The leap of faith was more of a descent of… not very clean. Down the ladder they went, grime and dirt coating the bars. He left a few Operators up top led by Nearl and Dobermann to patrol and stand guard. There was always the possibility that Misha was above ground, either undetectable by drones or really good at avoiding them.

Venturing through the sewer systems' elaborate maze-like tunnels, Hellastic followed the footprints he thought to have belonged to Misha—small in size and the distance of each step indicating she had an injury of some sort, walking with a limp. The larger footprints, no doubt belonging to her Reunion pursuers, were scattered all over the place—some following Misha's while others indicated they searched around the area too. Quite thoroughly as well.

Their footsteps echoed loudly. The place seemed to be deserted, but you can never be too careful.

"Stay on guard," Hellastic ordered, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of movement. It was almost impossible to tell how fresh these footprints were. Hopefully they're not too late. "Keep formation and be ready for an enemy ambush."

"I hate this…" Franka muttered to herself in misery. Each step she took was painful. Not for the reasons of last night, but rather because of how unclean the environment was. She shivered, goosebumps forming all over her skin as she took another step forward, her boots making wet slapping sounds against the dirty floor. Being a chemical specialist, she liked to keep things clean. This was… the opposite.

Cold and damp, not to mention cramped and smelly. It was a nightmare.

"Not a fan, huh?" Liskarm asked. For once, the balance of power was reversed. Now, she could be the one doing the teasing. No one would see either. They were watching the rear, guarding against any attacks that might come from behind.

"Lisk…" Franka whined, tears on the edge of her eyes.

Liskarm sighed. Of course, in her good conscience, she could never do such a thing. "Why didn't you stay above ground?"

Franka shot Liskarm an appalled look. "I couldn't leave you alone in here!"

Liskarm sighed. As much of a BS reason that sounded like, it really wasn't. "You really can't leave my side, huh, you stupid Vulpo…" She mumbled softly to herself, quietly enough so Franka couldn't hear her. She sighed again—not of exasperation, but, if you strained your ears hard enough, affection.

"Help me Lisk!" Suddenly yelled out.

Expecting an enemy attack, Liskarm quickly brought out her gun—a Black Steel trade secret, different from the firearms Sankta use. Realizing the situation wasn't nearly as dire as she expected, she cautiously lowered her weapon. "The Doctor is making you show sides of you I've never seen before," she muttered to herself quickly, a hint of jealousy in her voice.

Not long ago, she witnessed Franka, the vexatious, horny Vulpo get plowed silly in a way she couldn't have imagined. The expressions Franka made and the sounds that escaped her lips will forever be ingrained in Liskarms mind. And now, Franka was following the Doctor into a filthy, contaminated, polluted environment, something she used to avoid like the plague.

Maybe because plagues usually originate in areas like these, but that's besides the point.

Liskarm loathed to admit it, but having Franka's attention aimed primarily not at her, but someone else caused a weird ache to form in her chest. Don't tell Franka, but perhaps she's grown to enjoy her teasing and nonsensical shenanigans, even if just a bit. Stockholm Syndrome.

"What do you need help with?" She asked, trying to keep her voice quiet and steady.

"Hug me! Hug all the impurities away!"

"You're insufferable…" She shook her head.

"Aww Lisk, I love you too—"

Liskarm hugged Franka, her arms wrapping around the Vulpo's midriff tightly. "Shut it, you stupid Vulpo."

"Oh my," Franka giggled, surprised how quickly Liskarm relented. "Is someone jealous?"

"I said shut it." Liskarm squeezed tighter.

Franka was nonplussed. "Silly Liskarm. You know we both belong to the Doctah now."

"..."

"In fact, maybe he's in need of some Sanity right now!"

"Stop taking your pants off you stupid, horny Vulpo!"

"Ahaha! Make me!"

And so Liskarm did. With her arms wrapped around Franka, she sent a special electric pulse through her. "Hugging away all your impurities is pointless when your mind is already so impure."

"Ahh, stop it! That tickles!" And yet if Franka wanted Liskarm to stop, her actions spoke otherwise. As did her occasional moan.

"Those two have quite the dynamic," Hellastic observed from afar.

"Mhm," Blue Poison hummed in agreement. The distance between Hellastic and her was non-existent, their arms and hands constantly brushing against one another—not outright touching or hand holding. This was an active mission after all. But Blue Poison's proximity felt natural and unforced unlike a certain other Vulpo. Having her this close to him put Hellastic at ease and judging by Blue Poison's happy body language and expression, the same could be said for her. "They come in a package. I mean, have you ever seen them apart?"

"Huh… You make a good point." From the moment Hellastic met them, he hadn't seen Franka or Liskarm separated. They were like a buy two for the price of one package.

