[Wrathlin] There are seven cars left in the echoing, chambered space, which looks more like a series of catacombs than parking lot. Seven cars, wedged in between the concrete arches. No one drives the good car to work if he parks down here. There's danger around every sharp turn, and both pulling in and backing out offer lessons in concrete versus sheetmetal.
Concrete wins.
Seven cars, and three lights. Austerity measures. The government is broken. The government is broke. To ensure that there was enough in the budget to fill and refill the Purex stations on every floor ("BIRD FLU TERTIARY PLAN!" each hand sanitizer station announces above it, "DIRECTIVE 7349!") they've turned off the lights down here from six to six, p.m. to a.m. The three working lights mark the three alleged exits. Each is a yellow bulb in a cage, casting long, crazed shadows across the concrete.
One of them buzzes.
Fucking incessantly.
[Imogen] The heavy metal door between the building and the garage bangs heavily as it shuts behind her, echoing against the concrete ceiling and walls of the parking lot. Her respectable shoes echo loudly with every step, breaking into the backdrop of the incessant buzzing of the light, the steady oppression of being underground.
The air here is damp and cool. The heat is turned down for this time of day, though even in the middle of the day , this time of year, it is cold.
She is dressed down, jeans, a t-shirt, a corduroy jacket, boots. In one hand she carries a brief case, the files she needs safely secured inside, seeming heavier for the fact they were illegally procured. She carries no purse, and digs a hand into her coat pocket for her car keys.
[Imogen] (perception alertness!)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Wrathlin] Imogen's own shadow - cast by the ugly yellow bulb set in its metal cage by the door through which she has just come - is crabbed and twisted. Some function of the interruption of the pillars, the bars on the fixture. The distortion of the cave-light setting. Far ahead she can see the dim flash of the E X T sign flashes a muted white against the darkness.
Though the X seems - ruddied, somehow. Graffiti?
There's a humid tinge to the air, too. Something earthier than the usual concrete scent. Raw and wet.
And was that, at the edge of her hearing - a single breath, pushed out, expelled. Like a gasp?
The door clicks shut behind her. A lock buzzes, energized.
She can make out, dimly, the shapes of the remaining cars. A van in the corner, white. A beat-up beige toyota. Her own car further down the row.
[Imogen] The rhythm of her steps shift slightly, but only by a fraction of a second one way or the other. She becomes more aware, more deeply moored within her skin. Her thoughts of what she might do when she got home, or what she might do tomorrow, or what she needed to get done before Monday vanished, her thoughts winnowing to a pinhole of attention - what is right in front of her, what is happening right now.
Her gaze lingers on the X on the exit sign and she inhales again, deeply - is the smell copper perhaps? Blood? Damn.
Absent further details, she has little choice but to continue moving. Still - and she tells herself this is more for her own peace of mind - she reaches beneath her jacket and undoes the strap to her weapon.
She breathes in again, her gaze sweeping the parking area. And continues to walk forward.
[Wrathlin] The first sign is the bloodied handprint on the boot of the beige Camry, concealed by the shadows of the place until she circled the back of it. The scent deepens here; is wettened and whettened. Something happened here.
Another breath. This one not gasping, but choking - wetly. Imogen knows the sound. Lungs filling with fluid, smothering someone, drowning from within. Then a leg - jutted out at an unnatural angle, the dull gray fabric of a cheap polyester rent-a-cop uniform.
He was a big man.
He is a big man, slumped on the far side of the Camry, face white with shock, meaty hand bloodied and outstretched. When Imogen's shadow crosses his failing vision, he drags in another breath and says -
"Stop -"
There's a gun in his hand. No smell of gunpowder in the air, though.
" - something," gggkasweek. He breathes in again, it sounds like his lungs are full of damp tissue paper. "Something's there. Oh, god."
[Imogen] Someone with more heart -
would help him. Would put their hands on his wounds, try and staunch the bleeding. Perhaps they would ask him for his name, or tell him their's. Tell him he would be alright, even if he weren't. The sweet balm of lies.
