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 [b]Scene Title: Scorched Past
 
 Characters: Gregory Zivaku, Rose Remercyan, and a few "Influenced" (mooks) from the Condemnedverse of Metro City.
 
 Context (Situation): After a strange trip to Atlantica, Greg has a rather violent run in with a familiar Interference before helping her to calm down. This takes place after "Wish I Had An Angel" for Greg and after a later temporary imprisonment in East City for Rose, as well as after six months in this universe for the latter.[/b]
 
 [i]Burnback Alley, Metro City[/i]
 
 Decrepit. Bloodstained. Not a lot going for this place. The addicts of various sorts were not here at present, or at least not here and alive.
 
 A pile of corpses in the center of a light on this area with its broken in wooden roof, its cement walls and floor.
 
 Gregory Zivaku was tense. He held a metal bar that had once been a handrail in his left hand, and had been stalking his target for some time, just trying to follow anyone. He had his clothing, but not his Etherspace pouch, and not his weapons. Crouched behind this concrete pillar, he saw the corpses, watched as the denim-jacket wearing vagrant with his two-by-four with nails ran into a dark corner to look for something, jumping over the corpse of a trespasser with a bulky brown coat and backpack on the way.
 
 Silence for several seconds. He had to wait, to see if he could get by, avoid the police if possible unless they would be peaceful.
 
 This was not a good day.
 
 ==============
 
 Darkness. A comfortable place.
 
 She lurked within the shadows, waiting for someone that might threaten her, because they were out there. They were just waiting for her. They had been for so long. Must stay alive, nothing else mattered but living.
 
 There. One of those denim-wearers. Perfect opportunity.
 
 The crowbar was raised and brought down with frightening speed and impunity, embedding itself into the skull of the Vagrant before being pulled out and then slashed across his throat. With a sickly gargling sound, he started falling towards her, but she shoved the new corpse away before climbing a nearby banister, bringing her precious things with her. Soon, she was out of sight...but not before scoping out another one, a man. Armed, but he looked cleaner than the rest. Interesting. Follow? Best idea.
 
 ==============
 
 Greg heard the death gargle, the sound of a body falling, of a grunt as someone pushed it away, of running. He had to follow.
 
 The Keeper's Hand was quick about it as he heard more Influenced coming his way. Somersault through the next way across to the dark area, stand, sprint. Flatten back against a wall as a few with bolt-holding two-by-fours come, beating each other to death. No reason to fight them. Still, he held out the metal bar around the corner, trying to get something off of the reflection. Maybe he could find who had killed that man? Uncertain, but possible. So he spoke as the corpses finished being collected, feeling a pain in his head, a buzzing.
 
 "Come out quietly and peacefully and this can end well. I won't hurt you if you don't hurt me. If you can hear me, respond."
 
 ==============
 
 The buzzing. Oh, god, the buzzing. It reached out to her, told her to kill, to maim, to shed the blood of any threats. Then her little voice of reason spoke up.
 
 She clung to the little possessions she had, whispering sweet nothings to one that couldn't respond. The buzzing almost drowned out everything else in her surroundings until she heard another voice. A male. Threat? Most likely.
 
 No response came. More sweet nothings were very quietly whispered. But she was tense, lurking still within the shadows that gave her what amounted to comfort as she waited to see if the other came closer.
 
 "Don't worry, the shadows are nice, they help us, they'll protect us and I'll protect you, it'll be OK, I promise...."
 
 Greg could hear her. He could hear the mumbling, the words to someone he could not see. This was a woman, a voice he could remember... was it?
 
 "Rose... Rose, is that you? This is Greg Zivaku. I just want to talk. Just come out unarmed, and we can talk." He waves the handrail out to his side, not moving out, but dropping the weapon. Against a wall, he could see a golden disc, like a smoke detector with a blinking light in the middle. He did not know what it was, but it didn't seen normal.
 
 The woman just gasped as the man spoke again. She barely heard his name - Greg, was it? - before the clanging. It briefly overtook the buzzing, and she gasped at that, too. She put one thing down before her grip tightened on another, the crowbar. She remained in the shadows. They were nice, they were comfortable.
 
 The buzzing came again. So loud. It told her to attack, but she waited. She couldn't blindly attack this one. Too predictable, he was too smart. Needed to surprise him....
 
 He was more urgent, but did not move. "Rose, please. Please say something. I... dammit, what is this thing...?" He held his head, though the handrail was still out. "I'll drop my weapon, and you can come out. Please answer me."
 
 Now.
 
 She silently lunged forward, out of the shadows. Then, grabbing Greg's arm, she yanked him down to the ground with a banshee-like wail, looming over him, the crowbar raised high.
 
 It was Rose, all right. But she was clearly in a dire state of affairs.
 
 Her hair had lost whatever luster it had, and one of her contacts had come out, making one eye brown and the other red. She looked like she had not slept, or not slept well, in quite some time, bags under eyes set within a gaunt-looking face alight with murderous anger. Her clothes had bloodstains on them, and her t-shirt and jeans also had several small tears, showing the pale skin underneath. There seemed to be two rather fresh-looking scars on her, one on her right forearm going horizontally, and one just above her right ear, barely visible thanks to her hair.
 
-Rose growled with an almost animalistic rage before yelling as she brought the crowbar down towards Greg's shoulder, with quite the windup so that she was easy to predict and stop.
+Rose growled with an almost animalistic rage before yelling as she brought the crowbar down towards Greg's shoulder, with quite the windup so that she was easy to predict and stop.
 
 The Keeper let out his breath as he hit the ground on his chest, rolling to look up at her. He did see the state, one somewhat better than Azumi's in at least some cases, but not enough to count. Still, he did know what he had to do.
 
 Landing, he had noticed the buzzing getting worse, the pain worse, his vision blurring. He was closer to the disc, too. Maybe that was the cause?
 
 First things first. Quickly as he could, the depowered angel raised the handrail, hearing the clang of metal against metal and doing his best not to grit his teeth at the shaking arm. Still, he had to defend himself, albeit non lethally.
 
 The young man twisted, trying to trip her up with his feet, and jumped to them, heading for the disc, the emitter for whatever frequency this was making the pain. With that one step, he felt the agony multiply. He just hoped he could get to it before she came at him again.
 
 Raising the handrail, he swung, hoping to take it out in one blow.