"Doctor, we got trouble," Ikeshon warned, showing him footage of incoming enemies. At least a dozen in total. "They don't look like Reunion though. More like Lungmen citizens."

Ikeshon was right. As indicated by their clothing: old, dirty, worn and torn rags that look like they haven't been washed in ages. Very different to the usual Reunion garb.

"So they've dragged the local population into the mix?" Hellastic thought out loud. "Just like those two slum dwellers hunting Misha from earlier." Not good. So Reunion really was integrating with Lungmen's slum population at a fast pace, using them for their own gain—no doubt promising false claims of a new world where they aren't scrapping for scraps at the bottom of a barrel. Soon enough it'll be impossible to tell friend from foe. "Alright, everyone! We got enemies approaching from our rear. Defenders and Guards, get ready to intercept them!"

With those words, Franka and Liskarm's bantering quickly grinded to a halt. They were quick, switching gears from laid back to serious in the blink of an eye.

"On it!" Franka called out, unsheathing her sword and activating her Arts. "Liskarm, cover me!"

"Roger!"

"Snipers and Casters, cover our frontline and disrupt enemy movement," he commanded. Observing the battle, Hellastic was able to deduce one crucial fact: these people were not well trained or organized in the slightest—even more so than some of the rag tag Reunion teams they fought. Their formation was non-existent, as was their coordination. His Operators were easily able to cut through the incoming wave.

They fought dirty though, using the terrain to their advantage—likely a skillset learnt surviving in the Slums.

"Hey! You got my clothes dirty!" Franka hissed in anger as she was splashed. With a glowing sword, and one swift, lightning quick motion, the perpetrator was promptly donut-ed, a gaping, bloody hole in his body.

"...Huh?" The pain took a couple seconds to register in his brain. When it did, he was left a screaming mess, choking out blood, and rolling on the floor in complete agony.

"Serves you right," Franka

"Eek!" Melantha yelped as dirt and water was splashed onto her face and clothes.

"Got you now, bitch—!?"

Using her other senses, Melantha was easily able to sidestep the amateur's lunge attack and counter with a lethal strike. Within 10 seconds, the battle was over, overwhelmingly in their favor.

"Blue Poison, can you interrogate the survivors?" Hellastic asked. There were bodies scattered all over the place. Some cut up, moaning in pain, others unmoving.

"Sure!"

"Liskarmmm, my shirt is dirtyyy!" Franka whined. She looked down in disgust. "Help me," she begged, dragging out the 'e'. "I'm gonna die!"

"Stop being so dramatic," Liskarm scoffed, throwing a towel Franka's way.

"Lots of help this will be," Franka complained. Then her face lit up. "Oh I know!"

Liskarm did not like where this was going. Anytime her expression morphed like that, it meant a genius idea sprouted inside her head. And by genius, Liskarm meant mind bogglingly, ludicrously insane—the type where you'd concuss yourself with a facepalm.

Her concerns were proven spot on when Franka began stripping. "You stupid horny Vulpo!" Liskarm shouted, grabbing onto Franka's arms. Liskarm's attempts to stop Franka's nonsense proved futile as seconds later, the Vulpo was topless, her tits hanging out and bouncing around for all to see.

"There, much better," Franka groaned in relief, doing a stretch. "I feel so liberated now that my filthy clothes aren't sticking to my skin."

"F-Franka…" An Operator called out in concern. "Should you really be doing that in public?"

Liskarm sighed. "Leave her be."

"Hey, hey, Melantha," Franka called out, heading the Feline's way. "Your clothes are pretty soaked too. Better take them off unless you wanna catch a cold."

"E-Eh!?"

"I'm picking up signs of life up ahead," Ikeshon suddenly called out. Good thing too, or else half of Hellastic's squad would have rid themselves of their tops. "Three individuals up ahead through this tunnel on the right, all female."

"Then one of them could be Misha!" Amiya exclaimed, excitement in her voice.

"Yes, one of them could be Misha, but what about the other two?" Hellastic asked. "What does the drone coverage say?"

"They've taken shelter in what seems to be a maintenance room of sorts," Ikeson reported, showing the Doctor the footage. The infrared cams displayed three distinct heat signatures, their bodies feminine in shape, contrasting against the sewers' cold walls. One was sitting casually with her legs crossed, arms behind her head, the other one was pacing the room anxiously, while the final one, the smallest of the three, was lying on the ground, unmoving.

"The other two could be refugees she took in, like those three kids Amiya interrogated earlier," Fang suggested.

A glass half full approach.

"Interrogated is a strong word," Amiya muttered sheepishly. "It makes me sound like I was a police officer and they were criminals."