Imogen -
Takes a moment to acknowledge, if only to herself, the strength of will it would take for a human like that to reach out, say something to try and protect her. In a Garou it would infuriate her. Now, in a human, she finds it oddly touching. She will listen to it no more than she would from a full blood, however.
She does not move to the Camry, instead stepping to the concrete pillar directly beside it, stepping to the inner side of it. She turns her attention to the security guard, warily. She looks at his wounds, the blood on his lips. In her mind she can see the triage plan she might inact to keep him alive long enough for help to arrive.
But depending on what he saw, she would have to kill him anyway.
Instead, all she asks is: "Where?"
[Imogen] perception+alertness
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen] COME ON KAHSEENO YOU ARE EMBARASSING ME
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 7, 9 (Failure at target 7)
[Imogen] (Kahseeno you and I are THROUGH professionally!)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8) Re-rolls: 2
[Wrathlin] "The other side'a the car - " he tells her, with another wet gasp. That many words leads to a choking spasm that darkens the blood staining his cheap polyester shirt. A size too small, too, straining to contain his considerable gut. The free hand flails forward in a moving gesture toward the next car parked two space down, a rusting purple VW Rabbit with a bumper sticker that says, "MY CHILD IS AN HONOR STUDENT AT ELK GROVE HIGH."
"Never seen nothing like it before." His other hand arm is held abducted against his body at an odd angle, pressed against his bleeding bulk. " - it's - it broke outta the underground. The sewer? A - a mutant Gator or something. I don't know."
Further ahead, so faint she thinks she imagined it, a soft, quiet sound. More she cannot tell. The scent of blood is thicker here.
[Imogen] She studies the rent-a-cop while he speaks, not so much for what he says but for a decision as to her next steps. She is not saving him. That is sealed the moment 'mutant gator' comes out of his mouth.
She resists the urge to apologize. It is pointless, meaningless.
Merely draws her weapon and fires on the prone rent-a-cop, thrice in quick succession. And even as the echoing sound has not faded, she jerks her gun toward the VW, scanning parking garage, her ears ringing.
This was as much for the Veil as in the hope of drawing out the prey - while she is hidden and - presumably, somewhat safer.
Thirteen
[Imogen] (+9!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Wrathlin] Rent-a-Cop +6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Wrathlin] He's dead. She knows that already. She can read wounds in the pattern of blood spreading under his polyester suit. She can read internal injuries in the bloody froth at his mouth, the unnatural angle of his leg. She can -
he's dead. She knows it already.
He doesn't.
Imogen resists the urge to apologize to him. There's no comfort in that; the best way out is a quick death. Maybe prayerful silence; a simple disintegration, an undoing in the great beyond. Then she's reaching for her weapon, holstered in the small of her back and something - shifts - in him, snapping forward, lurching upward with a strength a (soon to be) dead man should not have. His leg is still at that unnatural angle. Half-way up he snaps it back into place, with a bone-on-bone crunch that is distinctly unpleasant.
[Wrathlin] [Order: Imogen: 19
Rent-a-Cop: 15]
[Wrathlin] Rent-a-Cop: 1. Lunge for Imogen. 2. CHOMP.
[Imogen] WAAAAH IS NOT EASY HUMAN LIKE I THOUGHT IT WAS.
1 - Three round burst!
2 - Shoot him again!
[Imogen] (shoot!
HAIL KAHSEENO!)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 5, 5, 5, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen] Okay, this is getting just pathetic.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Imogen] additional damage - she was at short range!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Imogen] (rerolling damage because Kahseeno is being a bitch)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Wrathlin] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Imogen] FIRE!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 4) [WP] Re-rolls: 1
[Imogen] DAMAGE!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Wrathlin] Lunge!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Wrathlin] CHOMP!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Wrathlin] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Wrathlin] 1. Tackle Imogen. 2. CHOMP AT HIS LEISURE.
