The Turner Raid

[hazlogs]

DATE:  Wednesday, September 30, 1998
Place:  Outside the Turner Enterprise campus--Seattle, WA

>> Rorschach pages to the room: OK. Keen. You're behind a small rise of a hill 
   near Seattle. On the other side of the hill there is the Turner compound 
   spread out before you. It's pretty big: about three acres in size, and you 
   know that the talisman you seek is locked away in a safe inside Turner's 
   office. (Her office being in the central modern looking administrative 
   building...) The three acres are surrounded by a high chain link/concertina 
   wire fence. Two other buildings are: The Turner warehouse, a long 
   rectangular building with three railroad loading docks and about 20 
   semi-truck loading docks.
>> Rorschach pages to the room: And a squat cinder block data center with only 
   a few doors and no windows. There are regular fence line patrols on foot as 
   well as ATVs, some of the patrols have vicious looking patrol dogs. In 
   addition, the Glass Walkers know there is a elite security force that is 
   heavily armed. They generally patrol the central grounds around the 
   administrative building. (As it so happens.) There is also a small 
   guardhouse where the fence breaks to let in traffic to the parking lot.
>> Rorschach pages to the room: The entire area is fairly well lit, with lamps 
   approximately every 100-200 feet.

Patrick looks to the side towards Nigel & JJ. "Without slipping through at the 
   moment, what's Umbra-side like?"
JJ Malone is smoking down his last cigarette for a while, keeping the tip out 
   of sight of possibly being seen by the wandering guards. "As clean as this 
   kind of area gets. Worst is in there," he says, pointing out the cinder 
   block data center. "Rest should be okay under this moon, as long as no 
   one's stupid."
Salem remains silent near his tribemates, hands buried in his pockets.
Cassandra nods, seeming content to listen for a change. She bounces ligghtly 
   on the balls of her feet, a sure siggn of nervous energy.
Patrick nods slowly, then asks, "Just the small one? Nothing odd about the 
   office building Umbra?"
In the distance, you can hear the bark of one of those guard dogs.
JJ Malone shakes his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary, from what we saw last 
   time."
Andrea turns slowly with her eyes focused on empty air. There's a crease of 
   concentration on her forehead, but all she says is a soft, "Not many 
   spirits here of any type."
Patrick nods again, then looks over towards Andrea. "Mind leading the way into 
   the Umbra itself, at least for us?"
Cassandra crosses her arms and looks around as the dog barks. "Whatever we do, 
   we better do it quick, them puppies are gonna know somethin' ain't right 
   right quick."
Nigel bites his lower lip, thinking of his packmates' words. "The tainted 
   spiders that were observed in the cinderblock building, combined with the 
   rumors of medical experiments we've dug up, argue for something nasty in 
   the basement--and we don't know if there are tunnels connecting the 
   building. Be careful."
Patrick nord curtly at Nigel's caution, replying, "Noted. Thanks. All we need 
   are experiments...."
Cassandra snorts softly at that, but seems to be waiting for the others to 
   move right now.
JJ Malone turns to Nigel. "Same as last time. If we get into trouble, get a 
   hold of Jeff and see what the two of you can do."
Nigel looks back towards the car, hidden under netting at the bottom of the 
   hill. "No worries. Remember where we're parked."
Andrea nods. "The pack, sure. The rest, only if they get stuck. It takes 
   strength." She begins to move toward something reflective.
Salem grunts, still doing his taciturn Klingon impression.
JJ Malone follows, letting the members of Ouroborous going with go first after 
   Andrea.
Soren follows Andrea, his face expression particularly concerned, worried.
Luckily there's a good sized collection of water: rain run-off probably 
   nearby. The Adren stares intently at the water and her reflection, her pack 
   linking hands and then they feel the familiar sensation of sleeping into 
   the shadowlands. It only takes a moment to become acclimated to your new 
   Penumbral environment. The gibbous moon light hangs from everything giving 
   it a strangely comforting aura. Beyond the hillock, you can see where the 
   compound cuts into the vivid green and dark shadow of the Umbra forests and 
   meadows. The data center, you can now see does seem particularly infested 
   with pattern webs... although no spiders are clinging to them right now.
