Chapter 2

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week 2, Day 5 - Week 4, Day 6
Summary: Chapter 2 prompts!
Restrictions/Warnings: Violence, blood, et cetera. For anything surpassing 'R' on a rating scale, please create your own log.
Notes: Please title your subject line in the following format -- Open / Closed | Date. OOC event information can be found here.

Quick Navigation
The Nine
The Company
Westies
True Leithians
Leith
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine: Poisoned Well

With the heir delivered and Lady Derrish returning to health, balance has been maintained amongst the Nine. Swift and efficient - and, some would say, unbelievable - medical attention administered may have steadied the Lady's life, but for those in the ruling houses, the atmosphere of tenuous peace only grows thicker. Land Kendry has launched an investigation - with particular focus on Land Hyponia - into the source of the 'attack' on Lady Derrish's health. Of course, that is only the surface, and some suggest, with hushed voices, that there may be more to Land Kendry's goals than to weed out an assailant. Land Hyponia has long since been in support of maintaining the Seventh Generation Accords, which it defends staunchly against any opposition. One of the most agitated among those in disagreement with the Accords is Land Kendry. Now is the perfect opportunity for them to rearrange the pieces in their favor, and with the information they've fabricated, they'll be able to replace the head of Land Hyponia with someone who is - at least hopefully - more pliable to their agenda. The Derrish have their own suspicions, the cure surfacing all too conveniently timed to have been a coincidence. When Land Kendry's investigation procures evidence pointing to Land Hyponia as the culprits, inflaming the crime with implied - yet vague - ties to the resistance, the Derrish publically accept the accusation. Behind closed doors, the solution seemed to have come as uncannily easily as the cure, and suspicions only rise. But for now, the two houses remain allied - ready to use one another for their own interests. For those among the nobility, it's the time to reevaluate alliances, assuring the old and gathering the new. The more support you have, the safer you are - unless, of course, you chose the wrong friend. Some turn to other members of the nobility, some to the RAC for hired guards, some to the Company to mandate investigations unsuitable for Killjoys, and some may even turn to the underbelly of society to accomplish anything necessary to stay on top. Or to simply stay alive.

The Company: Cleaning House

There will be no accolades, and no rest, for the hard working Company officials following the response to the True Leithan attacks. Assignments shift from one thing to the next, moving from bureaucratic nightmare to bureaucratic nightmare. While there’s always busy work to distract from the intrigue behind the scenes, it’s not liable to be any safer. Some officials will be charged with maintaining peace and order on Leith, as the outbreak of a pandemic slowly spreads over the moon. From helping the afflicted find their way to a place of treatment, to safe and efficient body disposal—burning corpses by the hundreds—to attempting to track down the source of the virus, it's best anyone assigned here take heed ‘lest they find themselves falling ill as well. Westerley, on the other hand, is a different kind of headache. With Harvest Week in swing, most company officials will be reaching for a drink of their own at the end of their shifts. Rowdy workers celebrating their time off, spending their hard earned Joy frivolously, and citizens whisked away by the atmosphere of celebration all mingle throughout Old Town. Property damage, fighting, less than subtle illegal activity, and crowding all become more of an issue than they usually are during this time. It's the perfect setting to lay down the law, or to not be noticed by it. On top of it all, each and every member of the Company's workforce can expect to have their documents double and triple-checked. Those with any suspected ties to Leith are likely to undergo a more serious investigation. One-on-one interrogations become common practice, and whether you're trusted or suspect, you may come face to face with a companion in your duties. True Leithan sympathizers are what the Company review is after, but anything else unturned will surely not be ignored. Cover your bases.

