?Go. Now.?

Sofia DeMuer called to the driver as she ducked into the back seat of the anonymous black sedan, pulling the car door shut behind her. The hunter green scarf was unwound from around her neck, her lips pursed into a grim frown. Immediately, the car eased forward into traffic. ?And do not take a direct route home.?

Hope, the passenger already seated beside her in the back of the sedan, was dressed like a businesswoman in a designer suit with her blonde hair swept up in a twist even if her professional world was not the traditional sort. Cat-like green eyes lingered on Sophie as the chauffeured car wound through the narrow roads of Dockside. ?Was it him??

?Yes, it was,? Sophie responded quickly as she set the scarf down in her lap with a heavy exhale. She didn?t turn to meet those green eyes for fear of the judgement that might be read in them. Hope was a holdover from Sophie?s Rhovnik days, an employee that Sophie could not part with when she left the Rhovniks to marry Alain. With those many years at Sophie?s side came experience and secrets. Several of which involved Colt Daniels who, after all, she should have killed a long time ago. Instead of facing the knowing look in Hope?s eyes, Sophie?s tone turned a touch demanding. ?Are you covering my tracks? We don?t want him following.?

?Yes, of course. I can only mask your aura trail from him for a mile or so but that should be enough.? As long as Colt?s tracking power hadn?t improved too much. The words lay unspoken between them but heavy in Hope?s tone. There was no point in voicing them. They both knew how unknowingly dangerous Colt could be. ?Why didn?t you talk to him??

No amount of deep, cleansing breaths could eliminate the flustered tone. Hearing it in her own voice only served to feed her ravenous anxiety. Her hands wrapped around the scarf, fingers gripping onto it tightly. ?I don?t know why he?s here. Why would he show up here now? I need more information before I speak with him. I don?t know what he?s after.?

?Soph, he may not be after anything. This is Colton Daniels we?re talking about here.? Hope?s tone was gentle, prodding her employer towards Hope?s own theory.

It wasn?t one that Hope needed to push her towards. Sophie agreed easily, nodding her head slowly as she finally dared allow her eyes to swing towards Hope?s sharp, narrowed eyes. ?That?s exactly what I fear. If he is not here on his own accord then he is being manipulated by another.?

?Yet again,? Hope breathed out in disappointment. The complicated magic which Hope was currently working to hide Sophie's trail of energy from Colt was almost undetectable in Hope's face and posture. One had to know what they were looking for -- a furrowed brow in concentration, absently twitching fingers as spells of protection were weaved in their wake -- to know that she was hard at work.

Sophie gave a slow, discouraged nod as her head turned towards her window to stare through the passing scenery. ?Yet again,? she repeated Hope?s phrasing back in agreement.

Colt Daniels had never been afraid of the dark. It wasn?t because he was particularly brave. He?d readily admit that anything courageous he did probably emanated out of stupidity rather than valor. The reason he had never been afraid of the dark simply came down to the fact that sight wasn?t his most predominant sense so when it was cut off he didn?t feel as blind as most might. Thanks to a dog-like degree of sensitivity, he could smell someone coming a lot sooner than he could see them, even in the middle of the day.

Not only could it tell him who was on their way but often he could tell where they had been, who they had been with, and sometimes even what they had been doing. The downside, of course, to being able to smell better than the average bear was, well, being able to smell better than the average bear.

Frowning grimly, he tried to filter out the stench of garbage and filth that filled the back alley leading towards the Inn. Instead, he tried to focus in on Anya?s energy wake. To him, that particular wake tasted like brown sugar, smelled like cinnamon, and felt like a warm spring day. It was inherently Anya. And Anya was just who he was looking for. Whether or not the blonde was truly in trouble like some of her friends were claiming, he did not know but he was intent on finding her to make sure she?d merely escaped the hustle and bustle of town for a couple days and hadn?t been spirited off by some unknown kidnapper.

He had started at the Boar?s Nest and followed that particular sensation to the alley behind the Red Dragon Inn. But here is where it got shaky. Several attempts from the alley had only gotten him waylaid on another trail of hers, leading him in circles around her home, the bakery, and the Inn. He huffed an exhale as he started from the alley once again, searching through the wakes to try to narrow in on Anya?s most recent trail.