Andrea moves out of the way, falling into lupus form for its sharper senses 
   even as she pulls from the Umbral pool to let the Glass Walkers follow. For 
   a moment, a silver ankh glimmers next to the gold heart of her bracelet's 
   chain, before the jewelry is covered with a carpet of fur and absorbed into 
   the leg.
Cassandra steps out of the way almost absently, muttering something to herself 
   in some language other than English. The language is sharp enough to make 
   it sound like a curse, but she peers around her with brigght eyes and them 
   slides into a four-legged form, the better to keep up withh the group.
The two Walker ahrouns follow not very far behind Ouroboros. It's 
   extraordinarily silent in the Umbra, there are no spirit animals making any 
   kind of sound. It sounds almost completely desolate. Those of you in lupus 
   or using gifts can detect a disquieting odor: it's fairly distinct and very 
   recognizable. It's the smell of decaying human flesh -- but it seems off in 
   the distance... the light umbral breeze wafting toward the group.
Patrick slips sideways behind Andrea, stepping aside to let others through as 
   he goes Umbral. He looks around the Umbrascape for a moment, taking it in, 
   then peers closer at the small building. "Wonderful," he says. "At least 
   nothing's moving."
Soren joins the others in lupus, sliding down to the form swiftly as he paces 
   a bit apart from the others before circling back in. Rot.
Mark-Of-Thorns sneezes multiple times. You noticed.
Quiet gives a slight involuntary shudder, her yellow fur moving under the dark 
   shroud that marks the four Uktena children. She agrees with Midnight. 
   Death. It may only be a reflection of her power. Or it may be more.
Salem's mouth twists into a grimace, baring a hint of teeth in a lupine snarl. 
   He shifts upwards, but only to Glabro, choosing to stay bipedal while 
   avoiding Crinos (for the time being).
JJ Malone shifts upwards to glabro after reaching through, gun coming out from 
   under his jacket and sunglasses going in, revealing eyes the pure yellow of 
   a wolf. He remains silent, simply listening and observing the pack members 
   discussion and not adding to it, while his gaze roams the area restlessly.
Everything certainly seems still. Seems quiet. There doesn't appear to be 
   anything hiding or waiting to ambush you.
Patrick joins the shifting-fest and goes up to glabro, stopping there. He 
   peers down towards the Umbral representation of the compound again, the 
   throws his head back. "Now or never," he grunts, and slips in that 
   direction, trusting in his Gift and learned skills to keep him from being 
   spotted by anything that might actually be there.
Mark-Of-Thorns looks around at the others, then at her alpha, and takes a few 
   steps towards the compound, then a few more as Patrick moves.
Midnight slides in after the others, letting Quiet choose position before he 
   moves too far forward.
Quiet's application of the gift isn't nearly as effective, though she does 
   become slightly less obvious a yellow blot moving within dark shadows. She 
   pads close to Patrick's heels. Her ears are tilted forward and swivel as 
   she listens.
Shades comes up near Quiet as the ragabash pull away slightly--although not 
   with the same air of familiarity as her pack, it is with with 
   well-practiced ease of fitting himself into the workings of other packs, 
   following the Adren's unspoken lead.
There isn't, you note with some degree of relief, any sort of fence here in 
   the Umbra. As you near the Umbra warehouse, you can almost see through it; 
   it must have been built only recently. Overhead the moon still gives off 
   radiant cream colored light, but all of this area is dead space -- flat of 
   color, almost a uniform grey, tan and black. The adminstration building is 
   in the center of the compound, beyond the data center, near the open space 
   that must be the parking structure.
Mark-Of-Thorns's ears prick, swivel around briefly, then relax somewhat. 
   Something...of metal? Far from here and under the ground. She relays this 
   mildly, as if it doesn't owrry her overmuch.
Quiet's ears twitch again, and she lowers her head to sniff. Now that the Fury 
   flanks Patrick, she lets the two dark moons pull slightly ahead while she 
   teams with Soren. The two theurges stay near the two ahroun.
Patrick stops for a moment and closes his eyes, as if listening to something 
   faint. A frown crosses his face, and his eyes re-open. "Shit," he growls.
Mark-Of-Thorns turns her head towards patrick, though only one ear cocks 
   towards him. What? Just that the ground's hollow or something else?
Midnight moves with increased tension, his attention particularly focused on 
   his packmates.