Westies: Harvest Week

Harvest week is in full swing throughout Westerley - visa workers have been shuttled back in droves from their time on Leithian farms, many of whom were willing to take some of their observations to information brokers for a price. Most had superficial information to sell (the state of unease on the average farm due to the impending Accords, the increased suspicion that the migrant workers were forced to endure, the fear of retaliation by the rebellion for the True Leithian attacks), others with reports of increased security and weapons caches on the farms of those whose sympathies lie with the “heroes” of the attack in Old Town. Old Town, however, is even more of a chaotic mesh of humanity with the mass influx of returning bodies. Bars stay busy day and night, the hokk and ale flow almost faster than most can keep up, and many Enforcers and Killjoys alike can make a good bit of extra joy (or free drinks) by moonlighting as security at the more popular locations. Despite all of the fun to be had, there is still the undercurrent of unrest, because Company checks have increased even more and Intake has become a revolving door of petty criminals being held for the smallest infractions. Everyone is on edge as the Resistance grumbles and the Nine search the shadows for something or perhaps someone. The unrest only worsens once Leith is placed under quarantine. And through it all, criminal activity is on the rise. Somehow, despite the strict regulation and transport of migrant workers, there is an increased access to Jakk and Bliss. Norn has an ever growing market, and weapons dealers are in high demand both in Eulogy and by private buyers alike. Something is brewing beneath the revelry, and no one wants to be caught unable to defend themselves, it seems. Not that any amount of firepower can defend against disease when P43X shows up on W3D7--but it can certainly make the symptoms worse.

True Leithians: Second Stage

Wounded and pressed to a corner, the beast rears its head and bares a maw of teeth and ruthless pursuit. The True Leithian organization does not take pause to mend wounds left in the wake of last week’s retaliation, no. They do not seek the comfort of safe haven and recovery. Instead they turn their anger and fear inward, sacrificing their own for what they believe to be the greater good. On Week 2, Day 6, three individuals slip into the crowds of Leith, mingling with the revelers and the families celebrating Harvest Week. They share smiles and laughter, they share conversation and drinks, but most importantly, they share infection. Each of the three is responsible for disseminating P43X, a viral bioweapon designed by Zan Nikora on behalf of the military in years past. During its conception, the aim of P43X was simple: to create a weapon which could demoralize and destabilize an entire population within a matter of days. To create madness that builds in the blood and eats into the brain, spreading through every tier of society. And though its use has long been out of commission, its engineer has lingered. Zan Nikora, kidnapped and held under threat of death not to himself but to those he holds dearest, is made to choose between the lives of his family on Westerley or the strangers on Leith. His choice is obvious, though far from easy. Reassembling the buried curse takes time, supplies, and testing. He is provided amply with the last two but scarcely with the first. But still he complies. When his madness maker is complete and his existence becomes a potential loose end, it’s not freedom that Zan Nikora tastes, but the poison of his own medicine. Only once the voices in his head have risen above whispers and turned to screams, when his mind can no longer hold secrets worth sharing, does he see his family again. It takes six days*. Six days and Zan Nikora stumbles through Old Town, eyes unseeing, mind riddled with disease—infection spreading. Mod Note: *W3D6. Cure and vaccines will be developed and disseminated beginning on W4D3, but will not be fully administered to all locations until W4D5.

Leith: Pocket Posies

Harvest Week in Leith marks a period of joy and relief. Bazaars are open longer, the ordinary bustle of the business day replaced with celebration and festivities throughout the evening hours. Vendors offer games for adults and children alike, the sky is a constant wash of soft pinks, purples, and greens from holographic firework shows, and music fills the air from different stages. All walks of life are welcome to join in the merriment, just so long as they have the right to be there. Anyone suspected of an invalid visa or citizenship papers are dealt with harshly, but quietly. Tucked away into the darkness of a holding cell like all of Leith’s more problematic elements. It is a time of peace and relief, this week, and they will not abide disruption. But within the hallowed days of celebration, a sickness grows, incubating. Spreading. First, it begins with an ache deep within the muscles. The body tires too quickly, the flesh burns with a blanket of rising fever. Whispers skirt at the edge of hearing, unintelligible but audible, filling the audio cortex with illusions and lies. Food loses its appeal, though the body yearns dearly for energy it cannot hold, and breathing becomes tighter, harder. Next the tide of high fevers, of lethargy. The brain devolves into paranoia and mania, the mind races with delusions and hallucinations. Pain follows, a pain that seems to emanate from every nerve without relief or pause, seeping through the muscles and aching within the very bones of a person. Some may wish for death, and for many, that wish will be granted in an unending sleep when the fatigue pulls darkness across the mind, plunges the last thoughts of a person into static slumber. But not all will succumb so readily, and therein is the weakness that ultimately shelved P43X during its initial creation. Its impacts are not uniform—while much of the population suffers dearly, most are sustained with timely medical interventions, and many others recover with the prowess of their own immune system. For Leith, bountiful in money and supplies, most of P43X’s more fatal properties are circumvented or delayed. But even in this lush world of affluence and peace, there are the poor, the underprivileged, and the weak. They are not afforded the same haste of care, the same salvation. Instead, they’re given graves of sanitizing fires, and their bodies turn to ash.

