A long line stood outside of a dark Grey building, filled with people of all shapes and sizes. Men and women alike were in this line, holding all sorts of papers and applications. However it didn't look as if they were applying for any kind of job they looked far to...distant? Awkward?

Terrified?

They had good reason, today was three days after of reckoning, the Mutant Registration Bill had been passed and this second group of Mutants had not come volentary Theyt had been dragged here by the Stalker Bots, forced to register under gunpoint.

The process was very long and dragged out, First they had to state their name as well as thier ability in front of the Registration woman who pointed you ether left or right, one side for males and the other for Females.

From there the date of birth was asked as well as very personal questions such as questions about spouses. Then a blood samples was ether taken, but if the mutant hesitated their arm was pinned to the table and the blood extracted by force. A picture was taken, finger prints as wells as retinal scans. This is all while various workers gestured at the mutants rudely, telling them seemingly lies about what would happen to them or their friends they came in with?

But where they lies.

Finally they had to get the Bracelets shackled onto their wrists. They get read their rights such as if they used their powers outside the designated areas or their homes that the bracelet would dig its prods into their wrists and cause mass Electricity to course through them. Then the local authorities or the stalker bots would be alerted and the mutant would be 'relocated.'

Suddenly, a new shipment of mutants where forcibly dragged into the registration line, now it was their turn to be registered and branded for the same persecution that the mutants before them got.

((Okay If you want to post do not make a Huge scene with everyone around you dying because you are trying to escape without alerting me or Fade so we can approve it. Because we proably wont you can fight but the Stalkers will be holding you at gunpoint so I wouldnt suggest it to be wise. Everyone is going to have to register but this is just the first post so if you dont post here and this gets locked try the second one. But I do need alot of people to post here to see if this works. So Have at it.))

(( OOC: Current appearance: 28-year-old police officer, Stanley Shepherd. 5'10", 210 #, a bit of a pot-belly, pale-skinned redhead. Wearing his uniform and carrying his ID and working with some of his memories/mannerisms/skills.
Picking up from Sonya in the Sanctuary raid. I hadn’t initially planned on Sonya taking on the police-officer role but now that she has, I figure I’ll run with it for a while. Let me know if I’m messing up any plans and I’ll edit/delete accordingly.))

By the time Sonya had made it back to the alley behind Sanctuary, the pyrokinetic mutant who’d helped her had already been subdued and dragged off. She still feels guilty about it. He could have just taken off… instead he fought to protect a complete stranger, and look what happened!

The other officers had clustered around her, making sure “he” was OK, and then some kind of high-pitched shockwave had come around from the front and the robots who had been searching around the alley – stalkers, she somehow knows they’re called, along with a lot of information about how to work with them on this mission – took off to reinforce the front line.

After that, it was all kind of a blur. Another officer steered her to a police car as her mind filled again with information she had no right to have – Joe Josuttis, aka “Jo-Jo”, my partner, lousy taste in beer and women, plays a mean game of poker – and filled the air with inane and offensive chatter about “those mutie freaks” all the way back to the station.

She’d snapped out of her daze then, when Jo-Jo suggested he get his head checked out… she wasn’t sure a doctor would identify her as a duplicate, but she wasn’t prepared to test it. It hadn’t taken much to talk Jo-Jo out of that little plan, and they’d both been reassigned to crowd-control duty outside the Registration building.

And now she’s here, watching a long line of other mutants – including the one who’d helped her in the alley – were dragged through the most humiliating registration process she has ever seen.

Part of her wants to intervene, get him and the others out of there… which is just about the stupidest thing she can imagine doing, surrounded by police and Stalkers and who-knows-what-else. Instead, she just watches, half-fascinated, half-repulsed, as one mutant after another puts on those creepy bracelets.

At least some of us got free, though. She’d made a few discreet inquiries, learned that not everyone at Sanctuary had been captured. I wonder where they all are, now?