Just then a couple of trap doors open. One in front of Mark-of-Thorns, and one 
   behind the group near the two Walker ahrouns. The creatures are 
   eight-legged constructs -- both with human heads that leak a foul smelling 
   ichor that might have once been blood. They strongly resemble a 
   daddy-long-legs with sharp metal legs and an oversized human head.
Quiet's head turns toward Midnight suddenly, the expression almost startled. 
   There's a definite feeling of silent communication among the pack for any 
   that have seen the totem-granted gift at work. Wyrm and spirits, below, she 
   suddenly says aloud. Her warning comes too late as the spirits pop out 
   before she even finishes the short howl.
Shades snarls and spins around to face the one behind the group, taking only 
   the swiftest of glances before aiming and firing two shots at the thing's 
   head.
Mark-Of-Thorns growls as the thing leaps up right in ffront of her face, and 
   backpedals several steps before catching herself and trying to shift to a 
   fighting form. The sense of silent communication abruptly dissolves from 
   her expression.
Salem turns as well, his frown twisting into a definite snarl. Lacking 
   firearms, the other Walker chooses a far more direct way of fighting, his 
   body twisting upwards, and then dropping to all fours as he shifts swiftly 
   past the more frenzy-prone Crinos form to take the hulking brutishness of 
   the near-wolf.
Patrick mutters a few curses as the spiders erupt from the ground, his 
   concentration going more on the one in front of his packmate, eyes 
   narrowing as he glares at it as if to stare a hole through the beast.
Reacting before almost anyone can blink an eye, two gunshots ring out and 
   break the silence. The smell of spent sulfur hangs heavy in the air as both 
   shots strike the intended target. The head explodes like a ripe melon -- 
   blood and rot spray across the entire party -- and that's precisely when a 
   large metal spike slams through Shades' midsection. Two meancing pincers 
   reach for the body of the metis Walker -- almost as if to rip it in half 
   like Bishop from Aliens.
Rage fuels Salem's movements, huge claws digging into the ground and 
   propelling the dire wolf-shape forward, massive, fanged jaws gaping as he 
   lunges for the thing attacking Shades.
Quiet raises her tail and fixes her gaze on the spirit that menances her 
   packmate. Her ruff flares as she snarls in the language of spirits. *Attack 
   your kind.* There's the lash of command in the words as she brings the gift 
   to bear.
Mark-Of-Thorns completes her shift to Crinos and, ignoring Quite's Gift. leaps 
   for the thing right in front of her, trying to use its legs as a jungle gym 
   and thereby get on its back.
Midnight shifts into crinos but remains beside, Quiet as if protecting her.
The now-hulking form of the former Ronin leaps for the arm that seems to have 
   impaled Shades on the end of it like a shiskabob. Lightning fast, the other 
   ahroun flies through the Umbral night, hurling himself and his claws at the 
   joint weld. The metal creaks and bends some and there is an uncanny hissing 
   sound like steam escaping a cylinder. One of the pincers reaches Shades and 
   clasps firmly around his upper legs and thighs -- and not much longer after 
   the metallic smell of iron rich blood can be detected, mixing in with the 
   decay. meanwhile, Mark-of-Thorns does a gymnast impression, the mechanical 
   monstrousity suddenly flailing around as if it can't see clearly. After 
   Quiet barks her order, the thing trundles right past the group of 
   Ouroboros, toward it's partner -- it is then that Cassandra manages to 
   scramble on top of the metal spider.
Letting out a howl that might almost be a Crinos version of a cowboy's whoop, 
   the Black Fury straddles the thing's neck and searches for a clawhold on 
   the thing's neck and head.
Shades howls in agony, the sound piercing the night like fingernails on a 
   chalkboard, body contoring around the skewer as it shifts up to crinos. 
   Thoughtlessly, a clenched hand is raised, attempting to smash down onto the 
   spike impaling him, to shatter it.
Patrick spins and dashes for the other spider-thing, the one impaling Shades, 
   giving it a good punch as he reaches it, puttting as much energy as he can 
   from the short dash into the punch, hoping to at least distract the thing a 
   little.
Midnight leaps forward to assist Thorns, working in tandem with her attacks.
Quiet turns her attention on the one behind her now. Rage bubbles under the 
   command as she again lashes out with the gift. *Drop the Garou.*
Dark One snarls, closing his jaws over a convenient part of the spider-thing 
   impaling Shades.