[Imogen] (pointblank:
1. Headshot - three round burst
2. Fire!
3. DODGE!)
[Imogen]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Imogen] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Imogen] (wrong roll for damage. This is the right one)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Wrathlin] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Wrathlin] (soak was dif 10 and failed!)
[Imogen] SHOOT!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 5 at target 3)
[Imogen]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Wrathlin] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 6 (Botch x 1 at target 8)
[Wrathlin] TACKLE!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Imogen] DODGE!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Wrathlin] CHOMP!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Wrathlin] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen] EEEK!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 9 (Failure at target 8)
[Wrathlin] [Rent-a-Cop] 1. Chomp! 2. Soulsuck!
[Imogen] 1. Fire
2. Fire
3. Fire
4. Fire
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 9 (Success x 4 at target 3)
[Imogen]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Wrathlin] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 3 (Failure at target 8)
[Wrathlin] Rent-a-Cop: x.x
[Wrathlin] Imogen draws her weapon, and the security guard lunges for her, baring (rather dull) teeth in an inhuman snarl. The blood soaking his clothing, frothing up from his mouth was someone elses, and it sprays in a bloody shower over Imogen as he lungs for her, bellowing. Her shots strike true, though his enormous stomach seems to offer him some level of protection; he staggers with the impact, but is never slowed.
No, he lunges onward, arms pinwheeling for her as she steps aside, turning with the arc of his motion to shoot him again. Once, his mouth connects with her shoulder; tears through the blouse under her jacket, pulls away strips of flesh, though the damage is largely superficial.
The car park is quiet, after. Just the sound of her breathing. She will find, steps away, the naked, savaged body of the actual security guard.
And no mutant alligators in sight.
Concrete wins.
Seven cars, and three lights. Austerity measures. The government is broken. The government is broke. To ensure that there was enough in the budget to fill and refill the Purex stations on every floor ("BIRD FLU TERTIARY PLAN!" each hand sanitizer station announces above it, "DIRECTIVE 7349!") they've turned off the lights down here from six to six, p.m. to a.m. The three working lights mark the three alleged exits. Each is a yellow bulb in a cage, casting long, crazed shadows across the concrete.
One of them buzzes.
Fucking incessantly.
[Imogen] The heavy metal door between the building and the garage bangs heavily as it shuts behind her, echoing against the concrete ceiling and walls of the parking lot. Her respectable shoes echo loudly with every step, breaking into the backdrop of the incessant buzzing of the light, the steady oppression of being underground.
The air here is damp and cool. The heat is turned down for this time of day, though even in the middle of the day , this time of year, it is cold.
She is dressed down, jeans, a t-shirt, a corduroy jacket, boots. In one hand she carries a brief case, the files she needs safely secured inside, seeming heavier for the fact they were illegally procured. She carries no purse, and digs a hand into her coat pocket for her car keys.
[Imogen] (perception alertness!)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10 (Success x 3 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
[Wrathlin] Imogen's own shadow - cast by the ugly yellow bulb set in its metal cage by the door through which she has just come - is crabbed and twisted. Some function of the interruption of the pillars, the bars on the fixture. The distortion of the cave-light setting. Far ahead she can see the dim flash of the E X T sign flashes a muted white against the darkness.
Though the X seems - ruddied, somehow. Graffiti?
There's a humid tinge to the air, too. Something earthier than the usual concrete scent. Raw and wet.
And was that, at the edge of her hearing - a single breath, pushed out, expelled. Like a gasp?
The door clicks shut behind her. A lock buzzes, energized.
She can make out, dimly, the shapes of the remaining cars. A van in the corner, white. A beat-up beige toyota. Her own car further down the row.
[Imogen] The rhythm of her steps shift slightly, but only by a fraction of a second one way or the other. She becomes more aware, more deeply moored within her skin. Her thoughts of what she might do when she got home, or what she might do tomorrow, or what she needed to get done before Monday vanished, her thoughts winnowing to a pinhole of attention - what is right in front of her, what is happening right now.
