, Cullen might not have heard the Scathachian. But the winds were kind and he caught not only her reply, but the subtle hint behind them. He thought for a moment it was weariness, but the use of her word 'sir' puzzled, and in fact, disturbed him all the more.

Cullen tried to piece together what was bothering her, but that was not something he could do in one night. "You don't work for me, Issy. If anything, I work for you." He nodded, the hat on his head causing a bit of shadow play on his face.

Isuelt smiled at that for a moment and then dipped her chin to him as she moved to the fire escape (gods forbid she ever use the stairs). "I'll remember that, Cullen..." And she disappeared silently, letting the darkness encompass her. After all, this was more her style, not languishing around on rooftops getting surprised.

Cullen stared after the space in his line of sight that was once occupied by the Judge, smirking to himself. "And by the way...I'm getting a promotion..." But that would have to wait for the next time they met.

Lieutenant Cullen's lightly calloused hand rubbed at his stubbled chin for a few thoughtful moments as he regarded the tall Scathachian in front of him. "I don't know, DeRomiano'sounds like another one of your screwy adventures. Like the last time you delved into the sewer systems." He leaned forward and nearly sneered at Isuelt, "And where the hell did that get you? Huh?" A humph before he answered his own question, "Nowhere, fast. And then you brought all those people down with you and the only thing that lot was able to uncover was a load of more questions."

Isuelt smoothly inhaled, "It's just that I think some of the shallower systems are being used as passageways. That's the only thing I can think of as to why these slavers are staying a few steps ahead and moving the girls out from under our noses, Cullen."

The pair stared at each other for a long few moments; a silence filled with frustrated exhales and silent toe tapping. Isuelt was trying to will the Lieutenant into saying "yes" and the last thing Cullen wanted was for Isuelt to plunge herself down where he couldn't really keep an eye on her.

A gruff sigh, "Damnit, Issy, I can't do it. I can't spare the men." This much was true. Because of the quiet state of the city as of late, revenue dollars were not being funneled into defense, but into the arts and other "peace time" civic projects. And truth be told, it didn't bother him one bit. He'd take quiet over catastrophe any day of the week. "Besides, I don't want you down there. You told me what you guys found and I don't want you being anywhere near to any of that. Since your little field trip down there, the entrances and exits to the sewer system in the city as well as the pump houses and treatment centers have been fortified and guarded, but I don't want you trudging anything else up down there. You hear me, Issy' I don't want you going down there on a hunch and turning it into a god damned suicide mission!"

"Richard?"

"Don't "Richard" me! I don't want anything happening to you!" He looked startled that the words actually fell out of his mouth in such a desperate manner. There was silence from both of them for a beat before he began again with a softer tone, trying to regain his businesslike composure as he placed his hands on his desk, "I just"can't give you the man power to back you up, DeRomiano. And you said that your colleagues are otherwise engaged."

The Scathachian smiled softly, her voice was calm as she mercifully recognized his panicked demeanor, "It's okay, Cullen. I've got other back up." She nodded, "Really, it's okay. I know perfectly well what?s down there, I'm not stupid. I'm not going to stir up anything. In fact, I don't think I'll really be down there too long or too deep. Just want to find a trail that connects endpoints in the West End and wherever the hell it leads. And it will be off the books, off the record, solely of my own accord."

Cullen was nearly sulking in his chair; he couldn't even bring his eyes to look upon the Judge right now.

"Don't you want to find the leak, Cullen" Don't you want to help these girls?" She waited until the Lieutenant's eyes lifted to her, the intonation of her voice dropping to a nearly seductive register, "I'll make you a hero, Richard." Her dark brows lifted in promise as she let a smile slide over her lips. Isuelt would never call it sweet-talk; she felt that cheapened the weapon. It was a weapon like any other the Scathachian wielded; dependable, strong and honed.

After a moment, an audible (and perhaps overly dramatic) sigh was pushed through the Lieutenant's lips. "You know, DeRomiano," he began as he leaned slightly back and regarded the Judge with a sardonic grin, "I think we should all thank the heavens that you are not an evil person. I think we'd all be in for it then." Cullen didn't mind conceding this point as he picked his pen back up, "Go ahead."

Isuelt beamed, "I promise you that you won't regret this."

"Well, promise me something else, eh?" He interrupted her, "Promise me that you'll haul ass out of there the minute"no, the second you see anything you don't like. Got it?" His heavy brow lifted for accentuation.

"Yes sir," she mustered a wink to match her salute and grinned at the Lieutenant. "I'll get back to you with everything we find a.s.a.p." She turned to leave his office, only pausing at the door to look back, "Oh, and Richard?"

