++++++
Oriena fucking admitted to it. The bloodied rag of a woman hurled those wraiths. He fucking knew it! Their remains crunched beneath his boots as he stalked closer, grinding the bits as he did.
“Did it hurt, Oriena?” he repeated himself. The sound of her name was nails cragged on his tongue. And now he knew the answer.
His fists balled. He didn’t need a knife to finish her. A flick of his hands would do it.
Mikhail popped up, but Ryker shook his head. “After,” he said, pushing through with obvious intent.
Oriena’s defense was pathetic. Weak. Useless. She admitted as much, and he nodded. Everyone assumed he had some guiding sense of honor that bound his rules of engagement. They assumed wrong. Weak was just as he preferred, “Makes it easier for me.” He snarled when her soggy hair flailed backward. He was going to kill her properly this time. Consequences be damned. Videos could be scrubbed. Falsities written. He knew better than most. He orchestrated that kind of shit around the world.
Course, last time it landed him in prison in the fucking west for years. But it was a passing thought.
Such was his surprise when a pound landed square on his chest. He flew, world blurring, landing on his back that crushed the air from his lungs.
The sense of a power-user hovered before the shadow overtook the sky. The world fell black as the last thing he saw was the mother fucking uniform of a Dominion.
((ooc: Authorities arrive in the company of one of the rods of dominion, binding him up, and barely saving Oriena’s life. While he’s unconscious, you can assume he is bound with a sort of eye-covering neck-brace device and hauled away in a truck while the others investigate.))