The Re-Awakening

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Ruin Cross

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#2  Edited By Ruin Cross

The rain poured down onto the rough cement. Dogs and cats retreated to the alleys for shelter. The lonely homeless man shuddered of frostbite, while in fetal position hugged up against the brick factory. Showing little focus to his surrounding, the audacious outlaw screw a silencer onto his firearm. He then settled the gun onto the metallic platform, and drew a thick black cloth from around his waist. Slowly and carefully, he blindfolded himself to causing his vision to be completely blocked. He then rubbed his hand through the soft wind, gradually moving closer to the gun. Then with the speed of a rattle snake, he snatched up the “Ruger MKII” pistol, and fired off two shots in what seemed to be random directions.

To his left, two dead cats lay, and two his right the “homeless” man lay motionless, with his shirt dyed in red liquid. The blood gushed from liver, onto the ground , completely enclosing around Ruin’s boots. The desperado, walked towards the corpse and flipped over the jacket. He pulled from the man a shiney silver, FBI badge and held it up examining it. He then tossed it to the side, and aimed the pistol at the head this time. “Nobody gets frostbite, in front of one of the warmest heat ventilation shafts in Michigan.” He fired off five more shots before proceeding  back to the streets of Detroit. A city where even the youth, were foul.

He mashed down on the pedal of the black and silver Harvey Davidson. For the first time in his life, he didn’t conceal himself. All of his weapons were viewable to those around. He was now a living outbreak. Charging through traffic like determined rhino, the mercenary had big plans and there were only a selected few who could help him fulfill them. He thought back to the moment, he stared into the cold dead eyes of his apprentice. Mark1212. A funeral, that was…to die for. Not being able to bear the service, Ruin retreated to the shadows. Somehow he felt it was his fault. His fault, that Mark1212 was murdered. However he had been just the opposite.

The Harley pulled up in front of a busy bar. He saw an image in the window, that immediately caused him to depart from the bike. Leaving it running in the middle of the street. The motor roaring even louder, as if it had been anticipating his emotions. Kicking in the door of the pub, he drew his gun for the second time today. The head of the pistol, was pressed against a pale white neck. He pressed harder as he pulled the gun lower to the back. Pulling the shirt with him and exposing the neck of this…imposter. A tattoo on the neck read “Bladed Angels: We are the shit, your just in our toilet!” Ruin cocked the gun, and forced more pressure onto the man’s neck. “No! Your not real, I’m dreaming. I saw your corpse. I know you died. I’m going to pull the trigger right now and I’m going to wake up from this hell hole.”

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#3  Edited By Quality


A lonely bench. So sad, so mysterious, full of history despite the eeriness of its own, self-loathing loneliness. Settled in the middle of a busy street, it had much of the wear and tare you would expect. The small stress reliever was near a decade old, and it had been repainted, revisited, and re-plastered hundreds of times to fight off natural causes for it, plain wood, to become weak from termites and the weather of Detroit, Michigan. A place where it rained constantly. Places like these, amount in the most suicide deaths, especially when almost out of the three hundred and sixty five days sixty were sunny, while the rest were grey, cloudy skies filled with rain and ice drops.

That was today, like the next few hundred days. Today though, it wasn't raining and you couldn't feel the drops of dew and rain running against your body, especially your sensitive face in which felt as if it was crying. When it wasn't, it was only the imagination of the person who owned that ugly or beautiful face. Much of the time, people had their faces covered, virtually no non-sacrificial tan, leaving them white, pale messes. Even the most renown people have come from a place just like this, or from Seattle itself. Yet, they shy away from talking about it since they knew that as they grew up, that place was the main focus of why they wanted to get away.

Now, in that chair was an equally eerie man. He was staring off at the ground before him, soaked wet from the night's rain before. The road that he was looking at barely saw a car on this day. Yet, many domestic buses had passed, all stopping for the man who was seemingly out of the world. After a few moments of no response, the buses drifted away, out of view, leaving a serene peaceful, non-noisy area for a proper thinker to think.

The day before, this same man had performed the most elusive, dastardly assassination on the planet. It was very near the best execution plan known to man, yet the News had better things to look at like Brittney Spears losing her hair, or Justin Timberlake coming out about being gay. The man might be over confident, but that boisterous act didn't bother him. It was the nightmares he awoke to in a deep, drenched sweat that helped his deep staring.  Along with that came the memories overlapping each other. One day, he would remember something, and the next day it would be replaced by something else.