"Mr. Daniels?" The words echoed down the alley to the tracker, with their owner following in their wake. "Or do you prefer Colton." It sounded like a joke, from the kind of man who found all the wrong things amusing. This rather aptly described Ian Hest, who was an otherwise unremarkable man: late thirties, medium height, with a receding hairline and growing paunch.

But he appeared completely and unnervingly self-assured approaching his dangerous quarry in an alleyway. That had a lot to do with the trio of men approaching Colton Daniels from behind, dressed in long coats perfect for concealing a skilled thug's weapons.

Later Colt would admonish himself for not smelling that they were coming sooner. It probably wouldn?t have made a difference but that didn?t stop himself in the days that followed from punishing himself for his single mindedness and allowing the stench to hide their approach. The relative anonymity he thought he'd found in RhyDin should have been blown sky high the moment he had seen Sophie Rhovnik. He should have been more prepared.

Unarmed, outnumbered, there was nothing he could do but hold his ground. "Seems you've got the advantage of knowin' my name. Should I know yours?"

"Of course." He stopped ten feet short and clasped his hands behind his back. "Where are my manners? I am Ian Hest, Field Operations Lead for Alastair, Adder & Associates." He held up a hand abruptly; the trio of thugs stopped a few feet behind Daniels, and Hest continued, "For the purposes of our business, you can consider me... a talent scout."

Colt gave a laugh. It lacked its usual warmth. His eyes bounced towards the trio before finding Hest once again. "Well, Mr. Hest, I've got a bum shoulder at the moment. Not much use as a linebacker if I'm in pain with every tackle. Maybe you should come back and check in with me in a couple months."

Hest didn't have to say anything. His eyes ticked to one side, and suddenly one of the men behind Daniels punched him hard, right beneath the ribs. This served two purposes: it let him know how serious Alastair-Adder was, and it effectively shut him up while Ian Hest made his pitch.

And this also was hardly the first time Colt had been punched to shut him up. It was an effective maneuver. The air was shoved out of his lungs making speech virtually impossible and, even if it were possible, Colt was doubled over too gripped by the pain to form coherent sentences.

Hest turned from playful to outright nasty on a dime. "I couldn't give a shit about your 'career.' This is about the only thing you've got going for you, Mr. Daniels, your sixth sense. It's no secret, not to my employers anyway. But we wanna know how it works, and you're gonna help us, and we'll all get richer. Even you." He leaned forward to look Daniels in the eye. "Just some tests. We figure out how you tick, then you put fifty grand in your pocket and go on your merry way. You understand me, Mr. Daniels?"

He drew in a shaky breath to reinflate his lungs and then let it go, repeating the motion in silence until he felt he could control his voice enough to attempt speech. Still, though, it came in a low raspy growl, bristling in instantaneous anger. "I ain't your goddamn guinea pig. You understand me, Mr. Hest?"

"Fucking prick," Hest hissed, but he didn't raise a hand. He didn't have to. The next moment the trio of thugs were upon him, punching him in the gut and throwing him to the ground. "Take a finger," Hest decided, turning his back on the scene.

He'd gotten him out of these messy situations for so long and this time he didn't even have a chance. The air was driven from his lungs by another punch and he was on the ground before he could protest. The groan that cut through the air as a boot struck his ribs had to come from him but he couldn't identify it. A boot then mashed down hard on his left wrist to keep it in place as the distinctive sound of the spring of a switchblade as it was shoved open. Panicked, his eyes remained transfixed on the fingers outstretched on the ground.

Hest paused at the end of the alleyway and once again raised a hand. "You know... What the hell. Just break it."

Crack.

June 2007
Duluth, Georgia

"Walt! Walt! Where are you?"

Sunlight slipped in through the cracks in the curtains spilling mid morning light into the bedroom of the craftsman style home. Frantic footsteps sounded through the house in rapid succession, bare feet slapping against original hardwoods. Sophie pulled open the closet door and shifted through the surprisingly few shoes that were on the floor of the closet. It was a detail that she was hoping wouldn't be noticed. After all, her real residence was some six hours further north in South Carolina. This home had been rented and staged just for this game.

Thankfully for the holes in the facade, the victim of this game had been heavily drugged and was only now beginning to come around.

