When you walk the streets of the Capital at night, you are putting your very life at risk. No one will come to help you should you be attacked, none shall speak of your demise for fear of retaliation, and the blame will fall entirely on you. This has been an unspoken rule among the populace for years. Whether it be street thugs, corrupt soldiers, or crime syndicates, the city is filled to the brim with those who would happily kill you if given the chance.

To walk the streets with the ever-present threat of Death looming over your shoulder... This is not how a city should be, let alone the capital city of a nation. What should have been a major hub of political, social, economic, and cultural exchange, had been transformed into a vile nest of crooks, corrupt politicians, killers, and just about every other type of scum that one could think of. The once glorious city had been reduced to its current vile state due to a repugnant disease that has taken root at the city's core. A cancerous tumor has formed in the royal court, its influence having gone unchecked, allowing it to fester and spread until the point that the entire metropolis was infected. And once the infection grew to critical mass, it spilled forth from city walls and expanded its horrid influence. Not many were fully aware of it, but the Empire was slowly but surely dying a horrific death. And unless someone miraculously managed to expunge the source of its sickness, then there will never be any hope for recovery. But in order to do that, one must brave the terrors of the Capital and the dangers associated with doing so… Few have what it takes to merely try, and even fewer manage to survive doing so.

When you walk the streets of the Capital, you are never safe.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here…

So, when a gang of criminals spot a young woman walking the streets on her own, the temptation is just too great for them to pass up. They needn't even try to sneak up on or surround her. There were no guards in sight, and even if there were they could easily be paid to look the other way. The eight thugs confidently approached the woman from the front, her eye snapping to them almost immediately. The lack of the plural for 'eye' was due to the fact that her right eye was hidden beneath bandages. Her impressive bust earned her a few leers from the men, the more impulsive members of the group already undressing her with their eyes and fantasizing about the depraved plans they had in store for her. It had been nearly a full week since their last 'toy' had expired, and they were thirsting for carnal delights. The unfamiliar yet obvious militaristic design of the woman's attire didn't even register in their minds, mental warnings of exercising caution went unheard for them. To the gang, this was just another routine abduction with the added benefit of their target appearing to be wounded, which just meant less kicking and screaming than usual.

The lead gang member stepped forward as his buddies spread out and moved into a pincer position, each ready to lunge at the woman if she tried to flee.

"Hey there babe~." the thug said as he sneered at the woman. "You lookin' for some company tonight~?"

Despite the clear and present danger before her, the woman maintained a stoic expression. The clenching of her fists as the man reached out to her went unnoticed until it was too late.

(-)

The sun had just barely started its ascent into the new day, and already inconvenient shit started to rear its ugly head. Franz had been called out for patrol early, a fellow guard squad requesting assistance in securing a crime scene for further investigation. While somewhat irritated at being woken up at such an early hour, it wasn't a very rare occurrence, especially with Night Raid upping their game… Along with another troubling development as of late. Murders, robberies, and other assorted malicious activities were nothing new to the capital, the frequency of their occurrence becoming part of mundane daily life.

Most of these crimes were swiftly dealt with at the discretion of whomever held the highest rank that arrived on location. This meant that for most of these crimes, the city's investigators weren't given much time to examine the scene or collect witness statements. Standard procedure was rarely enforced or even followed through on. They would show up, act like they were doing their job properly, and wait for the person in-charge to instruct them further. The investigations were little more than posturing and bluster, the verdict of the crime entirely dependent on the whims of the senior officer, who would more often than not be bribed, lack interest in the crime entirely, or just arrest the first person who has the finger pointed at them. It was only the high-profile cases that earned a genuine response. And given that Franz was being woken up at this godforsaken hour and being legitimately ordered to respond, it was clearly evident that this was one of those 'high-profile' cases. Which naturally meant that he couldn't just ignore it without getting in trouble with his CO.

Ten minutes later, Franz and his assistants had arrived on-scene, the entire section of street having been quartered-off to keep civilians from interfering. Not that there were many who were awake let alone interested.

"What have we got today?" the military investigator asked the soldier who greeted him, doing his best to stifle a yawn while doing so.

"Another killing by them sir, this time we have eight dead." the grunt answered as he gave a salute. "The sergeant can give you further briefing should you desire."