Sometimes he took a back seat to his jobs, and just relaxed off the coast of Puerto Rico, or even South Korea. But, the problems would only cease for a while before returning yet again to plague him to his annoyance. Upon that reason, he couldn't figure out why he had to have a mask on when others were around, or even a  hat or something to blend with the public. All he knew is that he was told to do that, and that was what he had done for so long. Longer than he could remember, however it had only been a full half year since that marking. Since the marking of the 5th's fall in France, and the marking of the freelance assassin known simply put, no pun intended, Quality.

Luckily though, all of this seldom, somber shit was hidden by the dark of night. Mark was waiting for a few friends, old time friends that hadn't seen him since he was thirteen. Actually, they were more like brothers to him, and both of which hadn't known what he had done after leaving to go off to become some superhuman mercenary. Mark never really stayed as 'some' though, and he had become the most unique merc. to hit the big times, playing with the big boys the whole way through. He had made many friends, but most of those friends seemed to disappear off the face of the Earth, and Mark after a year of searching, left the Bladed Angels legacy alone.

Instead, he got a tattoo across his neck to commemorate those eager, hillarious friends he had joined. Mark smiled when his friends appeared across the street, waving their hands in a excited tone. John and Jake Mandrake, both twin brothers at the age of twenty one were one of the people that inspired Mark to strive for the better. And now from the rumors, they were rich hotel owners.

" Hey Mark, you sly mother fucker."Jake exclaimed.

Mark met them with a with a warm smile I've been around. Heard you guys are rich now, far away from your two bedroom apartment. I remember that couch in the living room, not so comfy either."

" Ah shut up, mate." John in his Australian mocking voice spoke.

" Let's just get some drinks. You guys have been letting me wait her to long. This sad shit's getting pretty hard to ignore."

Simultaneously both guys spoke. " Alright." Then Jake continued. "We know this english pub. Big cups for drinks. Your almost as tall as we are, they won't doubt your twenty one, but I don't seem to see you drinking anyways."

"Nah. I don't plan on drinking anything but Cokes."

"Good." The twins spoke together again in chiming voice as if they were fatherly or something.

The three walked through Detroit until they reached the english pub, Black Stones, and sat to grab some drinks. Just as the Mandrakes had said, no one had questioned Mark. After all, being around rolexes and suits that both the other guys were wearing made the Mandrakes look like buisness men. Mark only had some jeans and a nice button-up shirt with some DC shoes, but he was looking pretty good himself even without all the 'high' status stuff.

The three began to talk about what had happend across the years. Appearantly John and Jake had both got degrees in buisness in the same class, at the top ten percent of their class. College, to them, had been a very nice, uberly party town. They'd gotten drunk almost everday, managed to make it to their classes, and still passed everything. Their conversation was broken by the door to the pub being rudely broken through. Mark didn't have enough time to look back before he was taken and put down with a pistol to his neck.

“No! Your not real, I’m dreaming. I saw your corpse. I know you died. I’m going to pull the trigger right now and I’m going to wake up from this hell hole.”

An all too familar voice hit him hard. Mark opened his eyes wide. Ruin Cross, after so long he found the man, but in a situation that really didn't have a time to talk in a brothership. Mark stayed silent. He was counting to ten before turning the odds. After being shaken almost every second, Mark turned, hit Ruin in the chest with a quck punch before grabbing his arm and turning it to the point that Ruin had to drop his gun onto the table or face a broken arm. Before throwing RC into a table by the arm, Mark showed Ruin his face. Everything happened so fast it only took about three to four seconds to complete the maneuver

With RC out of the picture, Mark grabbed the pistol. Eyeing it, Mark stayed silent as the Ruin emerged from the table with an angered face. RC was ready to jump, but before he could Mark spoke.

"Ruger MKII. Haven't lost your style have you Ruin Cross. Last I heard, wait, I haven't heard from you in a long, long time. You 'disappeared' from this planet when I looked for you. I visited the base to find it corroded by the sea salt and virtually empty. You call me the imposter, but how do I know you aren't an imposter yourself bro."