Cullen looked up from the imposing stack of paperwork which seemed to be desk decor more than police work.

"Thanks." Isuelt nodded and slipped out. She needed this; needed a purpose as well as a victory.

The Watch Lieutenant leaned back in his chair, the spring beneath the wood creaking as he did so, and watched her go. Another sigh, this one far more genuine than the last. Staring after the empty doorway for a few moments, he could imagine at least ten different ways she could meet her end down there, after what she had reported the first time. He chose not to think of it. Still a near-muted sentence tumbled on his lips before he got back to work, "Careful out there, Iz."

To be fair to Isuelt, he was surprisingly quiet for his size. The typical problem Victor faced on sneaking up on people was the menace he projected unconsciously, a feature of the Rage he could have done without. Ignorant of the history of the building that had clearly seen better days, he eyed the dark, empty windows and the lookout high above it with suspicion in his dark, baleful eyes.

"Greetings, Issy," rumbled his deep voice from but a few feet away. One notable addition to his usual look of black leather and cloth was the handle of a large sword that stuck up over his shoulder. It had taken little convincing to act as Issy's partner in stopping crime for this case. There was considerably more to know about him than the fact he made and sold furniture at one of the big crossroads of RhyDin, including his rather dim view on the subject of slavery.

"What do we have for leads?" he asked, promptly going to the task at hand. No nonsense from the Garou. He was as serious as he seemed dangerous.

"The only thing I am not looking forward to is the smell," he assured her with nothing at all in his expression suggesting he had brought a sense of humor today. "Everything else I can handle easily. To be clear, we expect the slavers and slaves to be human?" This was not an idle question, no matter how it may seem to Issy.

"It sounds like we're in for a bit of a slog, and I'm not really sure if we should split up to cover more ground or not. Once we get back, I will be asking about that story about last time and going deep." He crossed his arms across his chest, an imposing sight, much like an angry bouncer to a trouble-making patron.

"And of course, you are welcome for the help. You will be welcome next time as well." One thing he did not lack was confidence, even if it was the only thing close to emotion he seemed to show on his face.

"You mean the first round," he told her, deep rumbling voice dropping to a quieter level now that they were moving. Despite his frame and even the heavy boots he wore, his footfalls were soft as he followed her inside the once majestic interior of the mill.

Soft, that is, until a particularly weak section of the floor broke apart under his weight, plunging most of his leg dangling into the empty air of the next floor while his body impacted the floor. The booming sound echoed through the area, not a particularly auspicious start to their search. "Ow," he grumbled, more stunned at the sudden short fall than actually hurt. "Help me up, would you?" he asked. "I do not want to get there faster than the stairs."

The big man took a quick moment once he was no longer halfway through the floor to dust himself off and try to recover his dignity. Since appearance is no small part of self image, the dust and wood chips removed from his black leather helped to improve his mood marginally before he followed Issy across the floor and down the stairs. "Second round is on me," he rumbled in agreement.

"I believe if anyone is close enough, they have been quite thoroughly warned of our presence," he warned the Scathachian as he forced himself to turn his thoughts back to the matter at hand. They had a slave smuggling operation to oust and a danger lurked. With that in mind, he took in a deep breath, drawing in more than physical scents. In this way, he would learn what sort of creatures were nearby. It was also a great way to make him sneeze in the dusty mill, yet another sound that echoed in the space. "Sorry," he added a second later.

He stepped into the dumbwaiter in quiet confirmation he was here to help. "That is encouraging then that we are on the right track," he said to offer one of the silver linings of the discovery. "And of course we are going to take a ride. Into the dark depths below the old factory, to face the slavers in their den. I may as well tell you something now. I am going to use a spell to make myself more useful in combat. Self target only, I am afraid." He took a breath and said, "Formus animus." Then in mere seconds he grew, adding roughly six inches in height and what must be one hundred pounds of pure muscle. Interestingly enough, his clothes grew along with his body. Calling it a spell was a white lie since he was shifting to Glabro. Unlike most of his race, his facial features were little changed, leaving him just as handsome at 6" 8" as 6" 2". Only when he was done did he turn and look down to consider Isuelt's response to his transformation.

To say she wasn't expecting that was to put it mildly. As Victor rose to a new height and his clothing shifted, she found herself shifting as well...back up against the wall of the freight-sized dumbwaiter. Her dark eyes were wide as they took in the scene before them, illuminated by the sharp aim of her flashlight. Her mouth lamely fell open as she simply stared at Victor, who wasn't really the human she had thought him to be. It was a few dumbfounded moments before the Scathachian blinked and regarded what may have been Victor's "true" form. "Huh?" Was all that could roll off her tongue at the moment. After all, it wasn't all bad. Of course, it could be said that the shorter the elevator ride the better; Victor couldn't have been completely comfortable for very long.

