Death and Stocking
Robin's glasses went back to normal, giving you a good look at her big brown eyes. She looks a little surprised at your rather extreme reaction, but hardly intimidated. Her father aside, she doesn't get shouted at. She does the shouting, and it takes her a moment to come to terms with it. Then her lips tighten, and she turns back to Hillary and Priscilla, and shrugs. "You all saw me. I tried to be reasonable." She says, sounding vaguely regretful about the lack of results.
"Yes you did sis. Almost for two minutes. A new record for you." Hillary replies right back, rolling her eyes. The Page sisters were very close, and tended to banter exclusively with each other like this in tense situations, which tended to give the impression that they'd forgotten all about you.
"Everyone's a critic." She replied, rolling her eyes, then hefted the MI7. "Well, which ones this? Should I just shoot him?"
"The shinigami I believe. Those three scars are a give-away" Hillary (research), tells her, after staring at you thoughtfully for a moment. You don't like those scars. They make you asymmetrical. "And don't shoot anyone. We're not supposed to disturb the experiment."
Robin smiled. That was a relief. She wasn't in the mood to just shoot you, she had some venting to do, after having her father yell at her for almost an hour. They all had their ways of blowing off steam in these circumstances, Hillary seduced one of the prisoners, Priscilla threw a crates-worth of plates against a wall, and Robin beat the crap out of anyone unfortunate enough to give her a reason. "Well in that case, I'll adapt…" She dropped the cannon, and opened the back of the van, groping around for a moment before settling on something and pulling a long zanpakutō out. It was four and a half foot of blade a hands-breadth wide, and sat very awkwardly in her hands. Though more the question, where the hell did she get that? A shinigami soul-blade built out of it's wielders soul wasn't something you could use if you weren't intended for it, yet you'd bet Liz and Patti that she wasn't it's intended wielder.
"How do I release it again? I can never remember the passwords to these things. Should have had daddy dearest come up with an owners manual." She muttered for her own benefit (you'd suspect you weren't meant to overhear), than decides not to bother trying to remember and runs straight at you, swinging the blade one-handed like a madman.
Hillary rolled her eyes at her sisters antics. "Well, that's torn it. Pris, go get Atticus, and drag him back here while Robin does her thing. And remember we're supposed to be somewhat covert."
Priscilla (retrieval) rolls her eyes. "Let her run things in the field once and she thinks she needs to tell us how to do our jobs." She grumbles. Without another word she picks up Robin's dropped gun, then heads over towards the school, meaning to make an example of the guidance councilor.
They all look to be ponderous, boring books, bound in leather to look authentic, with titles like 'A beginners guide to faking a psychology degree', and 'how to obtain false identification', and 'what is expected of teachers in a modern high school environment'. Why a school councilor would have them in his office for easy referral is a total mystery.
You sift through a few of the files you've taken. Bella has very little information, given that the file was intended for the reader to refer to, and is made up mostly of observances about her daily life written as though even the most trivial of events is incalculably significant (she tied her left shoelace first today. May have to step up treatments. Today, she didn't eat quite as many cornflakes as usual. Excellent. Continue as planned.). , Next there is a dozen pages made up of a series of graphs that you have no idea what represent, but they have words like 'resonance', 'synergy', and 'self-control' next to them.
Occasionally, there is a reference to something called 'ugly-duckling', but it never elaborates, so it's also lacking in value. Still, some details do seem wrong to you. Her emergency contact is listed as someone called Luke Garroway, not her father as you'd expect. Curiouser and curiouser.
Cassandra Cain/Wayne… Nothing. Nothing at all. She was adopted by Bruce Wayne, but before that she didn't exist. As though he'd somehow called her into being immaculately at sixteen. She had no parents. She had no prior history. The adoption was handled by an agency that came into existence, sorted her matters out, then returned to nothing, it's task done, with no staff at all that can be located and traced. Cass is a complete enigma, and whoever made her that way is much, much better at hiding things then Atticus was at finding them.
Souske you struck gold. It details his entire life-history, which all seems to have been in the armed forces. If this is accurate, he enlisted when he was four, and has been killing people for king and country more or less since day one. Apparently he was deployed here to protect Bella to the exclusion of all else. No wonder he flies of the handle at the slightest provocation, he thinks he's following orders. His commanding officer is listed as Sam Axe, who is the schools principle. Apparently, Souske's not up to the job solo, guns or no guns.
Lelouch, quite suspiciously, doesn't have a file. He hasn't even attempted to learn more about the prince. Which suggests whoever is protecting him is a lot higher up the food chain then Atticus.
Jack Ketch does not follow through. He just holds his ground, axe held loosely in his hands, eyes still on yours. He's bleeding quite a bit from his leg, but if he feels any ebb in his powers at all, he doesn't show it.
And Jack Horner steps out from behind the tree, dressed in his jeans and boots, with no shirt on, thumbs hooked in his belt, and a sardonic smile on his face. Jack might not be smart, but he is clever, and slipperier then a greased eel. "Now look at this. I'm gone no time at all, enjoying the attentions of a rather lovely lady, and when I come back I find this." He waved his hand vaguely at the executioner. [COLOR="DarkSlateBlue"]"Stand down, mister Ketch."
Jack Ketch grunted, then shouldered his axe, not taking his eyes off Smedry for a moment. "How's that. And Smedry, you put the sword down, and perhaps we can come to an understanding that don't involve making an awful mess of this here woods once Ketch gets a bit more enthusiastic."