Shades smashes down on the arm that holds him and there is a jolt as the 
   arm/spike falls off the spider base completely. Mark-of-Thorn's claws find 
   a nice claw hole -- the head itself seems to be the only very soft place. 
   It feels like warm jello between your claw's digits. The other spider thing 
   stumbles about with a missing arm -- there is a howling sound as the other 
   Garou slam, punch and beat on it. More legs wobble. Meanwhile, the spider 
   Cass is "riding" shutter steps about, moving generally in the right 
   direction. Another razor sharp leg/spike stabs for Patrick, but narrowly 
   misses.
Quiet finally shifts now, hulking into crinos. She waits until she's nearly 
   achieved the form before moving toward Shades at a four-legged lope.
Mark-Of-Thorns nearly pulls her claws out as they sink deep, but grabs ahold 
   of herself and yanks at the gelatinous mass, trying to rips its head clean 
   off.
Midnight moves in swiftly beside Thorns, his claws swiping deep at the 
   creature as he howls with fury.
Patrick punches at the spider again, being a bit more cautious this time of 
   swinging spikes.
Shades seems oddly, or perhaps not so oddly, oblivious to things going around 
   him. Still letting up ragged snarling-whining-howls of pain, one leg 
   clearly nearly severed, he begins to simultaneously try to pull the spike 
   from his torso with one hand, while the other hand and "good" leg pushes 
   along the ground, trying to put distance between himself and the source of 
   his agony.
Dark One lunges for one of the spider's remaining legs, bringing his weight to 
   bear as bites for the thing.
The head pulls off like a grape -- feels like one too. Noxious ichor spreads 
   across the fur of the dark moon Fury. That's when a tremendous panel opens 
   in the top of the spider and and a 3 inch round metal spike skewers her 
   upper thigh clean through the middle. Midnight's blows knock at the thing's 
   side and hurt it some. Then abruptly, the two spider creatures seem to 
   freeze in place... some gear or another cracking and clanging shut. The 
   arms freeze. The spiders freeze -- even their "blood" and ichor stops 
   flowing (but not dripping). Legs sever under the assault and finally there 
   is a two nearly simulataneous "ping" sounds from both.
Patrick looks warily at the things again then shakes his head. "Injury 
   assessment?" he says lowly, but with enough force to be heard.
A couple more trap doors open, but nothing comes up.
Mark-Of-Thorns lets out a scream of pain and jerks back as her leg is impaled. 
   She tries to break off the spike to free herself, but pauses, her head 
   cocked, then shouts, ~They're ticking! Get outta here!~
Dark One growls, jaws snapping toward the opening doors, and then backs up a 
   step, golden eyes turning toward Shades.
Midnight hears Cass's warning and moves, grabbing hold of Thorns as he does so 
   to assist her, if needed, to move swiftly away.
Quiet grabs a hold of Shades and starts dragging him away.
Dark One, muzzle twisted and teeth bared, lopes close alongside Quiet, 
   glancing once or twice back over his shoulder.
Quiet sees her two male packmates near Cassandra, and so abandons the attempt 
   to heal the ahroun right this moment. Instead, she pushes under Shades' arm 
   and attempts to hoist him up. Her voice is no longer sharp with a command 
   gift, but there's a bite to it nevertheless. ~Salem, get JJ's side!~
Shades manages to rip out the spike and toss it away as Quiet begins dragging 
   him, limping to help the Gaian in the flight. His free hand moves to hold 
   in guts trying to slip free from the now gaping hole in his belly, nearly 
   severed leg dragging uselessly.
Patrick hesitates long enough to make sure Shades is covered, then scrambles 
   to give Midnight a hand with their other packmate. "When we get her, 
   /run/," he tells Midnight meaningfully.
Dark One snaps his jaws together with a sharp click and shifts upwards, 
   rearing onto his hind legs in Crinos as he takes Shades' other arm, helping 
   the other Walker along.
Midnight nods to Patrick, using what strength he has to break the spike free 
   from Thorn's leg.
Mark-Of-Thorns herself works frantically to break the spike protruding through 
   her leg, supressing whines of pain as she and Midnight begin to work 
   together .