The dumbwaiter transported them down below the level of the streets, below the level of the mill's basement. Click. Victor turned his flashlight off before the bottom. "If I were them, I would have a sentry at the bottom. Not a lot of room to dodge in here." Comforting thought. Picking the opposite side from the entrance, he stood at the edge of the platform to hopefully allow Isuelt to shelter behind him.

The dumbwaiter jolted to a stop, bouncing slightly under its new weight. Isuelt still had her light illuminated and knew that she'd have to wait until they were outside of the car before she would have room to draw a sword. She nodded her head to Victor, cueing him to pull on the leather strap that would open the doors to their present cell. Giving a quick tug, the Garou heaved open the doors to reveal a clean sub-basement room. He grunted in disappointment at the lack of a guard. "Nothing yet, but certainly the right track." He inhaled deeply, once again reaching out for the mystic scents of those around him. "We are clear, for now." They walked out of the elevator and he squatted down to take a good look at the floor. Click. His flashlight came back on. There were too many prints to read easily, though all were very faint. "Pretty clean," he said with a hint of surprise.

"Not that clean," she answered him with a rattle of tin cans. Isuelt was standing in a corner to the right of the dumbwaiter shaft, her boot lightly kicking a few empty cans and forks. Her light was shining on a pallet with a blanket hanging askew and half off of the makeshift bed. She sighed heavily, wondering how many girls had pretended to sleep here while they were terrified, while they wondered what was going to happen to them next. The only foil to her turning stomach was the seed of rage that was beginning to build within her; her teeth clenched shut and her jaw twitched. With Victor's hearing probably being better than Isuelt realized, she muttered a few creative obscenities before she lifted her head to look at him. Though after a pause, the warrior squinted her eyes. "Listen?" There was a faint sound of running water.

"Water." With his flashlight, he swept the walls of the room. "Looks like we have but one way to go."

"There's gotta be a-" A smile crept across her lips, "There." Her light had run rampant along the far wall and came to a skidding halt as it met the beam from Victor's flashlight over a very obvious hole in the wall large enough for a grown adult to easily come and go from. The bricks had been meticulously removed to allow for a mostly uniform outline. Isuelt loved being right and the "I-knew-it' expression on her features would have made Lieutenant Cullen roll his eyes until he gave himself a migraine.

"I know that expression," he said when he looked over at her. He had seen a similar expression on his wife's face many a time.

A cock-eyed grin that bordered on arrogant was the backdrop to her words, "I swear to Scathach, if we find these sons of bitches there is no way we're taking them to the Watch with all their limbs!" She was already halfway across the floor and ready to jump through the other side of that wall...and she was only half joking about the limbs. Some would say that her cavalier attitude was a liability. To her, it was a rush of adrenaline that stoked the fires within. She shot through the doorway, pushing off of the brick and jumping the small distance to land on her feet a mere four feet down. Victor grumbled in displeasure, hopping down after her with a heavy thud, his own temper not yet ignited. Looking around, she spotted the wired lighting (as meager and dated as it was) up above which ran along most of Rhydin's central sewer. She flicked off her light and clipped it back onto her belt before she sheathed her blade. The sound of water wasn't coming from this particular tunnel, but the sound of Rhydin's intricate waterways were a bit louder from this side of the wall.

Isuelt sneered as she spotted a few more empty tins of food on this side of the wall. She stooped to pick one up and smell it. There wasn't more than a faint reminder of food, it was probably dry for at least a week. "Dammit. I thought we could catch up to those fuckers earlier." She stood up and looked down the dimly lit tunnel. It was obvious to the both of them that they were on the right track, she just wished that they were further along that track than they were. "At least we don't have filth to slosh through?" Perhaps to Victor and herself in equal measure as she remembered her last trip down to the Rhydin sewers.

"I am impossibly glad we are not already ankle deep in sewage," he said, in complete agreement with that sentiment. He remembered it well, and did not care to repeat the experience. Despite that, he had come along to find the slavers.