Armored trucks built for transporting troublesome mutants was definitely not a recommended method of travel. Inside the bumping, jolting metal truck was a very unhappy young mutant who had shoved herself into the far corner after rubbing her knuckles raw from punching at the inside walls of her current metal enclosure. There were others in the vehicle with her, but she wasn't really paying them any mind, her thoughts much too focused on glaring daggers at the dark floor of her current means of transportation. Isabel had decided indefinitely that she loathed Stalkers and she hated humans and big armored trucks nearly as much.

"Hey," she called quietly, speaking to no one individual, but whoever cared to listen, "You guys alright? Any idea what happened to the others?" She had known an escape had been made possible to them all, courtesy of Abyss, but she wasn't sure just how many of them had gotten out and who had gotten shoved into a transportation vehicle like she had. Under all her anger and frustration toward herself and toward her captors, she was still worried for her friends from the Sanctuary. She would be very much relieved if more had escaped than had been captured, though the fact that any of them had been caught at all made her blood boil. Just wait until they opened these doors. She's show a few of them a thing or two before the Stalkers could step in.

Amp lay off to one side of the armored truck, where she'd been tossed by one of the mechanic monstrosities earlier. She was bruised all over, several ribs were cracked, her clothing was torn in various places, and she was covered in brick dust. Her ankle was twisted again, and a long, ugly scrape was bleeding along her back, where she'd been thrown across a crumbled piece of stone wall. Eventually the pain from the jolting and bumping of the ride jarred her awake, and kept her that way.

But none of it mattered. She was numb, physically, emotionally, mentally. She could feel that there were others there as well, though she couldn't hear them. Nor did she care. In a part of her mind, where there should have been a steady, familiar vibration, there was nothing but silence. Up until that point she had forgotten that her bones vibrated ever so slightly when she was with her sister. It was a minor side effect of their mutation, like white noise; you didn't notice it was there until it was gone.

And.... now it was....

It was so quiet....

She was alone.

The vehicle slowed, nearing its destination.

Rupert had been avoiding Registration. He’d seen the set up, he’d heard the plans, and he didn’t particularly care to watch the process itself. That had changed a half an hour ago, when he’d heard the early reports from the Sanctuary raid.

He’d thought the raid was a stupid idea. Yes, mutants lived at the Sanctuary—but a lot of humans did, as well. A round-up of sorts was in order, yes. But a raid? It didn’t make sense to Rupert. It hadn’t made sense to Captain Cynthia Myers or anyone on the Mercy—M.M.R.C., Mutants and Mutant-Related Crime—Task Force, either. After the Massacre, Dorian King had been good to the police force. A raid on the Sanctuary was a bad hand to deal back to the philanthropist. Someone in the higher ranks had pushed the idea past the point of debate, though, and...

...And everyone at Mercy, and at precincts across the city, was standing stock-still and holding their breaths.

Early reports from the Sanctuary raid described one young woman, late teens, Caucasian, with an obnoxiously large bow in her hair. She’d been captured along with others, including one of the red-headed twins who had been redecorating the city as of late. No doubt this girl wasn’t the only one in New York with a ribbon in her hair. Not many police officers believed in coincidences, though, and catching at the Sanctuary a girl who matched the description Rupert himself had given for one of the three perpetrators of the Sanctuary Police Massacre would be quite the coincidence.

It was Rupert’s duty to the fallen to come down to Registration. When the Sanctuary mutants were escorted in, he was going to look that girl in the face. Then he would know.

For now, he solemnly joined the officers on crowd control. He nodded to a few he knew, and finally decided to stand next to one he didn’t know all that well—Stanley Shepard. They were the same age, and they’d done their fair share of after-work drinking when they were both beat officers, but they’d never really connected. That was perfect. The last thing Rupert wanted right now was to be standing next to someone who gave a damn about him. Some of his old friends in the beat officers... after he’d survived Sanctuary, when so many others hadn’t, it was like he was a bloody mascot for the police triumphing over muties. If this girl was the girl, he didn’t want any pats on the back over the fact they’d finally caught her. He just wanted her locked away to rot.