The pain came first and memories followed. Colt remembered the gorgeous brunette who had proven to be quite entertaining when they had gotten back to her house. She had been athletic. He loved them athletic. There was the memory of some foreign language whispered in his ear in the height of passion. But after that, it was fuzzy. He had meant to leave. He never stayed the night. Yet, here he was.

Shoving himself up in bed, he lifted a hand to hold his pounding head as he was fairly certain that half of it was about to crack right off. A groan escaped his throat as he tested his eyes and focused them in on the brunette. What was her name? And who was Walt?

Sophie answered the second question before it could be voice. A hand reached up sweeping sleep tousled brown hair from her eyes. ?My puppy. Walt. He?s missing. I guess I was so drunk I left the back door open.? Although not normally present, there wasn?t anything the least bit affected about the sweet Southern drawl she used. After all, half of her bloodline ran deep in cotton and tobacco.

A dog. She was looking for a dog. The entire world felt tipped on its axis to Colt. What had he been drinking the night before? He forced himself to his feet, leaning over in spite of the pain to scrounge up his discarded clothing. ?I?m sorry to hear that. I should go.?

?You can?t go!? Her voice squealed in desperation as she closed the gap between them to wrap her hands too tightly around his football-enhanced bicep. ?You?ve got to help me find Walt!?

Somehow -- Lord only knows exactly how -- Colt managed not to vocalize the curse that was reverberating through his head. This. This, right here, was why he always tried to slip out in the early morning hours, long before the date from the night before could wake up. He tried to extract his arm from her hand but found it unwilling to budge. Right, athletic.

How hard could it be? It was just a puppy. He didn?t have his old lab, Hunter, with him but he didn?t need the bird dog for such a simple task. Even now he could see the puppy?s energy wake bouncing through the room. The sweet smell of puppy breath hung in the air detectable to his over sensitive nose. He could have this dog found in fifteen minutes and then slip out as the athletic brunette hugged the puppy in relief.

?Fine,? he allowed with a heavy exhale as he settled on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes.

?I?m coming with you. He must be so scared,? she stated as she quickly threw on a pair of jeans and shoved her feet into flip flops.

She didn?t exactly appear smart enough to catch on to his sixth sense. There seemed no harm in using it in her presence so her desire to come was met only with a shrug. ?As long as you?re quiet.? The puppy?s energy did trail out of the bedroom, through the kitchen, and out the back door. It hesitated at the trash can near the back door as Walt seemed to have gotten a sniff of something that he found interesting. Then it continued on to the woods behind the house. With a forlorn glance back towards his truck parked in the street in front of the house, he headed into the woods.

With Sophie hot on his heels. She kept quiet as instructed. There was no point in speaking anyway. Her acting job was done. Colt had taken the bait. Now she need only let it play out, let him fall into their trap.

They trudged deeper still through undergrowth, past centuries old oaks, and around scrubby pines. Walt?s energy winded and wrapped through the dense woods. Had the sedatives he?d been slipped the night before not still be thrumming through his bloodstream, making his head woozy, perhaps he would have noticed the puppy?s odd one mindedness. This was not the route of a dog out loose on an adventure. He was headed somewhere.

Or being led somewhere.

That somewhere became obvious as they broke free of the growth and emerged into a clearing beyond. The blue tick coon hound puppy sat on its haunches at the feet of a brunette. A brunette who looked quite a bit like the one Colt had spent the previous night enjoying. Not close enough to be twins. But sisters. Definitely sisters. There was a blonde as well who was wearing shoes too expensive to be worn this deep into the Georgia backwoods and who was sporting a pained expression on her face as if she were in the middle of something that took a great deal of concentration.

Coming up short as he stepped into the opening, Colt realized that neither of the women had energy trails. No, they were there. They were just being blocked.

Panic welled up in his stomach. He turned on his heels but the athletic brunette from the night before was blocking his path deeper into the woods. A grin had settled on her lips. An intelligent grin. He?d been had.

?Hope, did he track Walt here?? she asked, letting her eyes slide past Colt to the blonde.

Hope gave a single, slow nod. Her tone was strained as she answered shortly. ?He did. And it was easy for him.?

?Great.? Sophie gave a single nod as her attention returned to Colt. ?Well, Colt Daniels, I?m Sophie Rhovnik and I have a job offer for you.?