 

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#4  Edited By Ruin Cross

It was all too fast for him to perceive or recall. A powerful blow to his chest plate, was the only thing he could distinguish from swift actions. As he anticipated, the unidentified mark1212 twisted his wrist in a complex set of turns causing Ruin to release the firearm. Then with no control over the force that was Mark1212, the phantom of the trigger was slammed into a wooden table. With the instant action of his reflexes, his hands pushed down hard sending in mid air, twirling around to his combatant. Landing in a standing position, he stared to the eyes of the so called Mark. "Ruger MKII. Haven't lost your style have you Ruin Cross. Last I heard, wait, I haven't heard from you in a long, long time. You 'disappeared' from this planet when I looked for you. I visited the base to find it corroded by the sea salt and virtually empty. You call me the impostor, but how do I know you aren't an impostor yourself bro." Thick, crimson, liquid gushed from his broken nose. Several gashes were spread across his face, and he had swallowed three teeth. However, still, even this skill of strength was not enough to prove this really was mark.

“Anybody can be a brute, but it takes skill for true combat. There is only way to prove we really are who we are. And if you are who you are, then you know what that way is.”

Ruin’s head turned to the left, then to the right as he glanced over the civilians who witnessed his demise. He looked at them all as insignificant, a look that said nothing other then “get out!” Afterwards, he began kicking over the tables, making room  for he and the fraud. He then drew both katanas from their sheathes, on his back. One he tossed into the air for Quality to catch, the other he kept for himself. Slowly, so the impostor mark would not get the impression that he was going to fire at him, he pulled another firearm from the holster on his waist. This time it was the 45. Magnum, he was commonly known to bear. He aimed the barrel at the power box, he then looked back to his opponent before speaking.  

“I hope your not afraid of the dark.”

Immediately following those words he pulled the trigger. Lights out…

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#5  Edited By Quality

A lot of thing conspired between the two. Malicious stares, a gaze of resent, and a silent lust for a once more battle that was long overdue. Ruin still didn't believe Mark was who he was, even with the brutal beatdown he had recieved in a snap between two fingers. Before Mark could plead his case, Ruin was already jibber jabbering about this and that, and how Mark was a brute but that didn't show anything, and that only true skill showed what Mark really was. As of that he had recieved a weapon, a special-made weapon to Ruin's specifications. Yet, even as Mark held the weapon, he felt that something had happened to Ruin to make him disappear. Usually, a well punch to the chest and a whole warmonger of things wouldn't even wound Ruin. Now, blood was pouring, a nose was broken, and even Ruin's teeth had fallen out.

The lights were off in an instant as a bullet rang out among the silence of the bar. John and Jake had disappeared amongst the crowd, knowing they would see Mark sooner or later. He was to skilled to be killed. Mark wasn't surprised, Ruin had a nack for getting rid of people, and he also knew Ruin carried a 45. even if he was hanging around a bar or in a car. It was a sort of protection against whatever Ruin was afraid of, but still, it was a good weapon to have around. When the lights went out, Mark smiled. This was his territory, a skilled sword fight. A weapon that Mark always held within the highest of esteem wherever he was.

" The dark. Seriously? We fought beasts on an island, I saw people like Siphon near dead simply because of some vicious, scary-ass things that wanted the end for it all, you, me, the world. You came back and old guy, with your beard, but you weren't really you, remember that."

Mark glanced through the darkness with a silent assurance.

" Am I breaking the ice now. With words, not some crazy fight you know you can't win when your not immortal anymore. I was once afraid of you, once your apprentice in battle,  I admired your skill and admiration to the Bladed Angels. Now, you're some despicable person who thinks an old friend, almost son is a fraud, a fake. You're a weak fool now, I've surpassed you in every way... Just hope your vengeance doesn't end with you accidentally dying."

From behind Mark heard a rustle of movement. He turned and blocked just as a blow came down towards his head. Then Ruin was gone, playing his little game. Another attack, another movement, this time Mark blocked it and grabbed a hold of the sword by it's hilt just as it was wrestled away from him by a strong, firm hand. Mark smiled, he knew Ruin was going to be able to at least see or something, RC had the upperhand of course, after all he had initiated the attack in the first place. Another attack, a side-swipe blocked with determination, however causing a large cut on Mark's arm, as Ruin came around for another attack. With a shear force, Mark was hit on the head with a karate chop-like hand which gave him a small headache, and a small bit of annoyance.