Resistance: Sleeping Dogs

The chaos of the festivities that go along with Harvest Week provides the perfect cover for the Resistance to begin moving once again. New cells need to be formed in the wake of so many executions and new members need to be recruited. Info brokers with Resistance-leaning sympathies have an opportunity to make a little extra joy by putting the disconnected sympathizers in contact with one another, aiding the vetting of Company insiders that need new handlers within the organization. For Resistance members already embedded within, they need to work now to find new locations to store what supplies remain and to begin rebuilding the stockpiles of weapons and supplies re-confiscated by the Company. Some may have heard of abandoned mines or facilities that can be retrofitted out in the Badlands while others are needed to track down rumors of Company made fallout shelters located within the under-city tunnels. For this, Company moles are essential - the only hope of accessing these shelters is with long forgotten Company passcodes. And the Scarbacks, well. Everyone’s heard rumors that there are many within their ranks willing to help with recruitment and contraband transportation, though there’s little the Company can do to restrict their movements at this time. Because of this, Scarbacks may also be the only ones that have a chance of getting into Leith once the quarantines go into effect. Those already aligned with the rebellion will be tasked with coordinating supply movements, making a deal or three with the devil on behalf of those unwilling to back down from the promises of the Accords. Caution and purpose should drive their movements because if the True Leithian attack is any indication… those nationalists are not going to let go of their precious land and status without a long, bloody fight.

The RAC: Holding Pattern

Warrants still flow in with a regular consistency - enough to keep the average team or agent quite busy. Every harvest season there are visa jumpers that need to be caught and low-level warrants claiming petty theft from farms by Westie migrants. The increasing number of disturbances and crimes in Old Town guarantee a plethora of local warrants to capture criminals across the moon or those that managed to escape an Enforcer’s arrest. Some, however, have either been requested by Seyah Kendry herself or volentold by their seniors within the RAC to conduct investigations into the attack on the Nine. And not all of these investigations are on the Lady’s behest. Some of the Nine aren’t quite willing to take Land Kendry’s word as law and have quietly requested their own investigations into the attack in Old Town and the Land Derrish misfortunes. (MOD NOTE: There will be a comment thread for teams to sign up for the specialized plot related warrants on the monthly warrant post, located HERE. Once teams have posted for a plot warrant, the mods will give them a location and focused assignment.)

Comments

mid/late week 4 somewhere, while we wait for warrant rng.

[tirejacked]

[The question of the hour—how's a former military lab rat get the moxie and the means to launch a large-scale bioattack all on his lonesome?

(The answer, of course, is that he doesn't.)

Not that figuring that out is their job, officially. Just bringing him in. But nosiness is a bad habit of many. The simplest route to figuring out what's going on behind the scenes involves getting Zan Nikora to give his side of the story. And someone's got to agree, because the price tag on the warrant to retrieve him is no joke. Despite the outbreak starting on Leith, current leads still point to Westerley. At the moment, their best option mostly involves canvassing the city. Sifting through the masses of the sick and raving for signs of a guy who seems to fit the description. Running down sightings from feverish locals that may or may not have been halluncinations in the first place, erratic movements that all seem to imply that maybe Nikora's not exactly in his right mind anymore, either.

The needle-in-a-haystack approach. Which takes time, and manpower. And luck, which is probably the most frustrating piece of it all. If Nikora's off his rocker on his own virus, it makes him a lot harder to predict.

They're in the neighborhood, so a little double-duty in the way of passing out supplies doesn't set them back much, as long as they're quick. In the midst of chasing their tails, the cure still needs delivering and administering, and Westerley gets access at the bottom of the priority list, so it comes in at a trickle. The clinics are scattered away from the shipments, set up in tents and shantytowns where they lack facilities with the space for the number of the sick. Right now, Jason's waiting outside, hands in pockets. Leaning on the wall and waiting for Damian to finish whatever it is he's doing so they can get back on the trail.

Perhaps uncharacteristically, he doesn't seem to feel the need to snipe.]

Done?

[Clock's ticking.]

let him rest jason

[bittybat]

[Surprising. Damian is prepared to issue sass in return, but receives none, and he thinks that's a little odd for Jason.

So he peers peculiarly at Jason for a moment or two after he returns from delivering supplies to Lunafreya. (Something he does regularly, shut UP.)] Finished.

