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Panting a little after the exertion of the climb, Artair let his eyes wander over the rolling waves. The tightness in his chest wasn't only down to his recent physical activity and the myriad of scars on his torso ached to see so much water stretching towards the horizon. After his eyes focused for a moment on a small outcrop of rocks peeking occasionally over the waves the dull ache sharpened quickly in a spike of pain.

He still couldn't look at them, even after all the years since the incident. He could barely even remember the rocks themselves or the time he was on them but apparently his body did. Pain was hard to forget it seemed.

Turning his attention to the stone, the reason for his short hike, he once again took in the delicate swirling patterns crossing its surface. The patterns called back to some truly ancient parts of his culture but the carvings themselves were relatively fresh. A bit over a decade if a passerby was to guess. New for a standing stone on the isles but it's meaning was the same as any of the true markers. The only concession to modern thinking was the precise words inscribed in Gaelic near the centre of the grave. A name, some dates and a favoured phrase was all that said to the world that this was a memory to the lost. It didn't even have the good decency to be a real grave either, with no body to be found and no things to bury in his stead. No, the only left of the elder Hawke was a windswept stone facing towards the cruel seas that had killed him.

Not his choice but Artairs aunt had insisted. Her little brother had loved the sea apparently and no amount of pleading would change her mind on that matter.

The silence was heavy, hard to break but he was here for a purpose. Opening his mouth, the words unconsciously came out in Gaelic. "Hey Dad. Been a while hasn't it?" It felt stupid talking to a stone, he'd never been a particularly religious person and his own experiences had jaded him somewhat to a loving deity but some things always ran a little deeper. Talking to him, even in this limited form was good. If not bl***y difficult. "It's.......different than I'd hoped. Everything's getting more grey the longer I study, the more I do."

Outlining his experiences over the past couple years, only going into detail about some of the more 'interesting' episodes the words got easier and poured out quicker as he went. Some tears came to his eyes, unwanted and uncontrollable.

"I feel pulled in five different directions at once. Doing whats good and doing what's right is getting harder to match up and I just......I don't know what to do anymore."

Roughly wiping his stinging eyes, doing nothing really to stop the heated tears for slowly forming, "The one person who might be able to help me in all this can't even f***ing talk back and here I am crying in front of a damn stone." He felt shame at getting angry and it took more than a few deep breaths to calm himself enough to finally voice his deepest problems.

"I'm scared dad and don't know what of. I feel like I'm unravelling at times and nothing I'm doing is stopping it." Faint shouts echoed from below pulled him back towards reality and he realised how much time he'd actually used up talking to an inanimate object. He had to go back, to what he had no idea, but time wouldn't wait.

It rarely did. 

Grinning at the short response, he knew she hadn't been leaving Inferno enough. Friendly concern, and self interest, aside his doctor sense were urging him to make sure people were taking care of themselves. Which was laughably hypocritical but hey, he could be a damn hypocrite if he wanted to be!

"I'm Scottish lass, drinking is a cultural institution. If a hangover could stop me I'd be kicked out of the whole nationality." He'd gone to lectures more hungover, probably more drunk too, and been fine. A little jog wouldn't make him lose what remained of his breakfast. Christ it would probably make him feel better if anything and if not, well then there be nothing left for the hangover to punish him with later in the day.

From the fixed, silent gaze and the phone being put down he guessed she was in. Surprisingly. "Well if you do want to join me and laugh as I struggle along I just need to get changed," he added with a sardonic grin. "Jeans might be comfortable but not the best running gear." Quickly popping down into Havens training rooms to shuck out of his day to day clothes and into some long, loose black shorts and black vest he took the chance to splash some water over his face. Shame he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and got a bit of a shock at how bad he actually looked. The messy hair was normal, the couple weeks worth of beard actually looked good but his eyes. Jesus Christ did he have a thousand yard stare going on, the dark bags and bloodshot pupils adding to the whole picture. He might need some help. Later.

Drying off and wandering back into the bar he nodded at his multicoloured running mate. "Anywhere in particular you want to go or just go a few blocks and see from there?" Artair tended to figure out a quiet running route and just stick to that. Not easy around the Haven main building but it did have the upside of being in a pretty safe area. Not much chance of them being bothered by a particularly brave mugger or the stock standard thugs.

Artair had only spotted the email and text from Devon after he'd finished working on his own side project. He might be a wee bit late to the mission but after working nonstop he could do with a little time of. Drinks, of course, sounded good. A party was even better, but he wasn't so keen on the trendy clothes part. About all he could muster was most of suit coupled with a dark blue shirt to look even remotely 'trendy'. The beard stayed though, it was way too much effort to shave it for one night and frankly, if he was being honest, it did give him a certain roguish charm.

