Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25389303-20191120160713

Trago paused as Maris barred his way, head tilting in alien curiousity as he stared down at the distressed agent. Slowly, his gaze shifted from the young woman to the decapitated corpse at his side, and then back again, before abruptly shifting to the coastline.

The seconds ticked slowly by as the machine stared off into the distance, whilst hundreds of small mechanisms suddenly whirled to life beneath his armoured shell. His orange optics began to blink rapidly as the computers behind quickly processed something of far greater concern than the disposal of a single body, and a digital heartbeat later Trago's grip on what was once Sorrel relaxed.

"As you wish," Trago eventually rumbled, releasing his hold on the man's body with uncharacteristic acquiescence. Without another word, the bodyguard turned and ascended the steps to the bridge once again, his eyes never leaving the shore as he slowly disappeared from sight.

---

Diaboli glanced up as Trago returned, having put the finishing touches on the taping now wrapped tightly around his scorched forearm. Despite his hesitancy, Diaboli saw little sense in refusing the Bluthardt soldier's offer of aid when it was made, and had reluctantly accepted a roll of gauze to bind his burns. He had paled slightly upon the unravelling of his makeshift bandages, unnerved by the sight of glistening red muscle flexing unevenly beneath the ravaged skin as he closed his fist. If he wanted to keep the limb, he'd have to get to a hospital - and fast.

"Any problems?" he asked the robot, suddenly eager for distraction. Trago simply shook his head in reply, displaying a tiny fraction of the advanced intellect restrained by the A.I.'s digital shackles in the human-like movement.

"I have just received a message from the mainland, Commander," Trago told him, to which Diaboli raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Hmm...we must have entered CCT range at some point. Who is it? Hector?" His eye suddenly widened. "Is Blanc awake?" he asked excitedly.

But again, the robot simply shook his head. "Negative. The message is from..." He paused, almost as if contemplating how to answer. Then, "...the message, Commander, is from the Atlesian."

Diaboli froze, the brief spark hope dying in his eye as quickly as it had appeared. After a moment of processing, Diaboli's expression morphed into one of quiet consideration. And then, a smile.

"And to think tonight's entertainment was almost over!" he laughed, before striding up to Tragoedia and speaking in a low, serious voice. "I want to know everything."

---

Amidst the sea of lurking reefs and rocky spires, a small haven emerged. From the sandy shore, an old wooden jetty stuck out like a gnarled finger, beckoning the motor launch closer with the promises of safe disembarkment, free from the dangers lining the rest of the coast. It was the ideal location for a swift, secluded escape - as a single half-submerged rowing boat was the only sign that the weathered jetty was still in use by the locals.

Diaboli and Trago emerged from the privacy of the bridge as they pulled up alongside the rotting pier, only descending to the deck when the motor launch had slowed to a complete halt. The crime lord had opted not to drag the injured Wynston with him during his exit, confident that the Bluthardts would know better than to try and blindside him now. He'd left the hitman's pistol behind for his hostage to reclaim upon his departure, as thanks for his assistance back in the auction when they had first met. It was empty, of course, but intact.

"Ah...to walk upon solid ground once again," Diaboli breathed as he vaulted the railing, landing on the wooden jetty with an acrobat's ease. His companion was more careful in his disembarkment, tentatively testing the strength of the rotting planks before trusting it with the full weight of his massive bulk. After taking a few steps, though, Diaboli then turned around to lean on the metal railing once again. This time as the outsider.

"Well, this has been a fun evening, hasn't it?" he asked, his easy smile betraying his refreshingly chipper mood. "Alas, all good times must come to an end. Thankfully, most of us made it out in one piece." His wandering gaze shifted to Maris as he spoke the last sentence, but a heartbeat later it was moving again. "And while I think I've saved your sorry asses enough for one night, allow me to do some of you one last favour before the end."

After momentarily focusing his gaze on Dust and Jett, he waved a hand behind him, towards the beach and the quiet woodland beyond. "There's a village less than a mile from here. For those of you currently knocking on death's door, you'd be happy to know there's a private clinic there, as well as transportation back to the city. That's where I'm headed. And unless the Bluthardts have degenerated into little more than a mob of gun-toting lifeguards, I suggest you follow my lead and get the hell out of here while you still can."