"Or it could be the opposite," Franka chimed in, playing devil's advocate. "And those are Reunion members who have found and captured her, waiting to regroup with the main force."

A glass half empty approach.

"Both are a possibility, and either or is pretty advantageous for us," Hellastic thought out loud, a hand to his chin. "If she's with refugees, we'll take them without much trouble. If she's with Reunion, things will be a bit more complicated but not by much. I don't imagine two Reunion soldiers being able to cause us much trouble. Either way, we've found and located Misha, the hardest part of the mission. It's all three of them not being Misha that concerns me."

Three refugees. Three Reunion members. Three maintenance workers. Three random people. It was a glass of water that had completely evaporated kind of approach. Misha not being there could insinuate many things: she's dead, she's already been captured, or she's still missing.

He shook his head, dispelling himself of the negative thoughts. No point overthinking—just knock down the door and find out. Nodding, he signaled for the Operators to proceed. What lay behind the door could be three enemies, so they had to be cautious.

BANG!

Breaking down the door, they quickly swarmed in, Arts and weapons at the ready.

"Sup Doc," Crownslayer casually greeted, waving her hand nonchalantly. She seemed unperturbed in the slightest by their display, so much as to not even flinch when they broke into the room.

"Hold your fire!" Hellastic ordered. "They're… allies."

"Ah-ha-ha-ha!" W laughed her punctuated laugh, grinning widely. They say 'don't stick your dick in crazy' yet here he was, having stuck it in her. "Glad you think so highly of me… Oh wow, new Rhodes Island dress code?" W asked upon noticing the two topless Operators.

"Things… happened," Hellastic answered sheepishly. He's not quite sure how things happened, but they did.

"You're not Misha…" Amiya muttered, her eyes searching the desolate room for the third occupant.

"And you're Rhodes Island's Mascot. All grown up," W glanced at Amiya's chest, before correcting herself. "On second thought, you still have a bit more growing to do in a few departments." She emphasized the fact by squishing her already sizable breasts together with her hands.

Ignoring her taunts, Amiya scanned the ground until she spotted a still figure lying down—short white hair, Ursus like features, young—it perfectly matched the description of their target. "Misha!" Amiya yelled out in concern. She was not in a good state right now. Labored and painful breathing, a flushed face, sweat—all signs of Acute Oripathy.

"Get a medic here, now!" Misha was in serious condition. He had to act fast, or her life would be in danger. "Inject her with Suppressants. Quick!"

An injection would help temporarily, alleviating symptoms and turning her situation from life threatening to just serious. They'd still have to bring her back to Rhodes Island, else she was looking at a grim future.

"Uhm, Doctor? There's a problem…" A Medic Operator nervously said, twiddling her thumbs.

"Problem?"

She nodded. "In the fight earlier, all our medical supplies got contaminated by the sewer water."

"Ah, that's fine," Hellastic reassured the nervous Medic. She was a stand-in for Isha, code name Valerian. She was shy, timid, and easily startled. "We have Medics above ground that can inject suppressants—"

"Doctor, we've got incoming enemies. Lots of them. Have you found Misha yet?" Dobermann buzzed. Talk about bad timing.

"We have found Misha," Hellastic relayed back. After a quick glance around the room, he decided to also add, "Along with two other… individuals."

"If you've found Misha, I suggest leaving with her immediately. Scouts spotted a powerful Sarkaz mercenary among the incoming Reunion forces."

"Oh! That must be Timothy," W informed a bit too gleefully. "A stand in, since I, y'know, defected." She shrugged her shoulders. "A bit earlier than I expected, too."

"Timothy? That's an… intimidating name."

"Is it? Shouldn't be," W replied with a giggle. "After all, I just gave him that name because I thought it was oxymoronic. Big and scary, intimidating and deadly… Timothy." She made all sorts of gestures to add onto the image she was trying to convey.

Most Operators reacted with stunned looks—not too sure how to process what this unknown girl, who more than likely had a few screws loose, goal was. Then there was Franka.

"Genius!" She proudly declared, eyes practically shining. Those two were on the same wavelength and Hellastic could already see Liskarm getting a headache.

"Enemy is a Sarkaz Centurion, a commander of Sarkaz mercenaries. They have powerful Arts attack and are also adept at close quarter combat." PRTS stated, trustworthy as always.

"But we can't exactly leave with the state Misha is in," Amiya pointed out in worry, the Ursus' conditioning worsening by the minute.

"But we can't wait here either," Hellastic countered. "We'll be sitting ducks."

"In that case, I have a solution," W said, a playful smile on her face. "Why don't you take off your pants, Doctor?"