" Alright.. no more holding back." Mark muttered the wods to himself before letting out a louder voice to address Ruin Cross. "You want to see Mark, Mark doesn't need a weapon for you to see him."

Then Mark was after RC's movement. With a speed unrivaled, Mark was jumping around tables, sliding underneath chairs, and even attempting attacks at where he thought he saw Ruin. Then, Mark bumped into a figure. Immediatly he was on Ruin Cross, grabbing onto the figures arm and then pulling him into the ground face first. Mark jumped on the figures back, holding down it's face. He was sure now that it was RC. With his shorter hair, however long, Mark felt it was the length he had seen the 'new' RC with before the lights going dark. With fury, Mark held down Ruin's face with almost all his strength, and the adrenaline of pain searing his head and a cut in his arm cutting blood.

" Aww... Did I hurt you? Ha!... Believe me now. Ahh... Probably not. So I'll just cripple you for you to believe."

Taking away his left arm from the effort, Mark used his left arm's fingers to hit Ruin in three different places on his neck near the spinal cord. With angst and anxiety, however still holding precision, Mark knew he had accomplished what he had said. Ruin was paralyzed, for the time being. Standing, Mark walked around in the dark until he found a switch. Hitting it, he other lights flickered on. Ruin had hit the main battery which had been lighting up the building, while the switches had been turned off. Now, with one of the two switches on, half of the bar was now illuminated in light.

Making his way over to Ruin's un-moving body, Mark sat him upright. Ruin could still move his head, and was slurring provacative profanity.

" Hot headed Ruin."

Mark laughed, it was funny to see the man he looked up to screaming words like bitch, ass hole, mother fucker. It was just plain hillarious.

" My funs done with."

Mark  proceeded to move Ruin's head, in which Ruin attempted to bite him, forwards so he could reach the back. With a few more hits to the head Ruin was able to move his body once more and got up.

" I picked up that little trick a while back, as someone who didn't remember his roots in the Bladed Angels." BA 4 Life", remember? I invented that saying on a beach surrounded by radiation-like animals who I should have died against. Do you see now? Believe me yet? I'm the real Mark, your just in denial." We are the shit, you're just in our toilet." I knew that was a classic, and it was a commemoration to you and all the others I couldn't find. But now, you're here, and I just whooped your ass."

Mark smiled and then giggled. His humour was raw, rawer than ever. But somewhere inside his speech, Mark was there, the thirteen year old boy who was the life of the Bladed Angels. The 'little' bro to all his friends on the team. He was the inspiration for his friends to survive. Now, he was fighting an enemy once his friend. Throug his confidence though, Ruin managed to embrace Mark with a left drop kick which hit its mark, flying Mark onto his back. Not done yet, Ruin contined by hitting Mark across the face with a backhand, or in simple terms, bitch slap-like. Ruin was holding Mark down with his left foot with applied pressure. Mark wasn't weak, but at the same time Ruin was older and stronger than he was, with just enough knowledge to know how to keep someone steadily on the floor, and so Mark laid as Ruin beant over with his .45 aimed towards his head. Mark watched Ruin Cross pick it up from a table that had turned up-right with the commotion and had luckily been the resting place for RC's gun.

"That was cheap." Mark muttered.

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#6  Edited By Ruin Cross

“The dark. Seriously? We fought beasts on an island, I saw people like Siphon near dead simply because of some vicious, scary-ass things that wanted the end for it all, you, me, the world. You came back and old guy, with your beard, but you weren't really you, remember that. Am I breaking the ice now? With words, not some crazy fight you know you can't win when your not immortal anymore. I was once afraid of you, once your apprentice in battle,  I admired your skill and admiration to the Bladed Angels. Now, you're some despicable person, who thinks an old friend, almost son is a fraud, a fake. You're a weak fool now; I've surpassed you in every way... Just hope your vengeance doesn't end with you accidentally dying.”