It wasn’t much to ask for.

“Hey, Shepard.” He greeted the man casually, and turned a dispassionate gaze towards the mutants who were being off-loaded. “After this...” He tossed out, “I think I’m going to need a drink. Want to come?”

> “Hey, Shepard. After this I think I’m going to need a drink. Want to come?”

Sonya doesn’t turn around at first, absorbed by watching her new friends being “processed” and not recognizing the name. It takes her a few seconds to realize she’s the one being addressed, and she turns toward the speaker hastily.

“Hey…” She trails off, thrown by his unexpected familiarity. She should have expected she’d run into friends of the real Stanley while hanging around other police officers, but she hadn’t really thought about it… and if she had thought about it, the last thing she’d have expected is to run into someone she knew in her own right.

Well, OK… to say she knows him is stretching it. But still, this was the third time she’d run into this guy… Rupert, his name was; she can’t remember if he had a nickname. He’s the one with the redheaded girlfriend, the singer… and, Sonya realizes with a sinking feeling, the mutant. And it turns out he’s a police officer, and the police are rounding up mutants.

Coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe he’s some kind of mutant-stalker, a bloodhound or something. Maybe he was just leading the girl along so he could turn her in.

Maybe that’s what he’s doing now, with Sonya. It surprises her that the prospect isn’t as frightening as it should be… part of her relishes it as a kind of absolution for letting her newly found allies be arrested while she escaped unscathed. That’s dumb. I can do more good for them out here than in there, she reminds herself, further surprised to realize that she intends to do just that. She hadn’t been entirely comfortable with Syn and the others, but after the police just attacked them like that, she knows what side she’s on.

None of which helps resolve the dilemma of Rupert, here, who is probably wondering what’s wrong with him. “Yeah, this is something, ain’t it?” The speech, the voice, the mannerisms all come easily, without thought. “And hell yeah, I could use a drink right the hell now.”

She considers a moment before adding “Not the usual place, though. I, uh… one of ‘em got away from me today, I don’t wanna hear about it no more, y’know? You know anyplace that ain’t gonna be full of off-duty cops?”

Really, she should just be fading away… the truth is she’s taking a chance staying here this long; it’s only a matter of time before someone finds the real Stanley. You should have killed him, she tells herself, but she knows she couldn’t have. Not like that, not in cold blood. But that means her cover will be blown soon.

On the other hand, she figures it’s less likely if they’re not at a cop-frequented joint, and she wants to get the measure of this man. He’d seemed to genuinely like the girl… Raina, her name was… the times Sonya had seen them together. What’s his deal?

Isabel was back on her feet again the minute she was sure the truck was slowing to a stop, one hand pressed against the cold metal wall to help keep her balance as the vehicle rocked slightly whenever it hit little dips and rises in the pavement. She wanted out of that truck as soon as possible. She took a small half step back as the van lurched to a stop, her eyes eagerly searching out the space between the two doors, waiting for them to open and present her with a chance to bolt. The sight of that hairline crack of light and she was already moving, jumping lithely from the back of the van the moment enough space between the doors was allowed, spinning to face the two police men that had opened up the truck. Four little spikes protruded from the knuckles on her right hand as she drove her fist into one man's cheek, grinning wickedly when she felt the crunch of bone as his jaw either broke or dislocated, sending the man stumbling while the other came to his aid. Quickly she shoved her arm backward, a bone protruding from her elbow as she rammed it into the second officer. She could tell she'd missed him for the most part, just grazing the outside edge of one of his ribs, but it was enough to give her a brief moment to try and make a break for it. She didn't care which way she ran, she just picked a direction, a direction which happened to lead right toward a line of cops. She didn't pay them any mind. She'd killed cops before, she didn't think she'd have any trouble with at least getting past them. It was the Stalkers she was worried about. Stalkers, that had already taken note of her little stunt and were hot on her tail.