[But he hands out something rolled up in wax paper.] Fleuret wanted me to give you this. [Because she's a stupid girl, stupid healer Scarback who stupidly cares.

She had received some desserts from another supply drop, decided to give two of them to Damian and Jason, when he Jason was waiting on him. It's something similar to a cream-filled donut.] She said to tell you hello.

pinches his cheeks

[tirejacked]

[Damian's a frequent enough visitor to the clinic that he's got an in with the (overworked, understaffed) healers, which helps when they're nosing in on the understandably-busy operations in search of one particular John Doe. While Jason's familiar with the peculiarities of the Scarbacks, he's still very much an outsider. So he'd been content to keep out of the way and watch the door while Damian made the delivery, but he accepts the paper-wrapped pastry without thinking. Pauses to frown and turn it over in his hands only once he catches up to the unexpected gesture.

(He doesn't owe much to the order so much as to one woman in particular, and it's been a long time since he burned that bridge, anyway.)

It's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it beat before he pushes himself off the wall he'd been leaning against. Unwrapping the top of the pastry, he takes a bite, gesturing at Damian with the rest and speaking through a mouthful like the heathen he is.]

Thank your girlfriend for me later, we're on the clock.

[There we go. That's a little closer to normal.]

[bittybat]

She isn't my girlfriend! [ALSO HE'S TEN?? AND SHE IS LIKE TWENTY FOUR?? Jason Todd, you're a disgusting sack of shit, do not even talk to him.

But it works, and Damian looks beyond scandalized and ruffled about the implication he has any romantic affiliation with Lunafreya aside from just being idiotically concerned and running supply drops for a fellow Scarback. He better not hear any rumors about this from other people's mouths, or he's going to take a warrant out on Jason himself, level two no killing be damned.] Shut up, Todd, and let's go.

[Besides, visiting Lunafreya hadn't been all that useless. Damian gets a head start on movement, letting Jason stuff the pastry in that stupid mouth.] Fleuret had some information about Nikora. It wasn't from one of the hallucinating sick this time.

It was from someone who brought one in. [That didn't count, right? As long as they weren't having any symptoms.]

[tirejacked]

[Is he embarrassed, that's cute. He's telling Kate, tbh. Fight him, Wayne.

Anyway. Jason follows at an easy pace, longer legs catching him up to Damian without forcing a hurry on him.]

Better than the one who was convinced she saw him arm wresting with the Lady Derrish outside the Royale.

[All these news broadcasts are really putting ideas in people's heads. Asymptomatic eyewitness is about as good as they can get, right now. Counts as more credible than the ones who were raving half the week just by virtue of maintained sanity. So.]

Shoot. We'll cross-reference with what we've covered so far, see if we can't narrow the field a little.

ok now that we got infooo

[bittybat]

[Do not tell fucking Kate anything, Jason, you piece of shit.]

Old Town. The witness said they were waiting with one of the sick when someone was rushed in by medical personnel. They were hidden, and there was a quiet fuss.

[The frown he gives Jason is unnaturally hard for a ten year old.] Suspicious. And risky. If Nikora really is ill, then they are going to have a hard time keeping his location quiet.

It's likely they would keep him at a bigger unit for quicker medical treatment, but if they're trying to hide him, then he may be at a smaller one. Less people. Less reason to check.

[tirejacked]

[As soon as he realizes they're mutual acquaintances you're doomed, bird boy.]

Makes you wonder who's that invested in keeping him off our plate.

[Someone made sure he got himself sick on his own bad medicine and then turned him loose. Or maybe he escaped. Either way, that screams loose end. If whoever he was working with wanted him to be their scapegoat, they'd be best served by making sure he's properly out of his head before he gets found. Nikora's pretty local, though. If word got out that he's a wanted man, he might have enough friends to try and hide him.

He finishes off the rest of the pastry and dusts the sugar off his hands, reaching into a pocket to pull out his scifi smartphone equivalent and pulling up what they've got on Nikora's supposed movements over the past few days. The places they've covered, stories they've collected, actual (scarce) evidence they've found that he's still on the right moon.

If they work off Damian's hunch and assume that keeping him somewhere populated would have made him easier to find, eliminate the larger clinics—he taps the screen—]

There's at least three hole in the wall clinics in the city proper that we haven't hit. This one hasn't been requesting much in the way of aid since the warrant went out. Either they've got some real impressive stockpiles to dip into or they care a whole lot about going under the radar.