The villainous Ruin Cross, was not listening to the words that were spoken to him. There was only one thing on his mind. Execute the imposter, which may he say is a hell of a good one, and resurrect the Bladed Angels. To re-awake the Bladed Angels in a way that the old Ruin Cross was not capable of. But that moment would have to linger, for right now he needed to focus on the brawl at hand. He and the cloned Mark1212 traded blow after blow, far more intense than anything you’d see on TV. Even though this clone had been on Cross’ turf, it’s sheer force was something far more powerful that Ruin. The dark side, continued to conceal the true Ruin in his mind. Who was still trying to break his way out.

Deep into the mind of Ruin Cross

The Dragon Emperor, was surrounded by replicates of the god of war, Ares. “Ruin Cross, you just don’t give up. Stop fighting back!” “Never!” “I’ll make a deal with you, let me corrupt your body, and I will re-grant you powers. No doubt they wont be as powerful as before, but you’ll have something. You’re not a god anymore, you’re a pathetic mercenary. Think about it.” The voice of Ares, left all of his replication instantaneously. Ruin’s body is one of the only bodies, capable of concealing Ares power. So for some time now, he has been attempting to corrupt Ruin. When Ruin had his power, he created telepathic barriers to block out Ares from his mind. But now at this very moment, he was vulnerable. “Ares, you can corrupt my body, but never will you corrupt my soul.” “And just what do you plan on doing about it? Merc.”

There was one thing Ares had forgotten, one very important thing that would be his downfall. “Ares, the mind is a powerful thing. Something called imagination. And my mind, I have power over my imagination.” A yellow light concealed Ruin’s body as he began to transform. As the light dimmed, he was hovering in the air with a long beard and divine armor, along with the large slayer’s blade in his hand. A grin of victory wiped over his face, as Ares’ replicates once again combined into one. “No this can’t be! I’m still the god of war!” “Yeah, but uh, I’m the champion of all you mutherfuck@s.” Ares at that moment donned a battle stance, drawing two blades, Ruin only laughed as he teleported around the antagonist. Not only to confuse, him but simply to piss him off. Ares was simply no match for ruin in his own mind. Hovering over Ares’ head, the Dragon Emperor dived down impaling the blade into his skull.

Back at the Bar

Ruin had soon taken re-control of his body. Not only had the feeling of freedom swept through him, but also pain and ailment. He had been aiming his 45. Magnum at an old friend Mark1212, and instantly he holstered the firearm. “Mark, damn it! I knew you were alive! No matter what they said! Look whatever conspired here was none of my doing. The Olympian god Ares has been trying to overturn my soul for some time. But um, I’m learning to overpower him. However, if he finds away to completely take over my body then you won’t be able to stop him, alone. So we must move quick. However, together we must re awake the Bladed Angels, I have a bit of gathering planned.” He tossed a biker’s helmet to his matured apprentice, who now was much more skilled. Sliding on a helmet over his own head, he drew the shogun from his back, blowing a hole into the wall. The crowd was monstrous, probably waiting to see who’d walk out alive of this ‘bout’. They made way for Ruin, almost as if he was monster. Ares was giving him bad publicity. Sitting onto the motorcycle, at which there was a second one beside him which was for Mark to follow him on, he inserted the key into the ignition, and drove off into the night.    
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#7  Edited By Quality
“Mark, damn it! I knew you were alive! No matter what they said! Look whatever conspired here was none of my doing. The Olympian god Ares has been trying to overturn my soul for some time. But um, I’m learning to overpower him. However, if he finds away to completely take over my body then you won’t be able to stop him, alone. So we must move quick. However, together we must re awake the Bladed Angels, I have a bit of gathering planned.”

In the blink of an eye The Silent Killer was denounced of his death sentance at the hands of Ruin Cross. The feeling of imputancy was washed away with the glimer of hope, despite the pointed fact that Mark could easily deal with Ruin with just a small shift of weight from one place to another.  Immediatly the holster of the .45 was filled by the gun of the man it belonged to, and a helping hand was brushed out upon it's freedom to help The Percision Percussionist get back to his feet. Quality looked with astonishment at Ruin who was going to kill him just a minute before without much thought. What the hell... Oh wait! Ruin was always some sort of freaky dude, shifting thoughts from here to there just by the 'gods' of whatever they were. That was the true Ruin, the one that taught me basically, but in a small amount, everything I know to do in the "Superhero" world.