She froze on the spot. A clawed metal hand wrapped around the back of her neck, pressing painfully on the pressure points there. If only looks could kill, both the Stalkers and the cops would be unrecognizable heaps of mush from the looks of utter contempt Isabel wash shooting in their direction. Her expression, however, contorted into one of pain as the spine protruding from her elbow was snapped off, her arm bending in an awkward fashion in the process. It only took a moment for the broken bones to repair themselves and set her arm to rights, but the little painful shock had stopped her from struggling long enough for the Stalker to turn and start dragging her off toward the Registration line. And then she was back to wriggling around again, trying to get a better look at everything around her, though she was terribly restricted by the hand at her neck and the second vice-like grip that fastened her hands behind her back. She was looking for the Order members now, trying to see if any others had been dragged in on separate trucks. She was hoping they'd gotten away. This whole registration business was ridiculous and it was bad enough that three of them had been carted here. Slowly her struggling faded away and she stood still, settling for just silently fuming again as the line inched forward.

Amp 'felt' Isabel make a break for freedom. She didn't follow, or pay attention. In fact, she didn't even get to her feet. Had it been her choice she would have simply laid there. But that wasn't in the plans apparently.

She was hauled roughly out of the van an into the Registration line. She probably would have collapsed there as well, but guards holding her from either side kept her on her feet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isabel being dragged into the line, her bid for freedom cut short by those creepy mechanical monsters.

Once she reached the front of the line, one of the guards spoke to the registrar.

"Caught one of those sound manipulator twins that have been vandalizing the city, and caused that.... incident.... over in Times Square."

"The other one got away," the second guard reported. "But at least we got one."

"We'll get the other. She'll try and get her sister back. Tell crowd control to be on the lookout, and keep the earplugs in."

"Will do."

"She looks a lot younger than Fields said she was."

Amp hear none of it, nor did she care. With her head lowered, she wasn't reading lips. For that reason she didn't answer any questions put to her. Thinking she was simply being stuborn, one of the guards grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look up.

"Answer the questions, freak!"

Amp glared silently, and was slapped hard enough to jerk her head painfully sideways, before being yanked backwards again.

"Speak up!"

She answered, alright, by spitting in the guards' face. Of course that earned her both a gun butt across the face and a fist in the small of her back, dropping her to her knees. She literally bit her tongue against crying out. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

"Double cuff her, in case she has another mutation. We'll get answers from her later. A few days in the camps should break her down enough."

She was hauled to her feet, a bracelet cuffed on each wrist, then tossed back into the van she came in. She lay where she fell, grateful for the silent darkness.

The girl who bursts out of the truck is a stranger, but from the way she disables two officers in as many seconds with some kind of built-in knives, Sonya assumes she's a Sanctuary resident she just hasn't had the opportunity to meet.

She draws her weapon reflexively -- or, rather, Stanley's body draws its weapon reflexively -- but she ignores it, making up her mind to let the girl get past her, even if that blows her cover... she can't do much here, but she can at least do that. It only takes a moment for the question to become moot, though, as one of the metal monstrosities guarding the site efficiently grabs her, snapping the blades off her elbows (Omigod, is that bone?!?) and pulling her into line.

It's all over before the adrenalin even has a chance to pulse through Sonya's system, and she finds herself shaking in reaction... which she conceals almost immediately as she re-holsters her weapon, suspecting that the real Stanley Shepard wouldn't react that way. The crowd behind her apparently has much the same reaction, panicking after all the excitement is actually over; as the two injured officers are dragged off for emergency medical care, Sonya mimics the other crowd-control police as they try to disperse the bystanders safely.

Meanwhile, the officers handling the line are beating up the girl at the front of the line -- a girl Sonya suddenly remembers, one of the flirty twins he'd met earlier that afternoon. She struggles with the desire to intervene... that can't be legal, can it?... but before she makes up her mind they've tossed Amp back in the van.

Afterwards, it will be Isabel's face Sonya most remembers, the combination of feral rage and utter contempt and debilitating pain... but what most affects her is actually the assault on Amp. What these cops are doing is just wrong, she decides.