Her gaze lingers on the X on the exit sign and she inhales again, deeply - is the smell copper perhaps? Blood? Damn.
Absent further details, she has little choice but to continue moving. Still - and she tells herself this is more for her own peace of mind - she reaches beneath her jacket and undoes the strap to her weapon.
She breathes in again, her gaze sweeping the parking area. And continues to walk forward.
[Wrathlin] The first sign is the bloodied handprint on the boot of the beige Camry, concealed by the shadows of the place until she circled the back of it. The scent deepens here; is wettened and whettened. Something happened here.
Another breath. This one not gasping, but choking - wetly. Imogen knows the sound. Lungs filling with fluid, smothering someone, drowning from within. Then a leg - jutted out at an unnatural angle, the dull gray fabric of a cheap polyester rent-a-cop uniform.
He was a big man.
He is a big man, slumped on the far side of the Camry, face white with shock, meaty hand bloodied and outstretched. When Imogen's shadow crosses his failing vision, he drags in another breath and says -
"Stop -"
There's a gun in his hand. No smell of gunpowder in the air, though.
" - something," gggkasweek. He breathes in again, it sounds like his lungs are full of damp tissue paper. "Something's there. Oh, god."
[Imogen] Someone with more heart -
would help him. Would put their hands on his wounds, try and staunch the bleeding. Perhaps they would ask him for his name, or tell him their's. Tell him he would be alright, even if he weren't. The sweet balm of lies.
Imogen -
Takes a moment to acknowledge, if only to herself, the strength of will it would take for a human like that to reach out, say something to try and protect her. In a Garou it would infuriate her. Now, in a human, she finds it oddly touching. She will listen to it no more than she would from a full blood, however.
She does not move to the Camry, instead stepping to the concrete pillar directly beside it, stepping to the inner side of it. She turns her attention to the security guard, warily. She looks at his wounds, the blood on his lips. In her mind she can see the triage plan she might inact to keep him alive long enough for help to arrive.
But depending on what he saw, she would have to kill him anyway.
Instead, all she asks is: "Where?"
[Imogen] perception+alertness
HAIL KAHSEENO!
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 6, 6, 6 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen] COME ON KAHSEENO YOU ARE EMBARASSING ME
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 7, 9 (Failure at target 7)
[Imogen] (Kahseeno you and I are THROUGH professionally!)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 1 at target 8) Re-rolls: 2
[Wrathlin] "The other side'a the car - " he tells her, with another wet gasp. That many words leads to a choking spasm that darkens the blood staining his cheap polyester shirt. A size too small, too, straining to contain his considerable gut. The free hand flails forward in a moving gesture toward the next car parked two space down, a rusting purple VW Rabbit with a bumper sticker that says, "MY CHILD IS AN HONOR STUDENT AT ELK GROVE HIGH."
"Never seen nothing like it before." His other hand arm is held abducted against his body at an odd angle, pressed against his bleeding bulk. " - it's - it broke outta the underground. The sewer? A - a mutant Gator or something. I don't know."
Further ahead, so faint she thinks she imagined it, a soft, quiet sound. More she cannot tell. The scent of blood is thicker here.
[Imogen] She studies the rent-a-cop while he speaks, not so much for what he says but for a decision as to her next steps. She is not saving him. That is sealed the moment 'mutant gator' comes out of his mouth.
She resists the urge to apologize. It is pointless, meaningless.
Merely draws her weapon and fires on the prone rent-a-cop, thrice in quick succession. And even as the echoing sound has not faded, she jerks her gun toward the VW, scanning parking garage, her ears ringing.
This was as much for the Veil as in the hope of drawing out the prey - while she is hidden and - presumably, somewhat safer.
Thirteen
[Imogen] (+9!)
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10
[Wrathlin] Rent-a-Cop +6
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 9
[Wrathlin] He's dead. She knows that already. She can read wounds in the pattern of blood spreading under his polyester suit. She can read internal injuries in the bloody froth at his mouth, the unnatural angle of his leg. She can -
he's dead. She knows it already.
