Oatmeal with pepperoncinis and ranch dressing. Where does Sorena come up with these breakfast concepts? I know it's not like he's rummaging in that kitchen. My Nazadi boss planned this, went to the store with a list, cooked it with gusto, and now it's steaming in front of me. Lovely.

Sarah Jaye's already halfway through her bowl. Guess I'll keep up, and well, it is better than line rations. Chow time.

We've agreed to get Sarah Jaye trained up to be private security, like me. First off, she needs a concealed weapon permit. The local authorities are strict about such paperwork, and for veterans, it's not much of a hurdle. She packs off to the local Office of Concealed Personal Deterrants, and we'll catch up later to brief.

Now, we need to hunt. It's been a few weeks since our last outing, and while our pack is highly regarded for service above and beyond, that's no reason to slack on getting into the trenches and greasing Dhohanoids. 

Sorena, Mesta and I head to a neighborhood known to be overrum with these scum, and proceed to stake out the middle of 85th between Civic and Berry. Corners have more traffic, but the middle of a block has fewer flanks. We chill for hours, with nothing peeking up. I'm getting itchy, and those drug dealers on the corner were getting more action than anything else. Maybe they've got some painkillers? Somehow, my pocket is empty.

And they don't. H, coke, some designer BS. And worse, they scofff at my grocery list. Walk away, Roy, just walk away...

4 hours later, we decide to pack out. No game tonight. Rounding the next corner, we find two humans levelling MP15 9mm submachine guns at us. A nasty bit of hardware at this range.

I shift and charge. I really want to see Mesta work out his latest skills, so killing them outright isn't on the goal. I fire my spinnerettes, entangle the first target, and run up the wall dodging a line of concrete getting dug out benind me. Target one disabled, I jump back to give Mesta some room.

Something cracks, lights bends around the targets, and the world seems to suck in violently between them. They fly in opposite directions, and a slight crater is left between them.

Mesta has this in hand.

And then, it just gets messy. Sorena scoops up a target, and pops his eyeballs out. Mesta creates a singularity in the second target's abdomen, and it collapses in on itself, his body folding and crunching inward, in a motion oddly devoid of blood spatter.

The bubbling mass in front of me is too much. I must taste it. I lunge, bite hard, and toss half the torso across the street.

We shift back, and expeditiously exit the scene. Score two dead Dhohanoids for our pack.