[u][b]__3[/b][/u] [i][b]I[/b]nterim [b]C[/b]ount[/i] [u]:[/u] [b]19:53:27\38[/b] [i]A breeding pool of savagery[/i]. Leaning through where the high-rise window pane once existed, a departed composite of the shards now strewn across the ochre horizon. At the foot of the building, a lazy coil of rope rested; left by the would-be sniper after making a kill shot on the Vanguard's doppelganger. He must have left immediately after making the shot. To buy himself time for the free fall rappel down, he had planted his own holo, hoping for a body to scavenge but prepared for the potential ruse. Tech finetuned enough to mimic human behavior so well meant this outfit was well funded. Not far off the briefing. Catching one of these desperadoes off their guard was a rarity but the Vanguard had been banking on an invitation into the lions' den. What they thought was an easy meal would be an opportunity to pressure the outlaws, and escalate their damning circumstances until a breaking point was reached. That was when things got interesting, that was when the time put into an assignment yielded its worth. Below, in the failing light, the low-lying transit station gaped like a seething wound, beckoning with howls of long dead memories. Almost as oppressive as the haze of rust groaning through the disintegrating metallic gorge, the obscured ramshackle building pulled on the skyscraper like the shifting dunes threatening to consume the perch. Finished examining the tie-off point for the abseiling gear the sniper had taken along, the ghostly scout holstered its charred pistol and contemplated the next move. Rapidly descending through the tower, the Vanguard mulled over details as the air darkened. The most had to be made of the time on hand. Although the Cabal were now certainly aware some rare technology was in play, the extremely limited visibility made a decoy holo unnecessary. The scales would be gravely tipped against any foe which encountered the ancient pistol at such reduced range. Their lack of intervention signaled their understanding of this. If in fact this was the hideout of a major kingpin, the Cabal might have sought to protect their investment. Whether they had planned on it or not, there was no choice but to let the situation play out. It had required a good deal of patience and timing but the propitious storm would grant a much needed window of stealth to the exit from the exclusion zone. Long after the matter was concluded in the buried structures below, the enduring deluge of orange fog would remain. The cord looped back onto the powdery, trackless sand, slipping off the Vanguard's gloved hand. Looking up ahead, the transit station was only given away by its rickety creaking. An invisible building, foundations strained, warping in its entirety, innards eaten away by time. Clinging debris slapped their moorings in the wind, old banners clapped and buzzes against themselves. What remained of the lost city moaned as the piercing winds screeched through the porous canyon. Only vaguely aware of the tumultuous atmosphere, the ranger forged onward, gaze affixed. Staying down off the portico, the stretch of pavement passed by where the holo had been put down. Dim light from within the ground floor cut through the thick slurry at last. Glancing right to left, the Vanguard stalked up the steps, pulling the pistol and priming it in one motion. The haze cleared by degrees as the overhang of the entryway drew closer. Muzzle steadily sweeping the interior, the flinty hunter waded precisely through the cluttered lobby. Some time ago the thoroughfare to the lower levels had been closed off, thick gates bolted to the floor and walls. The ruins of humanity were all in some way colored by a common sense of lost gravity, all tinted by indistinct tragedy. Comparing to the scale of loss, were the countless tales of the refuse left in the wake of humanity's fall. The ingress continued silently, stooping adroitly through the shuddering framework of a shattered wall, no traces of life to be seen beyond. Only the ghostly backup lamps, cutting darker prisms into the murk, hinted at inhabitance. Probably reactivated by the brigands, the muted lights blurred a decaying portrait of the 400 year old scene. The surprising harshness of the floorlights grew with proximity. As the Vanguard set foot in the the back room, the uncanny light which painted the walls instantly saturated the view. Transformed into a teal vortex of billowing particulates, the space glowed with its own swirling ether of radiance. The vibrancy of the sudden interlude broke upon the hardened mettle of the Vanguard, curling off the suit of armor like steam. Set into the opposite wall, darkened, a brooding stairwell held the attention of the room. Scanners read all clear but just above the muffled din raging outside, a light hearted tune could faintly be heard whistling from down the steps.