Franz clicked his tongue in annoyance when he was told of the perpetrator. Under normal circumstances, Night Raid would be the standard go-to for blame whenever somebody turned up dead that required someone of his caliber present. If someone says 'them', they are usually referring to Night Raid. But due to recent developments, that particular word had to be redesignated for another troublesome criminal.

"Hahh, just my damn luck." the investigator lamented as he strode past the guard and took in the sight before him.

As the soldier had stated, there were eight corpses in total that were spread across the length of half a city block. The amount of blood splatter was minimal, indicating a lack of weaponry involved in the killings, as was usual with the previous crimes linked to the perpetrator. Making his way to the sergeant, Franz noted the cause of death for one of the victims as he walked past them, that being the indentation of a boot-print on his crushed throat. Giving a quick hand-signal, Franz instructed his men to begin examining the scene for anything of note. Stepping forward so he stood beside the sergeant, Franz inclined his head to gaze at the same thing the soldier was looking at. Not that it was something that might go unnoticed, as was presented clearly for all onlookers to see.

"'Filth', huh?" Franz remarked, speaking the word that had been carved into the stone wall in large letters.

The sergeant gave a sharp exhale. "Whoever is doing this, they certainly intend to make a statement."

Franz nodded in agreement. As with all the previous cases involving this killer, another ominous message had been left behind that yet again would instill a sense of fear in the populace. At least, that's how they had been ordered to report it as. Scaring the citizens with the warning of a ruthless serial killer on the loose made for a great means of controlling the ignorant masses. However, the message was less of a menacing scare-tactic, but more of a means to identify the victims and serve as a warning to others. Franz wasn't certain about the rest of them, but he recognized at least two of the dead men as being human traffickers. They were rather small-time, but had been slowly working their way up the food-chain to the point that Night Raid would undoubtedly take notice in the near future. Yet it seemed that someone had decided to take initiative and dealt with the thugs personally.

"Witnesses?" Franz asked as he took out a notebook to record anything they found that was of note.

The sergeant shook his head in the negative. "None. Not that I'd expect anyone to come forward even if they did see something. The civvies are too afraid that ratting out the killer means that they'll be next on the chopping block. We even had to wait until one of our own patrols discovered the bodies, rather than having someone call it in."

"So, no different than usual. Fucking fantastic." Franz grumbled in aggravation. He then turned towards one of his men who was examining a corpse. "Josef, victims belongings?"

"Picked clean, just like the previous killings. Money is gone, and I have an empty pistol holster hidden under this one's coat. Took the weapons too."

"Same as always…" Franz muttered under his breath. Whoever was behind these recent murders had consistently robbed the victims of all their valuables post-mortem. "Time of death?"

"Judging by body temp, I'd say about three to four hours ago."

Franz ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. "But with no witnesses, that information is practically redundant."

The investigator was getting fed-up with whoever is behind all these killings. Just like Night Raid, they only seemed to strike at night, with a few exceptions being around dusk. They left no evidence, no survivors, the only thing they did leave were the messages carved into whatever hard surface was available, which only resulted in further trouble to be dealt with. Had the killer just written on the walls using their victims' blood like a normal psychopath, then it could be washed off with relative ease. But by carving the words into stone, it was made exponentially more difficult to rectify the problem. They'd just have to plaster a bunch of wanted posters over it or something.

However, there was one thing in particular that stood out about this killing than the rest: the body-count. The highest death-toll prior to now had been three victims at a single location, but this attack had more than doubled it. Not to mention that nearly all eight men had a considerable amount of muscle-mass to them, meaning they should have been able to put up a fight against the killer. Either they were dealing with multiple suspects, or the person behind this was some kind of monster in the form of man, and the latter was likely the case. All of the killings had been consistent in their execution, displaying a brutal efficiency that would be extremely difficult for a second killer to perfectly mimic. Each strike served a purpose, each blow inflicted a precise wound, everything was done with pin-point accuracy.

"Whoever did this, knew exactly how to destroy the human body…" Franz muttered as he reached into his jacket pocket to grab a cigarette. "And it falls to us to figure out just who this monster is Fantastic…"

(-)

With a brief grunt of exertion, the man behind the counter hefted a wooden crate up and placed it on the raised surface. Giving a cursory look to make sure none of the contents had been damaged from the jostling movement, the shopkeeper nodded in satisfaction before shifting his gaze back to the customer.

"Here you go ma'am. I managed to get the majority of what you asked for, but I'm fresh out of magnesium sulfate. Don't know when to expect another shipment to come in either."