A short time getting ready and a much longer cab ride and he was finally in front of Haven's building and was more than a little surprised by the cold weather and what looked like a frozen solid door. That was......weird. Just weird. How the hell had the weather managed that!? Resisting his more scientific impulses to get a few samples, not just because a strange Scottish man taking a war-pick to someones front door might be suspicious. Instead he took a few, deep breaths of the chill air and reveled in some good and proper highland weather. It had been far too long since he'd felt that harsh bite in the air and frozen breeze in his bones.

Maybe it was a good idea to come along. If nothing else he'd have enjoyed good weather and damn fine drink.

Nodding at Haley and exchanging some pleasantries he made his way down into Inferno, right into loud dance music and a very interesting sight. Devon was dancing, a pretty incredible thing to see itself, but it was his partner that made a bigger impression. Jack was on the dance floor and was clearly strutting her stuff. Not bad either, even if he knew nothing about dancing himself. His only concern was who had invited who to dance. Both people weren't the kind you could say no to, if for different reasons.

Giving the big man and big lass a wave as he went past and winking he made his way over to his true objective. The bar. With a few familiar faces as well which was a bonus for him, he'd not have to make awkward introductions until he had a pleasant buzz going. Although if the familiar redhead he'd spotted was who he thought it was, it might have needed more than just a couple of drinks to make that anything other than explosive. That, was a problem for a future time, now it was drink time and Inferno could deliver.

Getting a double of his home town whiskey and taking a larger than polite drag from the glass he approached the pair already situated at the bar. Sveta and The Cowboy. He didn't know either well but they were solid backup in a fight. To the Scot that made them alright in his book. "Evenin' Sveta. Good to see you again lass. You been doin' alright?" He may have been Scottish but Artair was British enough that his manners had him greet a woman first when in company. It was just the done thing.

"And you mate, I don't think we even exchanged names last time we met. Not that it was a time for it," extending a hand towards the larger man he continued, "I'm Artair, pleased to meet in less tense times."

"I'm good, considerin' what happen that night." The simple fact he could get up proved that much. A rational look back at the events could tell his mind none of it was real all it wanted too, it didn't change anything. He'd felt it, seen it, tasted it all and no amount of evidence could shift the small stupid part of him that clung to it. "You? If what I saw was any indication you didn't exactly have a picnic dealing with the other lass."

Seemed about right, information on that event was few and far between and Christ did they need to learn how to fight a threat like that again if it ever came knocking. "I'm sure you got a decent amount from you're cowboy friend but aye, I'll add what I can." Chuckling a little at the bluntness he raised an eyebrow, "What, I'm not my usual sparkling self?"

Sighing and knowing he wasn't getting away from at least divulging some parts of what was bothering him, he was at least getting the report out the way first. "Fine lad, I'll talk but lets get the formal s---e out the way first." Rather than add anything that had happened to him during that night he just stuck to as much of the facts as he could remember. "It was around six or seven so still plenty of little'uns out with their parents getting sweets. I was heading to a party, a weird darkness swept outwards from the park, you know the usual freaky stuff."

He detailed the events quickly, the people who'd investigated and what they'd looked like. Which wouldn't help at all since they were all in costume but at least it was something to work with. "No names though. None of us felt like giving them out, especially not the lass with her kid."

"After that pretty much everything went downhill. We only moved to the centre of the park because the lass' bairn was drawn there away from us. Of course more than just hers had been, must have been a good thirty or more of them surrounding the woman. Best damn shield she could have made agaisnt me." Hard to deal with a rogue mutant with a human shield in the way. Much less one made of children. "She'd messed with their minds, turn 'em into guards to keep us away while she worked on ours. Far as I can tell everyone was hallucinating in someway, some worse than others. After that, well s--- I honestly don't know what was real."

Cosmic horrors descending from the sky, black tentacles writing around and dragging them down, even the sea had broken over them. "Texas lad will probably know more about the actual fight, I spent most of it being tossed about, either by one of us or the giant monstrosity that I'm even sure was there. We got her though, somehow. Even saved the kids, a few cuts and bruises but they got away pretty much unscathed." A warm smile touched his lips while he spoke. If there was ever a redeeming quality about that hell, that was it. "We suffered more to be honest. The mother was out cold and I had 3 broken ribs to add to the collection. After that, I haven't a clue. You're lad took care of the clean up a while I found the nearest bar and gave Doc a ring."

The past couple of months had not been kind to the Scotsman. He'd already been having a pretty poor time of it before the fiasco at Halloween had left him with a slew of fresh bruises, physical and mental. Drowning on dry land, twice, did tend to mess a person up but the fact that it also happened to also be his most crippling fear had made the whole situation just a little too much.

So he did what any true Scottish person did in such circumstances, he drank. A lot. Too much if he was being truthful and far too often than was healthy. He'd spent more time in Inferno than he had at home and it was starting to show. His studies had taken a hit, his training had come to a grinding halt and more than one doctor appointment had been skipped. Which was stupid yes, remarkably so in fact given his condition, but reliving your own hell did tend to give a person an excuse to put off dealing with the world for a while.