[Should have seen it before. Medicine is starting to trickle down, now, but since the cure is being ferried around by Killjoys and Company personnel alike, asking for help is asking for attention.]

[bittybat]

I think we both already know. [Which doesn't bode well for anybody in the Quad, honestly.] We don't have clearance to split up, so we should take each clinic one at a time. [He peers scrutinizingly around Jason's arm at the map.] They could run; likely. We'd need to funnel them in a direction with little escape, or bottleneck them somewhere from both sides.

We should take the one furthest out and close in.

[He frowns at Jason.] You don't really think this is the sole doing of Nikora, do you? It's too simple. Too messy.

If the Resistance wanted to damage the Nine, why just toss a bioweapon in the middle of a busy market? There's more to it than what we're being fed.

[tirejacked]

[As much as he's not here to get himself ordered around by an actual child, he can't find much to argue about in the straightforward approach yet, so he's just going to let it pass without comment, snapping off the map display so they can get moving with better purpose.]

What, you don't think ol'Nik woke up one day and decided retirement didn't suit him as much as biological warfare?

[From the irony in his voice his opinion's pretty clear—the odds that a scientist with no prior indications of radical activity decided to toss a biobomb into Leith on his lonesome aren't convincing.

A little late, he cants his head back to look at Damian narrowly for a while before offering a loose shrug and a slightly more sincere opinion.]

I think an easy scapegoat sounds more likely than a sloppy rebellion.

[The Resistance acts in their own interests like any other faction, but they've hardly been stupid about it. That's how they've survived so far. This mess doesn't really track. But they're an easy target—and the attack has only given the Nine the chance to claim the moral high ground in return.]

[bittybat]

Amazing, you do have some intelligence. [The jab isn't so harsh, not by the smidgen of a smirk at the edges of Damian's lips, one that fades as quickly as it comes.]

The Nine are doubling their efforts to gain support, especially for the Accord. Protection, order, a cure. [Damian keeps pace with Jason surprisingly well for someone who has to take two steps instead of one. Fast, quiet, focused. Not like many ten year olds, really.] People would pile en masse behind them if they thought some "Resistance scum" riddled them with disease. Meanwhile, the Nine gives them false safety.

Hilarious considering the probability of the Nine concocting this in the first place is extremely high.

[tirejacked]

[Don't be rude after he indulged your conspiracy theories, you shit. The rapid-fire rattle of sharp speculation settles oddly in the air while they walk. Familiar-unfamiliar in a way that working together a few times doesn't warrant, that feels a step out of pace. Like he's reminded of something he can't put a finger on. (The way calling him the Wayne kid in conversation suddenly leaves a strange sour taste in his mouth.)

He swallows it and exhales sharply through his nose to better circle back to the topic at hand.]

Wow. [Someone's put a lot of thought into this.] If I didn't know better, I'd say you sounded invested, kiddo.

[Now, that's not very neutral of you at all, Damian. (This insinuation is not meant to be particularly subtle.)]

[bittybat]

[Naturally, Damian gives Jason a look.] Like I have time to be invested in the petty squabbles of the rich with the poor. I'm only stating the truth of what they're likely doing. [He cuts his eyes at Jason, and then he looks away.] It's stupid. [To clarify.] Their game.

They don't play with any respect. [But he doesn't sound surprised in the slightest. He points toward an alley to usher Jason in that direction.] It's all dirty. Fight fairly.

[Because, of course, Damian Wayne won't either.] If you want to rule a large piece of dirt to secure your survivability, then fight for it. Don't poison innocent people and blame someone else.

Ridiculous.

[tirejacked]

[Naturally, he briskly ignores any looks shot his way. And he lets Damian run his course, interrupting only with a derisive scoff at the idea of fair play, pocketing his hands and pacing behind him while Damian leads the rest of the way toward the clinic.]

That would require having respect for anyone outside their little corner of space in the first place.

[And they both know that's a joke.]

Look at where the power's stacked—it was never gonna be a fair fight in the first place. But the big perks of doing it quiet include finding ways to pretend to hold the self righteous moral high ground.

[And, on the flip side, publicly take it away from your enemies in the process. Convenient how that works out.]

[bittybat]

[As they pass through more tightly wound areas, Damian is as quiet as marble stone. He barely even glances Jason's way. The clinic on the far outside doesn't seem to be getting many visitors, probably because those nearby are too sick and too poor to even make the short journey.