He doesn't.
Imogen resists the urge to apologize to him. There's no comfort in that; the best way out is a quick death. Maybe prayerful silence; a simple disintegration, an undoing in the great beyond. Then she's reaching for her weapon, holstered in the small of her back and something - shifts - in him, snapping forward, lurching upward with a strength a (soon to be) dead man should not have. His leg is still at that unnatural angle. Half-way up he snaps it back into place, with a bone-on-bone crunch that is distinctly unpleasant.
[Wrathlin] [Order: Imogen: 19
Rent-a-Cop: 15]
[Wrathlin] Rent-a-Cop: 1. Lunge for Imogen. 2. CHOMP.
[Imogen] WAAAAH IS NOT EASY HUMAN LIKE I THOUGHT IT WAS.
1 - Three round burst!
2 - Shoot him again!
[Imogen] (shoot!
HAIL KAHSEENO!)
Dice Rolled:[ 11 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 5, 5, 5, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen] Okay, this is getting just pathetic.
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 7 (Failure at target 6)
[Imogen] additional damage - she was at short range!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 5, 10 (Failure at target 6)
[Imogen] (rerolling damage because Kahseeno is being a bitch)
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Wrathlin] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 4, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Imogen] FIRE!
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 1, 1, 3, 3, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 4) [WP] Re-rolls: 1
[Imogen] DAMAGE!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 2, 3, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Wrathlin] Lunge!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 3, 4, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Wrathlin] CHOMP!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 3, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 3 at target 5)
[Wrathlin] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Wrathlin] 1. Tackle Imogen. 2. CHOMP AT HIS LEISURE.
[Imogen] (pointblank:
1. Headshot - three round burst
2. Fire!
3. DODGE!)
[Imogen]
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 10 (Success x 5 at target 5) Re-rolls: 1
[Imogen] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 9 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 8 (Failure at target 6)
[Imogen] (wrong roll for damage. This is the right one)
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 10 (Success x 2 at target 6)
[Wrathlin] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 8, 9 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Wrathlin] (soak was dif 10 and failed!)
[Imogen] SHOOT!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 5, 6, 6 (Success x 5 at target 3)
[Imogen]
Dice Rolled:[ 8 d10 ] 1, 3, 3, 3, 7, 8, 9, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)
[Wrathlin] soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 1, 6 (Botch x 1 at target 8)
[Wrathlin] TACKLE!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 4, 4, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 8)
[Imogen] DODGE!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 2, 4, 5, 7 (Success x 2 at target 6) [WP]
[Wrathlin] CHOMP!
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 8, 9, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 5)
[Wrathlin] Damage!
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 5, 6, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[Imogen] EEEK!
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 4, 9 (Failure at target 8)
[Wrathlin] [Rent-a-Cop] 1. Chomp! 2. Soulsuck!
[Imogen] 1. Fire
2. Fire
3. Fire
4. Fire
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 5, 9 (Success x 4 at target 3)
[Imogen]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 1, 4, 7, 8, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
[Wrathlin] Soak!
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 3 (Failure at target 8)
[Wrathlin] Rent-a-Cop: x.x
[Wrathlin] Imogen draws her weapon, and the security guard lunges for her, baring (rather dull) teeth in an inhuman snarl. The blood soaking his clothing, frothing up from his mouth was someone elses, and it sprays in a bloody shower over Imogen as he lungs for her, bellowing. Her shots strike true, though his enormous stomach seems to offer him some level of protection; he staggers with the impact, but is never slowed.
No, he lunges onward, arms pinwheeling for her as she steps aside, turning with the arc of his motion to shoot him again. Once, his mouth connects with her shoulder; tears through the blouse under her jacket, pulls away strips of flesh, though the damage is largely superficial.
The car park is quiet, after. Just the sound of her breathing. She will find, steps away, the naked, savaged body of the actual security guard.
And no mutant alligators in sight.
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