Ian Hest had taken pains to mask his aura for his first 'meeting' with Colton Daniels, but since then he had not. Perhaps it was an oversight on his part, or simply too expensive. Then again, maybe he didn't mind being found? Whatever his reason, Hest had become a very easy man to track. He stayed in a ramshackle waterfront safehouse owned by his firm, not far from Dickie's Dirk & Dagger. Only his thugs ever seemed to leave, bringing back supplies and the occasional woman.

Today, Hest stepped out. I've been cooped up in that shithole for weeks, so he left early for his meeting to walk across town. In his mind RhyDin was at least as much of a sh*thole, but anything was better than staring at the same four walls. He reached the Marketplace and checked his watch.

Ten minutes late. He picked up the pace.

At two and a half inches over six feet and with the build of a professional linebacker, Colt had never been able to disappear into crowds very well. However, the average RhyDinian male was larger than the average Georgian and it certainly helped that to trail Hest, Colt didn't need to keep visual contact.

Hest's energy wake felt like one of those bars that tried a little too hard to be swanky and upscale. He smelled of a combination of expensive cologne and desperation. Colt felt the energy trail pick up pace. Even though he couldn't see Hest through the sea of people running errands after work or picking up a few extra groceries for dinner, he knew that he was no more than fifty yards ahead.

He tugged down the brim of his faded ball cap and picked up his own pace.

The trail entered a dark, dusty old antique shop, and clear through to the other side. Only a little sunlight filtered through the front windows, but there was more coming in the back. A courtyard beyond it? "Closed," said the sign on the front door, still rattling from being turned, but the shopkeeper still stood behind the counter, arms folded, watching the front of the store.

Luckily for the tracker there was an alley on the other side of the building, and the remains of a rusty old fire escape attached to the abandoned flats across the narrow way. Two voices carried over the courtyard's six-foot stone wall, both of them men's.

Colt didn't slow as he approached the door. His pace was kept casual. It helped that in jeans and his old, battered coat, he could easily pass as just another dock worker in this town. He slid down the alley towards the stone wall. Straining to hear the voices only confirmed that one of them was indeed Hest. Unfortunately, he did not have a dog-like sense of hearing like his dog-like sense of smell. However, the stone wall gave way to a wrought iron gate, creating less of a sound barrier between him and the men. He slid to a stop against the wall next to gate, letting the evening shadows mask his presence. From here, he could hear the pair of men's conversation.

Next to Hest's cologne the other man's scent still came through, the aroma of fresh green hops, roasted malt and gunpowder, all at once... but he felt like death, the imagined feeling of plunging into icy black water and watching the sunlight fade while you sank. "I understand, of course."

You'd f*cking well better," Hest shot back, and paced. "It's me, me who's the only one who can buy your sorry ass some badly needed peace of mind, spare you from Alastair-Adder's wrath. We both know you're in deep sh*t, so you'd better not f*ck this up."

Hest's rant was heard and processed but Hest mouthing off was hardly news. Deep down, though, Colt knew Hest was making a mistake talking disrespectfully to the second man. The second man's chilly energy hung in the air. Death. Darkness. The empty, hollow feeling was nearly choking. Colt drew in another deep breath, filtering the second man's scent from Hest's. There was something else there. Someone he had been near -- very near -- that struck his nose. He knew that scent. Colt exhaled before drawing it in again.

New scents went into the air, a whiff of ozone as the other man struck a lighter, and the tobacco from his cigarillo. "Are you even listening to me, DeMuer?"

DeMuer. He sighed slowly. "There's no need to be dramatic. I'm here to do business, aren't I. And it's an easy business. Your people need Colton Daniels, and I need your people out of my hair."

"Yeah. Easy. That's right." But Hest certainly felt uneasy. There had to be more to this. "And there's not a damn thing more you'd want from this, right?"

DeMuer laughed quietly. "Maybe just one. Your tracker's made a lot of enemies, including a few of my more wayward allies. I want your guarantee that this experiment will kill him."

It was Hest's turn to laugh, a nasty bark of a laugh. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

DeMuer. Colt nearly cursed aloud. The scent that lingered around this DeMuer man was then recognized -- Sophie. Not her perfume or soap. Those things changed over the years. It was deeper than that. The smell of well worn leather from old books and... and spilled blood. She would always smell of spilled blood to him. Where Rhovniks went, violence followed.