Isuelt took a moment to check the small compass she had tucked in her vest. She wanted to head closer toward the harbor. "This way," she whispered as she made a gesture to the left. As they headed along the tunnel, each of them made certain that their footfalls remained as muted as possible. Along the walls, they passed a few small circular grates which were dressed in bars and dripping water. It wasn't until they came to a larger intersection that they spotted a few small crates and a larger item covered in a tarp up against the wall. Isuelt grabbed the tarp and yanked it high enough to uncover most of its treasure. Crates, wooden ones. But big enough to put people in. Isuelt's brow furrowed as she made a face of agitation. Still squatted on her hanches, she turned to look at Victor, "A guess as to how they're moving slaves to the docks?"

Just then there was some sort of a noise from the intersecting tunnel to their own. Perhaps it was a splash of water, perhaps it was a rat. Isuelt couldn't put her finger on what it sounded like. She looked to Victor to see if his senses could pick it up. Victor had put a finger to his lips, calling for silence. He inhaled deeply through his nose and held his breath to listen. He thought it was the sound of liquid falling as a stream into water...

In one smooth motion, the Scathachian drew one blade as she rose to her full height. She and her partner began toward the noise, though as they stood at the intersection of the two tunnels, it changed. "Footsteps," she whispered while canting her head. Isuelt was itching for a fight; it had been too long since she'd knocked a few skulls. She skulked along the wall of the secondary tunnel; there was too much water in the middle and she wanted to be as silent as possible. This new tunnel was only slightly narrower than the one they had started out in. Their feet stopped as another sound met their ears. Rustling. Isuelt thought it sounded like when she had lifted the tarp off the crates. Did they have more crates down this way' Were they full of people" She arched a dark brow and looked over her shoulder at Victor. She felt like a cat who was about to pounce on an unsuspecting canary. The Garou gave his partner a slight nod, then held up three fingers. Two. One.

It took the Scathachian a moment to translate the words "Death to Justice". And a moment was all the third slaver, hiding in the shadows after seeing his partner cut down, needed to fire his crossbow. Isuelt grunted out in pain as the point of the bolt just pierced the leather of her corset. She turned her face toward the shadow and saw the outline of the smaller, stouter man, cowardly huddled down in an alcove off of the tunnel. He was hurriedly trying to load another arrow into his weapon, but he wouldn't get the chance. Isuelt reached down with her free hand and ripped out the arrow with a cry made up of half pain, half rage. Her legs propelled her into the alcove and her blade reared back to thrust forward at the man. In a last ditch effort, he threw his crossbow at her, hitting her on the left shoulder just before he was run through. Isuelt felt her sword strike the stone wall behind the man; this along with his cry signaled for her to twist her blade. The man let loose a gurgle ending with a stream of blood trickling from his mouth and Isuelt sneered at him, "Rot in the pit of the Nine Hells, filth!" As the Judge leaned in to further see this man in the meager light, he coughed but lightly, barely hanging onto his mortal tether. At first, Isuelt was glad; she knew he had heard her curse.

However, this man was about to prove his cowardly and dastardly ways once more on his way to death. Isuelt's brow lowered in confusion as the little man's cough ended with a chuckle. "You stupid whore." The blood flowed freely from his mouth now that Isuelt had pulled her blade free. Her dark eyes narrowed at the slaver. "You can't stop any of this. You're nothing?" Victor's opponent was stunned with a sudden kick to the face and then received a third cut, this one from shoulder to groin. The second slaver and his sword dropped to the ground, each as lifeless as the other.

Isuelt was set to make a retort, and possibly inflict a bit of pain for the fun of it, when she heard the slightest click come from the man's hand. The light was no friend of hers and barely had made obvious the reason the man had trouble loading his crossbow. In his left hand he held a small box, metallic with a single switch on it. There was a small blinking light which she glanced at before looking back to the man. "What is that?"

He simply chuckled once more, the blood bubbling on his lower lip. "Die, bitch." His head slumped forward, his entire body threatening to follow suit were his back not slickened and stuck to the wall.

Isuelt didn't like the sound of his defiance; it left a bad taste in her mouth. She stood up and turned to look at Victor, though the glance to her partner was short-lived as a low rumble echoed through the tunnel. Her first thought was rushing water, she shook her head however. That wasn't it. This sounded different. "That sound means we run." He recognized the sound, an underground explosion. It was only thanks to a different adventure that he knew that unusual sound and he had only escaped that one unscathed with a burst of supernatural speed. He slung his sword back onto his back and went to his partner's side. "Do you need a hand?"

