A Controlled Explosion.

It seems, no matter where we go or what manner of person we encounter, there will be activity from the PREs.

Alyssa was acquainted with the woman we encountered; an exhausted woman, middle-aged, and probably looking older than she is, in actuality.

One could see that she was in the beginning stages of alcoholism (cracking lips, dry hair, face ruddy and wrinkles deepened; I apologize for my less-than-complimentary description, if she is to ever see this).

Her name is Sheryl (I shall withhold the last name), and her issues as with a group known as ‘the Scarlet-Marked’. When I looked to The Archive, online, I found nothing, but Alyssa seems knowledgeable on them.

Apparently, Alyssa has been communicating with this woman for some time, now, regarding her missing daughter, Darcey. While I have the utmost certainty Alyssa does not trust Sheryl (she would have introduced herself with her real name, if there was trust), she certainly seems to be acting the part in a way that is nearly admirable.

From our initial meeting, we formed a plan; we would return to Sheryl’s house in order for her to change into something less conspicuous, locate any sort of weaponry, and from there we would figure out how best to go about our search.

Upon reaching Sheryl’s house, she excused herself to shower and invited us to take advantage of her kitchen; I’d yet to see Alyssa react with such enthusiasm about anything.

It had been quite a while since she had cooked, she confided in me (a sign that this was indeed taking her mind off our dismal situation, for her to talk to me) and I only knew how to cook in theory. Between the two of us we managed to prepare a decent meal.

After dinner, we began to discuss our next course of action…which was when we were interrupted.

A collection of these ‘Marked’ had been seeking Sheryl out, it seemed – five of them. Alyssa visibly twitched to attack, and after some conversing, it came to be a necessity.

I’m shamed to admit it, but not surprised to do so; I was all but useless. In contrast, Alyssa was…fierce.

I would hesitate to tell her so, but the way she fought was very much comparable to the way those Martyrs did, when they attacked Blair and me in that alley.

When I asked how she had managed to eliminate the threats (a couple were quite a bit bigger than she) Alyssa simply told me, “Bleeders are just fucked up humans. Dealt with worse.”

The damage from the attack was more than physical, however. Sheryl was very visibly shaken, and despite having my sympathies, I had to urge her to prepare a bag to leave, and quickly. Our next destination was a store – ‘Curious Fantasies’ – to look for a Doll, of some kind.

Sheryl found what she needed, prepared a bag, and we were leaving the house.

However, somewhere along the line – and I still maintain my unsupportive position – it was decided that simply gathering intelligence from this store would not be enough.

Sheryl was (or, rather, is) convinced of nefarious goings-on, and Alyssa, perhaps irrationally, was supportive of Sheryl’s bloodlust.

We took to an enclosure, as private as we could make it, and they commenced a highly illegal discussion.

It only became more violent when Sheryl spotted the Doll they had been first discussing. She was briefly verging on hysterical, claiming it was ‘haunting’ her.

I grabbed the Doll, proposed we hang onto it for evidence’s sake – this was all the more reason to destroy Curious Fantasies, they argued.

Alyssa suggested the launcher, but we dismissed it; it had too much potential to destroy more than the store.

“Moltov cocktails,” she offered, instead. “Easy to make, in theory, way smaller blast radius. We could look up how to make them -”

“I know how. Even the best instructional guide is dangerous for a beginner to use.”

Both women were looking at me strangely, then, and Alyssa sounded disbelieving when she asked, “You’ve made Moltovs before?”

“Not to my recollection,” I answered, “but I do know how it’s done.”

She favored me with an even odder look, staring at me very hard. I began to list what I would require – something I will not do here, because I do not want to give anyone the means to create a weapon.

The materials were simple to gather, and it took me very little time to assemble the amateur explosives. We located the store, hurled a stone through the display windows, and tossed the cocktails inside.

We have only just finished fleeing the scene of our crime.

I hope, for Sheryl’s sake, that the nothing else was destroyed and that the authorities don’t linger.

I hope for Blair’s sake, and my own, that the three of us didn’t commit a crime for naught. I feel badly for Sheryl…but I feel worse letting even an hour pass where we are not focused entirely on xim, and if we’re captured and put behind bars, Blair is as good as dead.

If xe isn’t, already.