I'll get you out of here, she promises privately. It's an absurd promise; one she has no idea how to begin implementing, but she doesn't laugh... it feels right, somehow. And, hell... I've got these powers, right? I can be anybody, infiltrate anywhere. Mata Hari's got nothing on me, right? So maybe it's time I start using them for something.

A guard she doesn't recognize comes over to her, saying something about being on the lookout for the redhead's sister, and keeping the earplugs in. She nods and promises to spread the word, quietly exulting. So some of us got away, after all! She doesn't even hesitate over the "us" before turning to the other guards on crowd-control duty. "Good news -- they nailed the sound-manipulator twins. We can get rid of those damned earplugs now..."

She smiles privately as they do so, enjoying her first act of purposeful subtrefuge. It's not much -- it probably won't matter at all -- but it feels good. OK... next, I find out everything I can from this mutant-dating cop... then find Syn, or Abyss, or someone from Sanctuary to report to. They've got an organization, they know things. Then... She trails off, not really knowing what to do after that, but two steps ahead is enough for now -- to be honest, it's more than she's had since she first found this body.

She punches Rupert in the shoulder to get his attention as the crowd settles down. "You know what? I'm thinking it's time for that beer now... my shift's over, and watching this ain't my idea of a good time. Come on..."

(( continued in McNulty's Bar ))

Rupert never took his eyes off of the girl. From the moment she assaulted her way out of the truck, to the moment she was put in her place by a Stalker bot, he followed her without blinking.

That was her. The one who’d left him bleeding on a New York street outside of the Sanctuary’s grand opening as she danced away to kill more of his friends.

When Stanley punched his shoulder, it felt like the contact pulled him down a long hallway back to reality. He’d stopped breathing, at some point. Not a healthy thing for a guy who didn’t even have two whole lungs to his credit to be doing. He nodded amiably at Stanley’s words, and turned without a backwards glance. He’d be seeing that one at the camps tomorrow.

Tonight, he was going to get plastered.

The Registration Line was moving so very slowly. Moving up a few feet every now and again as each mutant was interrogated and braceleted. And to Isabel, the wait only seemed all that much longer when clutched by the neck and wrists by a big mechanical monster, allowed to move only minimally in its grasp and handled a little too roughly. She could feel thin tickles of blood running down the back of her neck and the sides of her wrists, staining into her clothing from where her skin was rubbed and pulled apart by the Stalker's sharp claws. No doubt large patches of black and blue were already dominating her skin, every one made sharply known and more pronounced with every sharp little jolt she was given by the big hunk of junk acting as her escort. She wished for nothing more than to be able to rip out the reptilian robot's internal circuitry. She could always try. Even with her arms and neck restrained, she could still produce weaponry from other areas of her body. But for once she thought better of it. She was already aching all over and was one of the few practically being carried in. She didn't need to be getting herself killed. At the rate things were going, she didn't doubt they'd do it. Like a rabid dog. It's too dangerous to keep around, so get rid of it. Permanently. Now, Isabel wouldn't even put herself on the same level as a human, never mind of an animal, but these people would. They were already caging them like beasts, she highly doubted they'd hesitate to dispose of them in much the same manner.