Quickly inspecting the crate filled with the supplies she had ordered, the woman hummed in thought for a moment. Everything else was there and accounted for, exact amounts of the materials provided measured as accurately as possible by current technological standards.

"Indeed. While not an immediate problem, I will need to visit another chemist in the near future." the woman uttered -mainly to herself- as she cupped her chin, trying to recall where she could find another supplier.

"What? Can't you just wait and stay my loyal customer?" the man asked in a joking tone. "I promise I'll have the stuff in as quick as I can."

"I must decline your request." the woman responded, failing to recognize the teasing undertone to the shopkeeper's remark. "The needs of my patients take priority over whomever I choose to trade with. Though if a shipment comes in before I can find it elsewhere, I'll be sure to return."

The shopkeeper gave a weak shrug as the woman placed her payment on the counter before lifting the crate and leaving. "I guess sarcasm is wasted on her."

Exiting the shop with her purchase secured in her grasp, the woman strode over to a nearby carriage and lowered the back grate, allowing her to slide the container underneath one of the wooden racks that could serve as improvised seating. Flipping the grate back up and ensuring it was firmly locked in-place, she made her way to the front of the carriage and climbed up to the drivers' seat, grabbing the reins for the horse as she did so.

"Come now Aggro, it is time for us to depart." she instructed the horse, snapping the reins down as she did so.

The black stallion let out a brief whinny before starting to trot forward, avoiding the foot-traffic they were sharing the road with.

Looking up at the sky to determine the position of the sun relative to the time of day, the woman nodded to herself, pleased that at the rate things were going she'd manage to adhere to the schedule that was planned.

Given the militaristic design of her attire -despite it being an unfamiliar uniform- many would assume that the woman was some form of soldier, but that wasn't quite the case. Known as the Angel of Crimea, Florence Nightingale stood at the forefront of a movement for advancing medical treatment and standardizing numerous practices that reduced the mortality rate for people undergoing surgery. She was hailed as a saint, praised for her role in starting a medical revolution that changed the way people viewed the doctoral profession, and regarded as an angel by the men she saved during her time in Crimea. However, receiving these lofty titles and practical worship from her patients was never her intention. For her entire career, she saved people simply because it is the right thing to do. So it was that upon reaching the Capital, the legendary nurse gazed at the suffering and sickness that surrounded her, and immediately began emergency treatment. She cured the sick and suffering during the day, and at night she would excise cancerous tumors and purge the disease that stained the streets. A cure for the ill, and a scalpel for the plague.

"The lack of magnesium sulfate is an inconvenience, but I still have enough to get me through a couple more days. Since here aren't any other shops along my route, I'll have to try again tomorrow elsewhere." Nightingale muttered to herself as she steered her carriage down a side-street.

The further down the road she went the more dilapidated and dirtier the infrastructure became, a sure sign that she was heading deeper into one of the city slums. Even with the sun still in the sky, much of the district was shrouded in darkness. This particular slum had been built across a narrow stretch of land, resulting in 'houses' having been built upwards in order to utilize what little space the denizens had. Even the smallest of buildings were at least three-stories high, causing the streets to be near perpetually dark due to the shadows that were cast. The impoverished citizens who called this place home were forced to fight for survival on a daily basis, as the darkness was the ideal environment for mold and other forms of bacteria to propagate and spread to the people, causing many an illness. Many of the buildings also lacked plumbing, which meant no running water and no means to easily dispose of bodily waste. Doing their best to adapt to the unfortunate living conditions forced upon them, the residents constructed numerous rooftop gardens and rain catchers for food and water. They built a network of improvised bridges that would connect one rooftop to another, giving the populace an alternative means of traversing the neighborhood. While this limited street-level foot-traffic and allowed the people exposure to the sunlight, it was not without its dangers, falling from often deadly heights being the most prominent.

Nightingale knew that she needed to step in and do everything in her power to help ease their suffering. This was the third slum she had visited, and it most certainly would not be the last.

"Look! It's miss Nightingale!" a child cried out, looking down on the street from one of the bridges overhead.

"The nurse-lady is back?!"

"Hooray!"

"I'll race you to the square!"

The Angel of Crimea smiled warmly at her daily welcome, before calling out to the excited children. "No running on the rooftops, or you won't be getting any candy!"