By the looks of it, people who go in might not even come back out.] You take the right. I'll take the left. We'll converge on them to make sure they aren't sneaking out the back with any "patients."

[He pauses.] Todd.

If you had to choose a warrant or a life, which would you pick?

[tirejacked]

[And here they are. He stops to draw his weapon and check the state of his ammunition, sliding the clip back in with a snap before he answers that loaded question.]

Well, that would all depend on the life, now, wouldn't it?

[Maybe it's a show of self interest—if the life was his own, for instance. Or maybe he's long past working on the assumption that people are equally deserving in that regard, and he's not shy about saying so. (But the ones that are? It's not that he's a bleeding heart, he just likes to even the score. It's not like the Enforcers are going to.) And that's not exactly very neutral of him either—definitely not in line with the RAC rulebook. The warrant is all, et cetera. All things considered, he's not overly concerned about Damian deciding to snitch. He's got enough plausible deniability and successful warrants to keep the brass off his back, and that's more than enough for now.

Besides, they've got work to do. Assuming Damian doesn't stop him, he lets that hang and starts for the other side of the building.]

See you on the other side, short stuff.

[It's go time.]

[bittybat]

[Oh...

Damian doesn't at all too pleased about watching Jason casually bullet-check the gun. You should be ashamed of yourself, Todd. What would Batdad say?] Mn.

[Strangely, Damian doesn't offer Jason any warning about restraining from lethal force. Mostly because he has a reputation to keep up as an agent. He's just going to hope Jason doesn't need to use the gun at all, or, at least, he'll be able to stop Jason in time.] Extract the target alive.

Don't cause too much of a scene, or word could get to the other places before we have a chance to move. [Please don't heck up, Jason Peter Todd.

Without a farewell, Damian starts off in the opposite direction. Even if he wanted a weapon, he's only a level two; therefore, he's barefisted except for the two pouches on a belt at his lower back.

He goes in through the other door doing the exact thing he told Jason not to do: causing a scene. The refurbished Scarback hooded cloak is wrapped up around his neck and face. He gets a foot inside before collapsing onto the floor and coughing, startling every single person inside.

It works perfectly as the best distract. Nearly all of the workers race for him, leaving the other entrance barren. Jason, don't fuck this up!!! He's embarrassing himself for you.]

[tirejacked]

[Don't bring Batdad into this!!! You'd think he'd get a few brownie points for being prepared. No? Fine. But give him a little credit, kiddo, they've got a job to do. And sometimes all you've really got to do is put a scare in where it really counts.

Besides, even if the warrant didn't specifically bar them from bringing in a body, this one's a no-brainer. Dead men are even worse than sick ones when it comes to shaking down for answers.

Even while he's ducking around to the other side of the clinic, it's hard to miss the sound of commotion. He puts two and two together quick to use it to his advantage. Kid really knows how to ham it up. The opposite entrance is wide open when he gets there, and he cracks the door open to slip inside quietly. The clinic is small and cramped and crowded with people, but most of them have either rushed for the disturbance (staff, medics, curious rubberneckers) or ignore him wholesale (the sick, mostly. overflow from the crowded rooms, camped in quieter corners and emptier halls.) The one place they don't seem to scatter is a singular door at the end of the hall. There's a tallish man stationed at the door, looking more like a bouncer than an orderly.

Looks a lot like paydirt, really. Keep 'em busy a few more minutes, Damian.

Turning around, he ducks back outside to scan for windows until he lands on the right one. Cracked open by inches to let in the stuffy Westerley air. Inside is Zan Nikora, strapped down to a bed and—for now—seemingly sedated.

Slipping inside, he unlocks the door and opens it quick, dragging Mr. Bouncer inside before he can react and slamming him back against the wall. Hard enough to stun, one gloved hand clapped over his mouth. Pitched low, soas not to draw more attention to them—]

Relax, hoss, I'm just here to take your patient off your hands.

[Incapacitating the guard and getting Nikora out of his restraints takes a few minutes of time. (No offense, buddy, but can't have you raising the alarm while they're making off with the goods.) If he can sneak off through the far entrance before Damian is done with his act, they can avoid a scene altogether.

There are enough sick milling about the clinic and the streets that one man supporting another shouldn't look too suspect at first glance. But it has been long enough that the novelty of Damian's distraction just might start wearing off.]