Sooner than she ever would have hoped, she was jerked to a rough stop in front of an organized white desk with a tired looking brunette in a white coat and wire rimmed glasses seated behind it. The woman didn't even glance up as she pulled out a new registration sheet and began filling in certain areas. Mercifully the Stalker had released her and let her stand on her own, though it didn't go very far, retreating a few feet and simply waiting, almost daring Isabel to do another stupid thing. "Name and mutation." It was a statement, not a question. Isabel didn't say a word. Partially due to her stubborn nature intertwined with her rage and partially because her neck was killing her and moving her vocal chords only irritated her sore throat. When no answer came, the pen stopped scribbling and two blue eyes looked up in tired irritation over the wire rims of the woman's glasses, giving Isabel a look that suggested she just be good and go along with it, lest she want to cause herself any more injury. A rough whap on the back of her head from one of the guards prompted a little hiss from her, her hand reflexively raising to press against the sore area, but her wrist was abruptly seized by one of the humans posted, restricting her movements again. Her poor head. It was throbbing horribly, almost making it so she was unable to concentrate and comprehend whatever it was people were saying to her. "Isabel. Bone manipulator," she said simply. The little shiver that ran up the spine of an obviously creeped out guard on the opposite side of her made the corner of her mouth twitch into a faint semblance of a smile. "Last name," the woman spoke again, writing down what Isabel had said. "I don't have one," she stated, glaring at the man that had gripped her wrist. Oh, his had would look simply marvelous with a big gaping hole in its center. Really it would. And so it got one. Reason was quickly leaving her the longer she stood there, that throbbing in her head not helping to allow her to think any more clearly.

Another wistful little smile spread faintly across the young mutant's features at the sound of the guard's hollering. And look, no more hand at her wrist. She was glad that this time the blood dripping from her fingertips was not her own. Mr. Stalker Bot was not pleased, though, the stupid thing voicing its disapproval with an ear-splitting screech, causing Isabel to quickly cover her ears, her face scrunching up in discomfort. "We need a bracelet out here! We've got another troublemaker!" the woman called to someone a little ways off, already on her feet and hurrying a few steps in the direction she'd called to. That someone happened to be a big gorilla of a man that practically towered over Isabel, the bracelet he was carrying completely swallow up in his monstrously sized hand. Isabel was on her way backing out of the place again when the point of the Stalker's tail pressed threateningly against her spine with a feral hiss, the damn thing happening to land on a particularly painful bruise, which was just her luck. And so she stopped backing up. At least those filthy humans weren't trying to touch her again. She glared up at the massive man that had approached, though he seemed unbothered by both her and the Stalker and stupidly made a gab for her arm, which abruptly was covered in spines, making him quickly pull his hand back in surprise and minimal pain from where the tips of the bones had just pricked his skin.

And then Isabel was on the ground, her cheek stinging painfully from a backhand that had come out of nowhere, leaving her head reeling and her concentration shattered. The bones retreated back into her flesh and she was roughly hauled to her feet, one of her arms trapped in Magilla Gorilla's hand, the bracelet promptly snapped onto her wrist and a needle stuck into her arm, drawing blood before she could gather her wits once again. If she had been able to make any sense of what was going on at that moment, she would have been loathing her newest accessory. Quickly she was being moved again, off to some back room, a holding area for mutants that were waiting to be carted off to the camps. She stumbled clumsily as she was given a shove through the armored door, her mind gathering itself enough for her to regain some of her anger and spin around, slamming her foot flat against the door as it was shut behind her. In a huff she crossed her arms and paced back and forth, not even noticing the Redhead that was seated on the floor for a good minute of so. With a sigh, Isabel moved to sit a short ways off from the twin and just relax while she had the chance. She felt awful that Amp and Vibe had been separated. That must have been real tough for them. She rubbed her palm absentmindedly against the edge of her skirt, ridding her skin of most of the blood and grime that was on it before very gently laying her hand over one of Amp's. She wanted to comfort the girl somehow, and sometimes actions just spoke louder than words. They'd make it through this and get back to the Sanctuary. Isabel would do her best to make sure of that.

Sara had only been half awake when the van had finally stopped. What ever they had used in those darts had been the first substance Sara experienced actually working to bring her down. Possibly do to the excessive amount it had taken to do so. How many had she been peppered with again. Was so hard to tell. Either way it was too much for her healing factor to take care of at once. The bloody venom was only now being forcibly warn off by her mutation. Unfortunately this also ment a massive loss in her body nutrition. Something already becoming apparent as her, perfect fitting, jeans, now seemed to hang off of her legs. Same with her top.