The mechanical ticking sound grows louder as the seconds elapse. Patrick and 
   Midnight finally lift Mark-of-Thorns free of the spike jammed in her leg 
   and they begin to carry her off; Shades meanwhile is being caravaned by the 
   younger Walker ahroun and Quiet to safety. The two groups make a good 
   hearty dash for it when there are two loud pings and then a sound like a 
   flashbulb has gone off -- that ultrahigh insistent whine -- there's a pair 
   of concussive blasts of force, which knocks everyone to the ground. Molten 
   hot metal schrapnel flies everywhere, and bits of metal hail down from the 
   sky. Mark-of-Thorns emits a piercing scream as a huge basketball sized hunk 
   of debris rips a hole through her upper chest, the searing metal stuck 
   inside of her rib cage. Behind lie twin hulking, smoking craters.
The piercing scream, and then silence from the Fury.
Midnight lifts himself up from the ground where he has been knocked, pain bit 
   back in clenched jaw as he turns to Thorns, his focus remains as he turns 
   to her. "Looks bad. Hold my hand, sister," he says as she shifts into 
   glabro, his other hand flattening against the wound on Thorn's chest. 
   Chanting quickly, his hand glows in a ruddy light: "Fader Odin, Fenris 
   mester, gi Datteren styrke imot fienden's vold."
Gradually, the Fury's Crinos form dwindles slowly down to her breed form as 
   the Get works.
Shades's strangled snarl is a harsh counterpoint to Mark-of-Thorns, 
   intermingled with the primal sound of rage bubbling up from the smoking 
   depths of hell, railing against the abuse being subjected to his body, 
   which like a plug being drawn from a bathtub suddenly swirls away into 
   nothingness. Once again, his body shifts, to crinos once more, sagging like 
   deadweight between Quiet and Dark One.
Dark One grunts, ears flattening against the sudden pain, and then the sudden 
   sagging weight of his elder. Snarling, the ex-Ronin digs his hindclaws in, 
   bracing himself against JJ's weight.
Patrick, thrown to his knees by the concussive force behind him, picks himself 
   up after a moment and starts cursing. "Fuck," he exclaims explosively. 
   "Two." He looks at the groups and the sagging Garou, then up at the office 
   building, measuring it as if measuring his foe.
Quiet's harsh and gutteral cry doesn't come so much from the pain of the body 
   as the other aftermath. Knocked to one knee, she tilts her head back. Blood 
   drips in thin streams over her sandy fur on the sides of her head. Though 
   her hands are on the Glass Walker instead of her packmate, the healing gift 
   surges as much in response to Cassandra's need as the ahroun's. Still, 
   Shades is the one that receives the gift, if it succeeds.
Although Quiet can feel the Gnosis flowing out of her, it doesn't seem to take 
   in the Walker's limp crinos body.
Sadly, the result is much the same for Cassandra Mark-of-Thorns. There is a 
   final twitch as Soren lays his hands on and chants, but in the end, she is 
   still and reposed.
Dark One begins cursing in a gutteral, twisted mixture of Serbian and Garou.
Patrick nods, as if finding what he expected to find as he looked around. 
   Shifting up to crinos, he growls, ~The time for subtlety has passed; we 
   have lost enough already,~ and takes to the air, up towards the top of the 
   Umbral building and Turner's office.
The administrative building gives a sense of looming although it can't be 
   higher than four or five stories. The night once again falls into still 
   silence, broken mostly by the sound of Patrick's wings overhead. Still 
   above even him, the moon watches gently hazed by a misty cloud cover.
Midnight rises up from Thorns' body, a howl shaking with fury and anguish in 
   his throat. ~No! No!~ he howls as he turns toward the building. ~He cannot 
   go alone, Quiet.~
Quiet begins to shake, her hands still buried in the dead metis' bloody fur. 
   Her breathing quickens and harshens. ~No.~ Which death she is protesting is 
   unclear. Either. Both. ~No!~ Something of the younger Gaian of past years 
   spills out in that angry declaration. Her words oddly match Midnight's as 
   if they think together, but her red-eyed glare shifts at the theurge's 
   warning of Patrick's actions as Soren keeps speaking after she stops. She 
   surges to her feet in jerky maddened rage. Looking for Patrick. Looking for 
   a target. Perhaps looking for the fled spirits of the dead Garou. Her hands 
   clench tight enough that her claws draw blood from her own skin.