"Yes, Miss Nightingale!" a few of the children called back.

Today marked the fifth day she had spent treating patients in this particular slum, meaning that she would return once more tomorrow before taking a day to find her next destination to start the process over again. As much as she desired to remain in the area until the health of the populace reached her standards, she was keenly aware that this was not the only district suffering from the numerous forms of sickness that plagued the city. All she could do for the time being was give the slum a metaphorical booster-shot to ease the burden on the residents while they waited for her return in a few weeks' time.

It wasn't long before Nightingale's carriage reached what was essentially the central plaza for the neighborhood, a relatively spacious crossroads that had been converted into a makeshift outdoor market that was fortunate enough to have the most exposure to sunlight in the entirety of the slum. Worries over blocking the streets for traffic passing through were a non-issue, as the largest carriages in the area were simple carts pulled by men. However, after Nightingale's first arrival the citizens had cleared a path for her carriage so that she may come and go as needed.

Brushing a few loose strands of hair out of her vision, Nightingale was pleased to see the orderly line that had formed at the medical tent that she resided at.

"How was your trip, Miss Nightingale?" a middle-aged man called out as he grabbed the reigns of her horse to carefully guide it towards the tent. "Anything interesting happen while you were out?"

The woman shook her head in the negative. "Aside from a small supply issue, nothing of importance. I should be the one asking if something happened while I was gone."

A despondent look briefly crossed the mans' features before he schooled his expression. "Barnaby took a tumble from the roofs but managed to catch himself on an awning on the way down. We're pretty sure his left arm is broken though. That's about it. I'm honestly surprised just how much things have improved since you first showed up. There aren't any words to properly express our gratitude for your aid."

"I thank you for the kind words, but it was never my intention to garner praise for my actions." Nightingale spoke with a fond smile. "My only desire is to help those in need, and the satisfaction of doing so is all I could ever want."

"That kind of mentality will get you swallowed up by the darkness of the city. It's a little scary how you seem to be faring as well as you are. Surely others have tried to take advantage of you?" the man asked as he tied the horse to a hitching post.

Climbing down from her seat, Nightingale circled around to the rear of the carriage and started onloading the cargo. "Your worries are extremely warranted, as I have quickly come to understand. Yet I am not the type to be easily fooled." she explained while carrying a stack of crates, the strength required for doing so going beyond what her physique should be capable of. "Can you grab that yellow bow for me?"

Heading to her tent, Nightingale nodded at the greetings she received before pushing her way through the canvas flaps. The interior was immaculately clean, a standard of perfection that Nightingale refuses to compromise on. Four simple cots were lined along the walls at the entranceway, two to a side which left an isle down the center. A compact desk was pushed to one side, the various drawers used for storing paperwork and other odds and ends. A pair of chairs were pressed against it, being kept out of the way until needed. The back half of the tent was separated by a curtain hanging from a metal rack, allowing for privacy when Nightingale performed examinations. Further in from the examination 'room' was another divider that kept Nightingale's private belongings away from her patients. It served as a small storage section for her medical supplies and the like, as well as contained a chemistry station where she would brew various medicines and disinfectant compounds. While the 'skills' associated with her legend allowed her to produce tools and equipment from the ether, actual medicinal resources were not included in that ability. Hence the reason she needed to either buy or create many of the materials she requires.

Once the carriage had been emptied of the desired cargo and everything had been put in its rightful place, Nightingale set about her routine medical exams. After tying her hair back in a braid, she removed the leather gloves she was wearing and allowed a pair of surgical gloves to manifest over her hands.

"Schedule for today; finish this round of inoculations, distribute vitamin supplements to the children, make another batch of water purification tablets…" Nightingale began listing off to herself as she soon became engrossed in her work.

(-)

At an undisclosed location beyond the outskirts of the Capital, a woman who once served as a high-ranking military officer for the Empire yet now took up arms against it, took a long drag of her cigarette while she mulled over the report she had just been given.

"So, the Cleaner has struck again…" she remarked plainly, the only hint at her satisfaction from the news being the faint upwards tug of her lips.

While the law enforcers of the Capital deigned to not give the suspect of the recent serial killings an epithet, the members of Night Raid felt it necessary to bestow a fitting moniker for the killer, as the group had developed a vested interest in this particular criminal.

"Yeah, eight dead this time." the buxom blonde of the group clarified. "Did some investigating and discovered the lot were some notorious rapists and a few human traffickers. Another handful of scum who got what they had coming to them, and the city is a better place with them dead."

