[Salone]

Tension. Anger. Hate. The APC had gone from casket to boiling pot. The agitation that was building smelled like spent powder, of sulfur even. He had seen this before. Too many times. A madman comes in to control. A group suffers. They turn, they bite, they tear each other apart. But this creature was less than a man, although his power was more than Lev Gurevich could ever muster. It was if a child had found a gun and did not know that the people he shot didn't get up when playing games were over. This was not a situation that he possessed the tact for.

With a start he stood up, shoving his cleaning supplies away. He undid the back hatch to the APC, looking over his shoulder at Dante as he did.

"Don't shoot. He knows not what he does."

With that, he stepped back outside. A harsh wind slapped him across the face like the butt of a rifle. The sky once clear seemed to roil, the wasteland before them a mixture of bright and bland crags with darkened patches, spots where the sun was intercepted by dark and angry clouds in the distance.

He knows not what he does, Lev? You sound like my 'brother'.

Lev shrugged to no other person, speaking in to the wind.

"The Nephilim said the woman who threw us away is near, Butcher. I may not have value, but I am not trash to be thrown out. I have you, but I am my own man. If you eat anything, eat her. She understands what she does. She knows the consequences of burning bridges she still stands on."

You've become quite eloquent, Lev. Just never forget that I have you too.

With that Lev began to take cautious steps, stalking back the way they had came with his aging and beaten rifle. Rue was certainly going to feel her name after he finished with her.