Dark One bites off a final curse and then remains silent, teeth bared in a 
   twisting grimace, his body trembling as he stares at his elder. Ex-elder.
Patrick covers his head with his arms and heads straight for one of the 
   windows in the Umbral building, one near to the area where Ashley Turner's 
   office supposedly is. His emotions seem to have gone cold for the moment, 
   and he ignores Midnight's call in his pursuit of their ultimate goal.
The ragabash sails higher, up the side of the building. There are no windows 
   for Ms. Turner's office, consider what effect sunlight has on her kind, but 
   there is an executive conference room -- which Patrick shortly finds 
   himself inside of.
Midnight shakes his head bitterly, growling, ~Not leaving him alone.~ With 
   that, Soren shifts down into the direwolf form and bounds toward the 
   building, thick powerful head swinging from side to side as he approaches 
   the entrance.
Quiet's hot gaze lingers on Cassandra's bloody body for a moment before her 
   anger boils up and she surges after Midnight. She doesn't shift, but she 
   does run with all fours.
Patrick starts making his way towards the office, stopping regularly to be 
   cautious enough to watch for other pattern spiders or other nasties, but 
   evidently determined to reach his goal. He stops a couple of times, in the 
   hallways, to peek back into the Realm, but mostly heads for the original 
   target.
It is quiet inside the building, deadly still and silent. Not even the floor 
   creeks. Midnight and Quiet, meanwhile, bound up stairs toward the top 
   floor. Patrick is inside the office.
Midnight moves with focused determination, but not with wanton abandon of 
   caution. The goal, as with Patrick, remains the same.
Quiet, on the other hand, only keeps her luck so far because Midnight watches 
   and the area seems clear of other spirits for the moment. There's no 
   consideration in her jerky actions, and her claws scrape the stairs as she 
   treads with heavy anger and pain. A low ceaseless growl mutters deep in her 
   throat.
The two packmates make good time up the stairs, and the building remains 
   devoid of spirits ... or other foes.
Midnight wastes no time with the office door, using the bulk and power of his 
   size in his attempt to burst it open.
Dark One, as is probably obvious by now, has chosen to remain behind, with the 
   bodies of the dead Garou (and in particular with JJ). His form dwindles 
   back down to Glabro.
Patrick, who has been peeking sideways a few times, regaining some degree of 
   caution, looks up and crouches into a ready position as the door is 
   shredded. As he notices who it is, he just grunts a welcome and goes about 
   shredding some webbing in one corner of the office, explaining, ~Camera. 
   One over there, too.~
Quiet's eyes follow where Patrick indicates, then she moves to tear into the 
   webbing. She lashes out at the sticky stuff with her claws, still 
   wordlessly growling.
It shreds effortlessly.
Midnight takes a moment to focus, studying the office deeply.
Midnight rises up into glabro as he moves across to one wall. ~Here. This 
   painting.~ Soren runs a hand along its edges. Focusing his attention on it, 
   looking for a catch or something. IF nothing, he'll pull it off the wall.
Patrick observes coldly, ~In the Realm. The safe won't be on this side.~
Quiet doesn't stop until there's nothing left, then her paws drop again to the 
   floor and she paces around while her packmates talk.
Patrick drops back down into homid, then waits until the guard has gone by 
   again before staring at his reflection in the glass of the picture.
Soren joins Patrick, still in glabro.
Quiet does not follow, at least not immediately. Instead, she stays in the 
   Umbra, still in crinos. Still pacing.
The packmate pair soon feel the sense of parting and then returning to the 
   corporeal world. Outside, the guard is humming something -- it sounds like 
   "Fly me to the Moon."
"I'll watch the door," whispers Soren quietly as he takes a step that way, 
   preparing for the guard or anyone else who might think to come in.
Patrick pulls a pair of gloves out of his pockets and dons them, then reaches 
   up to look over the painting before taking it down from the wall as quietly 
   as possible.
The office is closed in, two interior windows facing the reception area; they 
   are shuttered and closed. The door itself is gently ajar, but is made of 
   solid heavy oak. The rest of the office is very tastefully decorated -- 
   several pots of greenery, cherry wood furniture and a large sumptous 
   leather chair. the painting is of a three masted schooner in a harbor -- 
   possibly San Francisco. In the background of the picture is a forbidding 
   looking storm rolling towards the artist and the man pictured in front of 
   the ship. Dressed to the nines, the man is obviously very wealthy. The 
   picture has a date in one corner, 1854, along with the artist's signature.
