From atop the Empire State Building, Sól looks out over Manhatten. The city is burning, under siege by horrors from beyond the moon, its streets overrun by blasphemous cybernetic parodies of the human form. Even up there she can hear them chitter and squeak in their alien tongue, intermingled with the screams of those civilians unfortunate enough not to have already evacuated. Drones like bloated bio-mechanical mosquitos drift deceptively lazily through the air, cutting down anyone unfortunate enough to fall beneath their gaze.

Sól knows she must act. Every moment she stands idle, more innocents go to their doom. Her team needs her. Her friends need her. She runs fill tilt for towards the edge of the roof. She is a superhuman, power runs through her veins like molten gold. She knows no fear. Without hesitation, she leaps over the safety railing. For a few scant moments, she allows herself to plummet with strange, easy grace towards the Earth. Then, with the slightest exertion of will, gravity no longer has any say in the matter.

Máni peers out from the alley, solemnly observing the attack drones, blasphemous bio-mechanical parodies of mankind in form, tearing apart the street, their strange chittering intermingling with the screams of those civilians unfortunate enough not to have been evacuated when the siege began. He pulls back into the safety of the shadows as a airborne unit passes by, looking for more victims to cut down.

He whispers to his companion, "I think we're losing hold of the situation.

Máni peers out from the alley, solemnly observing the attack drones, blasphemous bio-mechanical parodies of mankind in form, tearing apart the street, their strange chittering intermingling with the screams of those civilians unfortunate enough not to have been evacuated when the siege began. He pulls back into the safety of the shadows as a airborne unit passes by, looking for more victims to cut down.

He whispers to his companion, "I think we're losing hold of the situation."

Máni peers out from the alley, solemnly observing the attack drones--blasphemous bio-mechanical parodies of mankind in form, tearing apart the street, their strange chittering intermingling with the screams of those civilians unfortunate enough not to have been evacuated when the siege began. He pulls back into the safety of the shadows as a airborne unit passes by, looking for more victims to cut down.

He whispers to his companion, "I think we're losing hold of the situation."