It seemed this time was no exception to that rule. Sophie hadn't been offering him protection, she'd been writing his death sentence. DeMuer wasn't here to help. He was here to make sure Hest did the job right.

DeMuer's scent and energy trail were committed to memory. Oil-stained hands sunk deeper into the pockets of his coat. He'd heard enough and he certainly wouldn't make the job easier for either of them by being caught alone in a dingy alley. Tucking his chin in low, he turned on his heels and casually trailed back out of the alley.

Colt would be damned if they'd take him down without at least one of those sons of bitches going down with him.

There was an awful lot of following going on in RhyDin. Tenacity had started keeping tabs on Colt somewhere between the reprisal of her one cigarette/two cups of coffee a day routine and his borderline obsessive pursuit of the Baron. This was only her first real attempt at tailing the tracker; the one other time she'd flirted with the idea had just been a test of how far away she had to keep and she'd been so wary, she'd lost him after only a block. However, with the wind in her favor tonight, she'd been bold enough to keep (relatively) close. She'd heard the door clang from the outside, then furrowed her brow and froze in place. She couldn't continue--her luck has been pushed to the brink.

It looked like Tenacity's luck had been pushed beyond the brink tonight. Hest arrived right over her shoulder, flanked by five of his goons. He grabbed a handful of hair, yanked on it, and jammed a revolver into her cheek. "Let's go in and say hi, babe. How's that sound."

All that Krav Maga had taught her not to panic, but to react instead. In fact, she had an elbow and a foot poised to strike when her head was so rudely jerked back. It was only the cold metal digging into her skin that made her think twice. She rasped out a threat and lowered her limbs. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Hest marched into the warehouse with three of his goons, the two others waiting outside for his return, marching Tenacity in front of him. He stopped them not far from the door, pushed the gun a little harder against her jawbone for emphasis. "Well well, what the hell do we have here, folks!" he laughed humorlessly. His tone soon turned openly sour: "Seriously. What the *** are you stupid good-for-nothing evolutionary-throwback assholes doing?" His hired guns fanned out, two armed with pistols, one carrying what looked like an MP5. ***.

"Weeding out the disloyal, that's all," Alain said, and jerked his head to indicate Yeardley. "I think we've seen enough from Miss Owens tonight, don't you agree, Harper." He steadied his aim on Colt with a grin. "What's more, I've got you exactly what you asked for. Your bloodhound, in the flesh."

Harper's lips thinned, and she nodded once, a curt gesture as she eased slightly to her left, a little closer to the pair, her semi ostensibly pointed at Yeardley.

Yeardley and Harper? If the gun against Tenacity's face had been a shock, then this...well. There just wasn't an appropriate word for it. She lifted both brows, switched to furrowing them on Alain, and then tilted her gaze down enough to try and view the muzzle prodding her. She'd need to wait to deal with that.

Yeardley shifted to tug the dagger out from beneath her coat, palming it to offer over the hilt to Colt. Best she could do; she still wasn't great with them, he might fair better.

The dagger that was pressed into Colt's palm went almost unnoticed. His eyes were firmly affixed on Ten. The guns, of course, got cursory glances. He knew where they all were in the warehouse and the size of each man holding one but he couldn't keep his eyes off Ten. "***."

Harper didn't react to Tenacity's presence at all. Some strange bimbo hanging out with the wrong sort of man who got herself caught in the middle of a mess. Nothing new, and no skin off of her freckled nose for all that she paid overt heed.

"Ha!" Hest barked. "Jesus, DeMuer. That's a hell of a way to clean house. Grab him," he said to his goons, tilting his head toward Colt. His men began to move, fanning out toward the gardener and the tracker.

"I'll participate in your experiments or whatever." The dagger slid free of Colt's hand to clatter against the floor. Then his eyes slid over to Hest, trying to concentrate on the man rather than the gun aimed Ten's way. He'd offer up the only thing he had to negotiate with -- his cooperation. "Whatever you want. But Ten and Yeardley walk out. I really don't give a flyin' *** what you do to the other two."

Alain lowered his weapon, as the situation with Colt appeared to be well in hand; Hest's gunmen visibly relaxed as the tracker appeared to be giving in. "I get Colton. What happens to the others - ha," Hest shrugged, "that's up to you, pal. But really - " Hest should have been playing closer attention. As soon as he was distracted enough, Alain's weapon flew back up and he took the shot, not far over Tenacity's shoulder, close enough to move her hair. The bullet went through the center-right of Hest's forehead.