She slid her hand along the leather at her ribs: slick with blood, but not life-threatening. "I'm fine. We need to get those other bastards out of here." Isuelt sheathed her blade with only a grimace while she nodded back down the tunnel from which they came. Two unconscious slavers were still down there. "These three," looking to the more unfortunate miscreants, "Leave them to rot." Her tone was as malevolent as if she had spit on their corpses. The urgency in Victor's voice was not missed and she took off to try and salvage something of their venture into the Rhydin sewers. The information that the surviving slavers could supply might help the Watch slow or even end the current operating slave rings in Rhydin.

"If we are not concerned with their injuries, I can carry them both." One thing he could do was provide muscle for this enterprise. Literal muscle, in this case. Then he turned and began to run. The noise behind them, that terrifying echoing rumble that only came from explosions in confined space, only grew louder.

"You're on," she called as she was running at full speed. Isuelt knew that she wouldn't be able to carry one of them over her shoulder and still find a quick way out. And she sure as hell wasn't going to die down in a sewer. Her boots skidded to a halt as they arrived at the slavers who were just waking up. "Get up," she kicked at the first one as a louder BOOM hit. The ground shook and the walls around them began to crumble. Isuelt looked to the hole in the wall from which they had arrived from the mill, then up the tunnel leading away from the docks. She wasn't sure which way would get them out first. One thing was for sure, they'd have a hard time weaving their way back through the mill to get to the surface, especially with two criminals in tow and a busted staircase. "This way!" The ladder further up the tunnel might be a better choice. The Garou grabbed each of the slavers in turn, throwing them over his shoulders and producing moans of agony from each.

Isuelt reached the ladder, though another blast sent a shockwave through the tunnel that nearly knocked her off her feet. She looked past Victor's shoulder and saw a bright blast of light not far from where they had been standing. The slavers had set up a chain of charges and the explosions were heading right for them. She winced in pain as she reached up to grab the bottom rung of the ladder that would lead to street level. She wasn't sure if Victor would need help and as she climbed a few rungs, she reached down to aid him with at least one of the prisoners.

Her help made the climb much easier, as balancing not one but two bodies was precarious for those being carried. Victor's strength was on full display as he heaved one body behind him and one in front of him with Isuelt's help. As she got to the top of the ladder, the metal cover above her was their gate to freedom. However, this particular street cover seemed more tightly shut than it should have been. Isuelt could not afford to doubt herself and her ability as she threw her shoulder against it, ignoring the pain in her side. "Come on, you bastard?" Another push and she felt it budge. Her celebration was short-lived.

Just then the ladder, the walls, the cover, everything started to shake. A deep rumble in the tunnel grew louder and louder. Isuelt looked up and saw a galloping cloud of dust, debris and fire coming for them. The tunnel was collapsing. She swore under her breath and renewed the vigor of her swings against the cover. She heaved her fist to strike it once, twice, three times. Isuelt grunted with the fourth push and sent the street cover up and over, letting in the fresh air of the night. As quickly as she could, Isuelt climbed up the remaining few rungs and out onto the street, helping to drag out the slaver she had a hold of. She threw him aside with no real care for his well-being, he came to a halt after skidding face-first. The man grunted and spat at her (or the blurry form that he saw as her) before he passed out again. "You're welcome," came Isuelt's morose tone in between ragged breaths.

The second slaver was slung up out of the ground before Victor set foot on the street. Victor had been wrong about the extent of his injuries. The slaver had been playing possum, and picked that moment to scramble up and send a hard punch at the Garou's stomach, hoping to knock him back down the open manhole. Although it was a quick, surprising move, its effect could best be described as laughable with only a small thud to announce he even connected. Victor's retaliatory punch crashed into the man's head and sent him bouncing and rolling down the cobblestones to lie in a bleeding heap.

She rolled over onto her back as Victor moved to pick up the slavers once more onto his shoulders. He was safe. They had two hostages. They found how the slavers were trafficking from the West End to the Docks. All was right. Right' A plume of smoke and dust erupted from the open sewer cover, all those conscious could feel the heat from it as well. Holding her side, she sat up and let out a strangled exhale as she looked around. They were not far from the Queen Bee Mill, not even half a block. Isuelt was in the middle of getting her bearings, plodding out how far they had gone in the sewers and which exact direction so she could share it with Lieutenant Cullen when an explosion in the mill jarred her from her calculations. The mill was imploding, probably from the tunnel collapse below. "Fuck," she whispered through gasping breaths as she watched the building topple. That wasn't the worst of it, however. The two buildings on either side of the mill followed suit. It was like a dreadful domino effect. The buildings all crumbled in a row, one after another. Isuelt's eyes just shut as she hung her head and held her bloody side, trying to regain her breath. Today was not her best day.

"We still getting drinks after this?" At least Victor hadn't lost his sense of humor.