Reality though, for only sixteen years of Mark's life, had been used away for malicious, ominous training. That training was only incoporated into him in order to become a living weapon, but instead he had become The Living Death Warrant. That was the monicker he had been granted, and one that would never go away despite the many other names that had been used instead of the regular Quality. People were greedy, and that greed had rushed through Mark's frail, weak body without much thought of his own feelings. Torture, defeat, ambarressment, anger, fear, pain, and a host of emotions had run through Mark's small body during his young years. In truth, he'd showed up on the Bladed Angels roster at fourteen, and the youngest member to ever join at that.

Instead of grabbing Ruin's open hand, Mark independantly picked himself up. Using his arms to hoist his upper-body off, Mark pushed off from the floor and his body weight was pushed to his bent legs as he was now in a crouching position. Letting his legs stretch The Silent Killer was standing as a biker's helmet was thrown to him with immediate, but small force. Catching it with one hand, The Percision Percussionist clenched it with the tips of his large fingers compared to how they were back when he was fourteen. A shotgun shell came out of the top of Ruin's shotgun thereafter, causing Mark to open his eyes wide in a surprised motion. But, after seeing Ruin leave and the abundant, sour crowd parting ways for him. In accordance Mark slowly walked out of the broken wall, doing a small, steep incline as he did, towards his former master and old friend rounding away towards two bikes.

Following his new-found companion, Mark placed himself on the bike opossite of Ruin's choice. Still silent and still in awe that somehow 'a Ares' took over Ruin, The Silent Kille popped the biker's helmet upon his head. The visor blurred the darkness further, but Mark ignored it as he turned the ignition of his bike and turned the left handle. Without a moments hesitation he and Ruin were off into the darkness. Silence for The Living Death Warrant was in order, but he couldn't express his joy for his old tredding ground to return once more.

"Who's first, Ares or one of our partners in crime?"
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#8  Edited By Ruin Cross

He wasn’t sure exactly why, but Mark was different. Everything about him, his personality, his movement, it had all changed. As much as he wanted to ask, personal questions would have to wait until later. Because Ruin was on a tight schedule. Ruin’s bike slowed down, upon arriving to its destination. He could hear Mark coming to a halt as well. He slowly removed his helmet and got of the bike. Silently creeping towards, Mark’s bike he gave several hand signals saying, “I’m going to go in, I need to check on something. If anything extreme happens, come in immediately.” The then crept up towards, the shattered glass of the corporate building. Stepping through the large hole, he watched the security guard quiver in blood. “Where is he at?” “You mean it?” “Whatever! Where is he?” “He’s in the sheriff’s building. Most likely in the interrogation room.” “Who’s doing the interrogating?” “He is…”

With those two words, Ruin had rushed back to his bike. In utter hurry, he put the key into the ignition, and was once again flying through the streets of Michigan. He then tapped a button on the side of his helmet activation the telecom from his helmet to Mark’s. “Dark Raider, tearing down the damn city looking for us. We got to get him to stop.” Minutes later, Ruin and Mark arrived at the county sheriff’s office. The door had been ripped off the edges, bricks from the building had taken up the sidewalk. Ruin smiled as he stepped over the debris and into the building. Every cop in their directed their weapons at him, as the sheriff approached him. “Ruin Cross, we have a warrant for your arrest. Put em’ up.”

Ruin did as told, he put his hands on the back of his head. They cuffed both of his wrist. “Now what sheriff? You’ve got one of my boys back their, tearing this place to shreds and your going to lock only men who can stop him?” The sheriff knew it was the truth, “Your right,” he looked to the officers “remove the handcuffs.” Ruin smiled as he simply through the handcuffs onto the floor, “No need, I already took the honor to do so.” He hand moved towards his holster for the 44. magnum, but he decided he would need something louder. As he grabbed one of the double barrel shotguns on the desk, he move stealthily to DR’s location. Distinct because of the big hole in the wall, DR had a cop by his legs and was slamming him around on ever wall, yelling, “Where is Ruin Cross?”  Ruin cocked the shotgun and fired two at the ceiling. “I’m right here. As you already, I am in the process of re-awakening the Bladed Angels. Are you interested?”