Only a while he thought, as he sat in a booth nursing the worst hangover yet. He knew it was time to stop. That or the spiral would get worse and he'd have no escape. After more than one cup of coffee strong enough to strip paint and some of the greasiest food he'd been able to find scrounge up he was alive enough to consider options. Studying was a giving, but he was in no condition to even attempt and it would talk a few days before he'd be able to see his doctor. All that was left then, was training and while some weapons practice would be cathartic, he did really want to keep his food down.

Having spied a hulking, all too familiar figure, the plan was formed. Dragging himself out of his comfortable seat and approaching, he called to be heard over the soft morning music playing. "Jack, feel free to say no but I've got an idea. You're probably the only person who's been here more than I have recently and frankly, we could both do with some fresh air. Fancy a short run, to clear the cobwebs?"

The company would probably be a decent change too. Most people tended to avoid the guy drinking like he had something to forget and he'd be lying if he said he had the most, welcoming, face most of the time.

The gunshots rang out but his shield was more than up for blocking the damage. Impact was low, not as harsh as metal bullets. Rubber? Probably, they were technically for law enforcement so a less than lethal weapons made sense. Made his job easier though, much less stressful to stop and way less damaging if he missed one. This was proving to be a lot of fun already.

Tempest was already in action with the smaller models, giving Artair the space and peace of mind to really commit to his big friends. "You metal b------'s have had this coming since you rolled out of the factory." Sure, swearing at a machine was not as satisfying as giving a person a piece of his mind but it was basically instinct at that point.

One of them move to fire more rounds at his friend so the Scot leapt into action, throwing the shield into it's firing line and charging the other. The weapon he'd had just on the edge slammed into being in his hands. A crow's beak warhammer, perfect for dealing with armoured targets. Bring it up as he closed on the mech he feinted a hit towards it's chest before bring the weapon in close and smashing it down onto the things feet.

That, that was a damn satisfying crunch if ever he'd heard one. Better it looked like the thing wasn't quite ready for that particular tactic which gave him the time to launch himself onto the other one.

Shield flying into view to push the metal arm trying to swipe at him and giving a nasty hit to it's knee joint on the way past he rounded it and set his stance. This attack needed him solidly planted. Expelling a deep breathe he swung the pointed beak in a wide arc, aiming to take it low in side. Really mess up it's nice a delicate electronics. To his surprise though, the b----- things entire upper body rotated round as it's legs stayed where they were.

"F---ing robots. That's just cheating." A metal fist met the hammer with way more force than he'd been expecting, shatter the weapon and sending him tumbling backwards.

Flat on his back was not a good start to a fight. Especially given how big his opponents were. Rolling backwards to his feet and shaking away the ringing in his ears his gaze fixed evilly on the bot that had smacked him. Scattering the shield he made another hammer, forcing all his power and then some into one construct. Defence was well and good but he was angry and wanted to hit something.

Glancing across to his friend, "You alright on your own for a while? I'm gonna have my hands full turning these to scrap."

The water was wrong, so wrong. He was breathing it, painfully and with far too much effort but he was. Somehow. Even knowing that didn't stop it burning inside his lungs or igniting the primal fear response in him. Artair just laid there, scars throbbing in tune with his laboured breathe.

Unseen things clawed at him still though, wrapped around him, jerked and moved him like a broken toy. Muffled noises failed in his ears but the grip only tightened until it was haul him up. Up and out of the water!

God the air was beautiful, the feeling so good after the oozing blackness of the sea. Not that he had much time to enjoy it before he was airborne and arcing towards the beast that moments before had been on track to drowning him without even a fight. A lot went through his mind. Where was he? Where did his sword go? Oh god that thing is getting closer very fast isn't it?

Crippling fear fought with survival instincts. Thankfully for the Scot instincts won, aided by just a little bit of anger, and he had managed to focus long enough to start pulling out weapons before he smacked straight into the fleshing hell beast. Clinging on for dear life the flying weapons sprang into actions Three swords scythed around him, cutting and slashing at anything near him that looked fleshy. But it wasn't enough. They needed to be faster, cut deeper or he'd fall back into the water. Or be crushed. Or worse. Which was entirely possible given the events so far.

The blades spun at higher and higher speeds, tearing chunks out his opponent. Flashing in and out around him, one even clipped a searching tentacle sending it soaring away from the chaos.

But the water kept rising up to meet him, sending him scrambling higher and higher up the beast. He even nearly made it before some other monster wielding a lamppost like a club sent him tumbling back down towards ground hard. Which was not only covered in water but teeming with so many nasties lurking in it he didn't even try to halt the screaming as he plunged.