"What did they say this time?" a well-built man with a marvelous pompadour asked, referencing the message left behind at every prior scene.

"This time it was 'Filth'." the blonde answered.

The title of Cleaner that had been given to the killer came from both the nature of them 'cleaning up the streets' of the scum who prowled about, as well as the numerous words that had been left behind, no doubt the killer voicing their opinion towards their victims.

"Scum, Filth, Vermin, Disease, Plague, Poison… Pretty accurate descriptions if you ask me." a green-haired teen remarked off-hand, before turning his gaze back to their leader. "Have you decided on a plan of action, Boss?"

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, the women took a moment to ponder her options. "Leone, how certain are you of the suspects identity?"

"Almost one-hundred percent. The start of the killings pretty much coincides with the first reported arrival of the doctor in the slums." Leone answered confidently. "Of course, the city guards don't give two shits about those places, so they never would have put 1 and 1 together. The woman's name is Florence Nightingale, and she's probably the best damn doctor in the entire Capital. We can attribute the brutal precision from the murders to extensive knowledge about human physiology, the same kind of stuff a doctor would be intimately familiar with."

"That's nice and all, but what do you think the odds are of her joining us to begin with?" the pink-haired girl of the group asked.

"At the very least, we can try to form a mutually beneficial arrangement." Leone opined in response. "It would be nice to have a professional doctor in the vicinity of the Capital that we can make use of. That she can handle herself in a fight is just icing on the cake."

Drumming the metal fingers of her prosthetic limb on the armrest of her chair, the groups leader came to a decision. "I have to attend a meeting with the higher-ups soon, so I'll ask them what they think. I'd imagine they'd be interested in the idea as well. Until then, it's just business as usual. While I'm gone, I want Leone to gather intel on our next potential target. If she finds evidence that backs up the clients claims, then you have my authority to initiate mission deployment."

(-)

It was late in the night when it happened. Nightingale had been traveling towards the next slum on her list of destinations with the hopes of arriving in the early morning, but fate had other plans in mind. A rustle from some nearby bushes caught her attention, causing her to halt her carriage. Eyeing the shaking shrubbery for a few moments, she was about to disembark her carriage and get a closer look, only for something -or rather, someone- to come stumbling out and collapse to the ground in exhaustion.

No words were uttered by the nurse as she rushed to the person's aid. Carefully turning them over to get a better understanding of their condition, for the first time in what felt like an eternity she was horrified by what she saw. The victim was a child -a boy of ten years old at most- who had been horribly mutilated over the majority of his body. These was the kind of injuries a soldier would sustain on the brutalist of battlefields, not from a child staggering down the road. There were numerous lacerations on his abdomen, parts of his skin appeared to have been shaven off his arms, his left arm had been amputated from the mid-forearm down, while his right hand was only left with his index and middle fingers. Traces of bile were running down his chin and chest, the acid from his stomach contents leaving burn marks from the intensity. Several metal hooks were latched into the skin on his back, the area around the points of contact was stretched out, almost as if he had been hanging from the horrid tools.

These were not the injuries one could ever sustain under normal circumstances, let alone be inflicted upon a child. Someone had done this to the boy… No, something had done this. A human could never perform such cruel acts on another person.

"Don't struggle, I'm here to help." Nightingale instructed in the hopes that the boy could hear her despite the pain he was in. Carrying the boy over to her carriage, she grabbed the edge of a fold-out cot with her teeth and utilized incredible strength to pull it free and slide it onto the ground. "Everything is going to be fine." she explained in a calm and soothing tone, gently placing the boy on the bed as she did so. "Commencing surgery."

Various tools began to form out of thin air, the nurses' hands already gripping their handles even as they were still manifesting. A surgical lamp came into existence, and Nightingale mounted it on the corner of her carriage. Reaching under one of the storage shelves, she pulled out a case that contained the materials one would need for the treatment of serious injuries. She always made sure one of those cases were always in an easily accessible location. Flipping open the lid, she pulled out an IV bag and a few bottles of drugs, including morphine and epinephrine. Even as she spun around to face her patient, some syringes manifested with their tips already inserted into the caps of the bottles. Mounting the IV bag on the top corner of the carriage, Nightingale then grabbed three of the syringes' plungers in the gaps between her fingers and drained the contents simultaneously.