Too disoriented to move, she was forced, by her own limitations, to watch as Isabel tried to escape. Silently cheering for her to get away and then witnessing the consequences when she didn’t. Even with Sara’s eyes half open in her fading sedated state, she could still witness the mistreatment, one wouldn’t wish on a dog. There’s a funny thought, if you could call it a funny thought. Should the officers witnessing this event, see such abuse happening to a dog, the abusers would have surely be the ones arrested. Not the animals.

Her eyes fluttered trying to move one arm, Still too groggy but the feeling was fading fast. She let her arm relax back at her side. Choosing to play dead at the moment. Then forced to watch on threw slitted eyes at the process she was about to go threw. Like a dream where you know you’re about to wake up, but the night mare just wont end.

“This one’s actually alive.” An officer at the door of the van had yelled out. “She’s an ugly one too!” Ugly? Before finishing his sentence he was in the van with half a dozen others. His foot giving Sara a sharp prod in the lower back. Sara’s natural reaction came first. Eyes shooting open, her paw like hand snapped around his boot, twisting his ankle around the other and sweeping his feet out from under him. The side of his rib cage slamming the floor panels of the van as the bottoms of Sara’s feet did the same. Now standing she faced the others. A simple self defense and action of pride snowballing into something much more serious.

Both sides taking the other sides reaction as much more of a threat. The gards advanced on the feline in the van. The butt of one gun was shoved across Sara’s jaw, This one was grabbed. Pulled forward with the officer. Another had attacked Sara’s knee. Jamming the joint sideways and forcing her down a few feet closer to the flooring. Her palm pushed forward, claws out, shoving the closest officer back against the wall and leaving a nice slice across his midsection at the same time. The struggle making the van bounce up and down from the out side.

A shriek was heard from the outside of the small quarters and in shot a whip like tail. It wrapped around Sara’s leg and pulled her out that way, as the van was too small for the Stalker to maneuver. So the thing had extracted the problem in order to deal with her out side. She landed rag doll style on her side. Turning against the ground to try and get on her feet. Instinct screaming at her to do just that. The stalker coming right after her to keep her from doing so. She hadn’t even made it to one knee when a heavy foot came down across her back and pressed her to the cement.

From this pose, with her cheek pushed against the ground, she could see as the others were sorted into a different van. Her clawed hands pressed against the ground. Trying to push her way up, only to have the stalker put more weight across her back and ribs. Making her eyes scrunch. Felt like her bones were about to shatter. She continued to try to push up in vein. Only resulting in the reptilian robot to give her a harsher shove against the ground. A clear, non verbal, communication to submit.

Reluctantly Sara relaxed her arms. Amber eyes glaring at the guards and police that encircled her. Each one pointing the barrel end of the gun in her direction. Seemed they were more willing to use the front part of the gun against her in the open and light, then the back. Fear of shooting a buddy but not afraid of shooting her. Point noted.

“Get up, Freak!” one officer direction in front of her demanded.

Sara just looked at him. The stalker foot still pressing against her back kind of made that a little hard to do. Hello!

The machine seemed to get the idea though, taking it’s time to lift it’s weight off of her and take one step back. Without waiting for the feline to suck in a proper mouthful of air, probably the idea, she was forced to her feet and lead to the line by two police officers. The rest of the group hanging close, continuing to aim their weapons at her.

“Name?” She was asked. If you could call that tone of voice a question.

“Simon Cowl” The smart assed remark received smack across the back of her head. Sending her chin against her collar bone as little dots danced into her vision then faded out.

“Name?” again with that tone that tended to demand the answer rather then ask.

“Michel Jackson.” This received another original smack across the back of her head. This time accompanied with the barrel of a riffle being shoved against Sara’s temple. Well that added a flare, didn’t it.

“Name!” Look who was loosing their patience. Who was the one getting hit in the head here again?

“Sara Nobes.” She replied looking sideways at the man pressed the gun to her head. He gave her one shove and then back off.

“Thank you, Sara Nobes.” Oh now didn’t she sound pleasant. Must have been the sight of Sara getting a gun shoved against her head that put her in a better mood.