First click of the trigger had her turning to aim over Colt's shoulder towards one of the goons, damn good aim for a landscaper. Colt might be hard of hearing for the ringing, but she didn't make him bleed. When bullets entered ears it made a nice explosion inside a head. And so the dude fell, already twisting to follow up on a second that was too close to Colt's back.

The next came from Harper, and took the closest thug through the nose. A short arc to the right and a second went down in a crack of sound and a spray of blood and brains fanning across the cement floor.

The sudden paleness of Tenacity's skin really made the blood and the brain matter on her stand out. The weight of Hest's body crashing to the floor had her sinking down just enough to catch the gun that had slipped with him. How easily his fingers could've jerked when he'd been hit. She stared at the weapon in her hands, a silver circle still marking her cheek where the muzzle had been, underneath all the gore.

Luckily, Colt's hearing wasn't one of those senses that had a dog-like sensitivity. The ringing in his ears was bad enough. A moment's hesitation had occurred upon realizing that Alain did seem to be on his side. A hand reached out to grab Ten's wrist and he was immediately yanking her towards the pallets. As much safety as could currently be found.

There was a short burst from the man with the MP5 toward Harper and DeMuer's corner, and DeMuer shot twice as he went down with a little bit of meat missing from his shoulder. Both shots hit the man with the MP5 in the torso, who stumbled backwards but did not fall just yet.

Harper dove for the ground as the volley started to her left, and aimed, elbows propped on solid ground, squeezing her finger and not daring to breathe.

Harper went down, Colt moved, Ten was shell shocked; the landscaper followed the pair, sort of shove-rolling behind the pallets with them.

The blood-soaked MP5 skittered across the floor toward the stack of pallets. Alain was curled behind a pillar, clutching his shoulder, when the two men outside opened up with their Desert Eagles at the rickety warehouse walls, hoping at least a few of the high-caliber bullets would strike home.

"Hey bloodhound!" Alain yelled in Colt's direction. That earned another bullet from outside coming his way, but it struck the pillar harmlessly. "You ever shoot an automatic?"

A growl reverberated deep in his throat. It would do no good in getting Alain to think him any less of a canine but it couldn't be helped. "I worked for the goddamn Rhovniks. What do you think?"

He released his hold on Ten close to Yeardley. Once again, Yeardley was entrusted with Ten. Blood staining Yeardley's shoulder drew his eyes in passing. The wound didn't seem to be bleeding profusely enough to require immediate attention and if the last two gunmen weren't dispatched, a flesh wound would be the least of her problems.

Without a second thought, he made a dash for the MP5. Behind another stack of pallets, the submachine gun rattled off a retort at the pair of men that were still on their feet. Now it was down to a single one. And, hopefully, Harper had a better look at him.

Once Colt was armed and firing, she seized the opportunity to scramble up and take the cover behind the concrete and rebar of a support column. Alain was maybe twenty feet away from her now, behind another pillar, close enough that she could probably shield his escape if he retreated for the other door. One more out there, maybe. Maybe. The air in the warehouse was too fogged with smoke to be certain.

"Keep firing!" She shouted at Colt to be heard over the report of the weapon. She needed the cover for this.

The MP5 rent the air with another buzzing volley and she reached into the cargo pocket of her trousers for the little apple-sized C-13. Then she took one giant step to the left, exposing herself to fire from the door. "Just like pitching a baseball," she reminded herself aloud as she pulled the pin.

"Frag out!" she shouted as she threw it, with a running dive for Alain.

The dive from Harper knocked Alain off his feet, but he didn't hear himself land over the ringing in his ears. All he could see was smoke, dust and splintered wood... but no more muzzle flashes from the gunman out front. The C-13 had finished the fight, the last of Hest's team killed within a minute of the first shot fired.

He checked his watch. Text flickered across the screen: his Watch contacts hadn't been able to buy them any time, not after a gunfight of this magnitude The moment the ringing subsided and noise returned to his world, he called out, "Cops arrive in two minutes."

They would have to deal with the fallout later. They split up, each group choosing a different alley to disappear down as the shrill of Watch whistles grew louder.

((From live RP with the players of Tenacity, Harper, Colt and Yeardley, with thanks!))