Patrick goes directly into crinos with incredibly speed, shifting 
   instantaneously up from homid. In the next moment, he grabs something 
   around his neck, and vanishes.
Outside the guard seems to be humming "My Way" to himself. If he's noticed 
   anything going on inside the office, he sure doesn't give it away.
A moment after Whitestreak disappears from sight, the door of the safe quietly 
   rips itself off its hinges and vanishes as well. It reappears, leaning 
   against the wall of the office.
Soren remains standing in position beside the door... just in case Frankie 
   decides to investigate.
Quiet continues to pace. Back and forth. Back and forth.
The safe is opened forcefully, but surprisingly no one seems to notice. Inside 
   is a small disc shaped medallion attached to a fine gold chain. The 
   medallion is a gold cut away. The negative space of the object seems to 
   form a two "yin/yang" pieces, while in the center is a cleverly fasioned, 
   intricately shaped dragon lizard beast. The eyes of the lizard are jeweled, 
   and that's when you realize with a touch of surprise that the edge of the 
   circle is itself an ouroboros.
A flashlight beam swings through the crack in the door, and the guard's 
   humming gets a touch louder, but then it fades as he walks down the other 
   hall.
>> Down below, while Salem waits and his rage inexorably abates somewhat as 
   time passes, something impinges on his instincts of not being quite as they 
   should be. Nothing defined, just...a slight sense, which might just as 
   easily be ignored as an overactive imagination if he chooses to.
Patrick reaches into the safe and grabs the medallion, blinking in surprise as 
   he actually gets a look at the item. A suspicious look crosses his face as 
   he shifts back down to homid, then he waves to his packmate, and looks back 
   at his reflection in the painting's glass.
It only takes a few long breaths and then both Garou slip back into the quiet 
   still shadow, and still Quiet paces.
Soren rejoins Patrick, his own attention fierce on the medallion until they 
   reach.
Patrick growls, "Let's get the fuck outta here. I don't like it at all." He 
   turns and heads out the door, and back down the Umbral corridors and 
   stairwells, rather than the more direct route he took up.
Soren follows, still numb, still cautious.
>> Salem frowns slightly, eyes narrowing as he tries to pin down the source
   of the feeling.
Quiet's glare fixes briefly on the symbol of her pack, for which one of her 
   pack died. She then indicates that she agrees. She pulls ahead in heading 
   for for the bodies and Salem.
The quiet three exit the building without raising an alarm. The night is 
   still, nary an alarm or spirit to be seen.
As they get back outside, Patrick nods at the bodies. "How the heck to we get 
   them back out of the Umbra?"
>> As he stills and tries to pinpoint it, the feeling increases a little. And 
   then, he hears it: barely audible, probably only audible because of the 
   deathly silence, a slight sigh of breath.
Salem is standing near Shades' motionless form, staring down at it with a deep 
   frown. He doesn't look up as the pack nears, but instead goes down on one 
   knee, placing a hand on the metis' chest. His head tilts.
>> Barely noticable, but you think you can feel Shades's chest moving just 
   slightly under your hand.
Quiet answers Patrick finally, after staring at the body for a short time. 
   Then she moves to pick up the shell of her former packmate. Cassandra's 
   homid body cradles in Quiet's crinos arms like a sleeping, bloody babe. 
   Only the eyes, open and staring in death, ruin the impression of sleep.
Salem's expression lightens, just barely. Without looking up, without even 
   taking his hand from JJ's chest, he says, "He's not dead."
Patrick reaches over and closes his former packmate's eyes, then looks at 
   Salem. "We got what we came for, I hope. It's ... what?"
Quiet also turns, but slower. The anger is finally beginning to fade into 
   numbness, and it shows in her movements.
"He's not dead," Salem repeats, still without looking up. "He's breathing. 
   Barely."
It's hard to see, but those looking for it might see Salem's hand rise and 
   fall barely as it rests against the metis's chest.
Patrick rolls his eyes slightly and kneels down to check for a pulse at the 
   metis's neck.
Patrick blinks and motions Soren over. "Heal 'im, or try. He's not quite dead 
   yet."