“She’s got a code number too.” One man from Sara’s right reported. His hand pulling the shoulder of her shirt back so that he could read the numbers branded into her shoulder. “0 – 6 – 2 – 3 “ He reported. Meanwhile the person asking the questions scribbled the information down. “Right, right so there’s probably record of her before somewhere.”

Sara just glared a head.

“Hold her head still!” Oh look another demanding tone. This time the request was for her captors. They grabbed for her chin. Her mouth opened exposing those long feline fangs, now trying to bite someone. The struggle was short lived as the barrel of one gun was shoved against her temple, yet again. Instead of shaking them free, Her face was pushed forward from the rest of her that was held by the first two officers. On man used his fingers to pull her eye lids apart, keep her from blinking. Meanwhile a machine was shoved in Sara’s face. It produced a bright flash an inch from her eye, making her struggle to blink harder. An instant later her retina scan appeared on a computer screen behind the one taking down her information.

“Very nice, thank you.” The polite nature of some people could just amaze Sara.

The next few moments went much the same way. They held her down to draw her blood, though Sara would have much proffered they use a knife. Needles. Shivers. Then the cuff was placed on her wrist giving her a shock right off the bat.

“Right. I suppose your powers work all of the time no matter what.” The man noted. He leaned sideways typing a few things into his computer. (I hope this part’s ok to put in.) After all. They couldn’t have the stalkers only stalking her just because she stubbed her toe and her body instantly healed. Still they should knew when she was healing.. .. ..

Finally she was done and the officers carted her off to the awaiting van. She’d be let in and then left there to wait with Isabel and Amp.

Now free of the officers she slowly stepped inside, letting her chin hang. She didn’t know these two that well. In fact she hardly knew anybody. But one thing was true. They were going through the same thing. Sara chose to sit between Amp and the door. Choosing to keep guard should they have another visitor.

Amp felt Isabel's hand on hers. She didn't know much about the girl, other than she had a killer throw, but she was grateful for the support. She turned her head slightly, and managed a weak smile at the other girl, though her eyes were still dull.

The feline-featured mutant entered not long after. With a sigh, Amp sat herself upright and leaned against the side of the van. An expression that, on a better day, could have passed for fiesty crossed her face.

"So, all that attention for just the three of us, huh? I'm flattered. Think they'll give us such an escort to the policemen's ball this year?"

Sara shifted so that her knees were brought close to her chest. Arms pulled tight around her legs and her ankles crossed. Her tail wrapped around her and over her feet, the tip twitching every now and then.

“Yeah well, I bet there service there will be terrible as well. Just look at the catering service here. Not even a proper drink.”

Her own expression tried to hold a smirk but the effect was lost in her eyes. There was no real smile here.

Isabel shifted her gaze up away from the floor, looking over toward the door as it was opened and a third person was shoved into their current holding area. She recognized the feline woman from back at the Sanctuary and the last transport they'd all been shoved into. She couldn't quite place her name, though, and she didn't really bother to try and collect that bit of information. Her mind was elsewhere. She gave a halfhearted little smile to Amp, keeping an eye on the other woman as she took a seat.

Her somewhat forced smile turned into more of an unenthusiastic grin at Amp and Sara's remarks. "Somehow I predict our invitations will get lost in the mail. We may have to crash their little party," she replied, mainly attempting to joke with the others, though a small portion of her mind seriously considered the idea. If the cops thought she was a danger before, just wait until they found out how harsh she could be. Imprisoning her was bad enough, but to hold her companions as well was just downright foolish of them. At least before she hadn't gone out of her way to mess with New York's finest. Now that might just change, depending on how angry she remained when all of this was over with.

Absentmindedly her hand lifted from Amp's to fiddle with the bracelet that had been locked around her wrist. She wasn't positive about what exactly her newest accessory did, but she knew it somehow repressed or discouraged them from using their mutations. Sooner or later she'd test it out to see what happened. But for now, she just sank back into her thoughts, waiting for something to happen.