[Skill activated: Nurse of Steel]

Restoring patients' health.

Nullifying exposure to ambient toxins.

Temporary immunity to death applied.

Nightingale's hands were a blur as she treated the boys' injuries with such skill and speed that even an expertly trained team of surgeons would struggle to match.

"Beginning blood transfusion. Cauterizing surface of amputation. Removing foreign objects from the patients' skin. Sterilize wound. Sutures, bandage, sutures, bandage, repeat."

It was the skill of a true miracle worker. Had it not been Nightingale performing the operation, the boy would surely have died. Applying the finishing touches to the dressing for the child's injuries, the nurse was satisfied with having executed the procedure to perfection. However, with the boys life-threatening condition having been resolved, her mind shifted back to the next immediate concern; who had done this? Her only option at the moment was to wait for the boy to regain consciousness and ask him for the identity of who inflicted harm upon him.

Another rustling of the bushes from the same direction the boy emerged from swiftly garnered the nurses' attention. Yet this time it wasn't another injured child to stumble out of the foliage, but a duo of armed men dressed in some form of security garb.

"I'm telling you, he had to have come this way. It's the nearest road given the direction he was fleeing." one of the guards spoke with obvious irritation.

"You better be right, otherwise we'll be the next to be dragged off to the shed. We can't afford to let the brat esca-."

"Shut it." the first guard interrupted sharply, having spotted Nightingale slightly further down the road. He evidently didn't want her to hear what they were discussing, most likely because of how incriminating their words were.

Nightingale's eyes narrowed in the direction of the men. This was too good to be a coincidence, they must know where the boy came from. Her suspicions were heightened further when the duo locked gazes on the unconscious boy that she had just finished operating on.

The first guard leaned in to the second and whispered to him. "That's the kid. Just play along." he instructed before stepping forward. "Hey, you found the kid!" he exclaimed with a fake smile plastered on his face.

Fine, Nightingale would play along for a short while. Figure out just how deep a grave the men would dig for themselves.

"What do you want?" she asked as she discarded her dirty surgical gloves and slid her leather pair back over her hands, pretending she hadn't heard anything that the men had said prior.

"Well, that kid you got there, we are tasked with finding him. The little tyke got hurt pretty bad in an accident, but he was really disoriented and wound up running off. But thanks to you, we don't need to worry anymore."

Nightingale slowly interposed herself between the boy and the approaching men. She would defend her patient with her life.

"Though I hadn't expected to see his wounds fully treated by the time we found him."

Maintaining a façade of stoicism, Nightingale decided to point out the obvious. "Those were some incredibly serious injuries for an 'accident'. Just what happened to him?"

The guard pulling up the rear flinched ever so slightly at the callout, his buddy only dropping his smile a tad.

"That's none of your concern. Right now, our priority is getting the boy back to his family. So, if you'd be so kind as to hand him over?"

Nightingale crossed her arms in a show of defiance. "I will have to decline your request."

"Huh?" the lead guard uttered unintelligibly. "What do you mean, 'you decline'? We need to bring the kid back with us."

Tension began to rise as the man tightened his grip on the rifle he was carrying.

"I am legally allowed to deny your demands unless you can provide proof of your guardianship over my patient. And even then, I would not release him into your custody until his condition has stabilized." Nightingale replied, a frown marring her face.

Evidently losing his patience with the charade, the second guard mumble an obscenity under his breath before stepping forward with his gun drawn. "Alright, just hand over the kid already. Do so, and we'll let you go on your merry way without further trouble."

Already pondering just how she would dispose of the filth in front of her, Nightingale paused when she heard a faint voice come from the boy behind her.

"Don't… let them… take… me…"

The time for amicable discussion was over. Clearly the men were connected to the boys' condition in some manner, probably working as guards for whoever was behind it. Nightingale took a step forward, and then she was gone. The second guard heard something akin to an explosion go off behind him, turning quickly to see what had just happened. Nightingale had rushed forward with incredible force and speed, grabbed one of them men by the face, and slammed him to the ground. A small crater was left in the wake of the attack, the epicenter of it being the mans' head, which had been buried a good foot into the road.

Not even having enough time to scream in alarm, the second guard found his head held in a grip so strong he could feel his skull begin to crack. Resisting wasn't even an option.

"Who do you work for?" Nightingale demanded, her voice cold as ice.