16523/Phantasm and the speed-daters

Phantasm and the speed-daters
Date of Scene:	07 September 2024
Location:	Upper-middle-class neighborhood, NYC
Synopsis:	Spawn got ROBBED	! Nick and Sinister deny the debt...
Cast of Characters:	Spawn, Phantasm (Drago), Sinister

---

Spawn has posed:
Saturday night in New York City means a lot of things to a lot of people. Parties, gallery openings, art shows, pop-art displays... and christianmingle.com's bi-monthly speed dating event! They always hold it at a mid-grade franchise restaurant, spanning Applebees to Red Robin to Fuddruckers, or whatever names such places go by these days. They also always pick a neighborhood with an extremely low crime rate. This particular site, for example, is in a small commercial center within walking distance of a private K-12 school facility, a highly acclaimed public K-6 elementary school, and a well-regarded 7-9 junior high school which accepts both privately funded and publicly subsidized students. The houses are all two-storey constructions and most have a private garage, and most of those are two-car garages. The last time area police had to write a report more than two sentences long was years ago when a downtown bank heist expanded into the area during a high-speed car chase.

Tonight, closing in on midnight means the franchise restaurants with built-in bars are closing up too. Most of the speed-dating participants left hours ago, but a few lucky members hung around the place a bit later to get to know the daters who gave them a mutual "like" in the results cards. Even most of those have taken off, though, so apart from the employees in the restaurant there's really nobody in the parking lot but a youngish man and a youngish woman, mid-twenties to early thirties, who are still hanging around chatting.

The whole area is well-lit. Street lights are well maintained, and the lights in the restaurant parking lot are taken even better care of. It's hard to understand why passersby experience a deep, dark sense of doom as they move through the area, heading home or heading to work, but that bad feeling is pretty intense around the area of the restaurant. Neither of the folks in the parking lot seem to notice, though. He has the agitated, excited air of a guy who couldn't get laid in college and she has the big, bright smile of a girl who knows she can get anything she wants out of this chump.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Nick is not a frequent attendee of Applebee's. He's not a fan of paying $20 for a replated frozen dinner and watered down drinks. And he's not really into the speed dating scene.

So what on earth is Nick doing here?

He's not.

But, if one for SOME reason looked up and had some form of night vision, they might find a purplish black raven who is just happening to fly by.

Well. He was going to fly by but there's this general sense that-

...Well it's hard to explain but-

Anyways, there's a general sense that maybe the bird should take a breather and so breather the bird does, landing upon a nearby streetlamp and quietly glancing down to the couple that is just standing in the nearby parking lot.

Spawn has posed:
A light wind has been blowing off-and-on all night, and just now it picks up enough to ruffle the woman's long hair and carry the quiet voices toward the raven on the lamppost nearby.

"Sorry, sweetheart," the guy's voice is somewhere between baritone and tenor, but there's something very off in the tone of it, "but Jeremy couldn't be here tonight." The woman's face falls and she takes a single step back, but the guy steps forward. She fumbles for her purse, but the man reaches out and clamps his hand over the top to hold it closed. "What's in there, honey?" he asks tauntingly. "More party favors?"

In case there's any doubt as to what's really going on, the woman gives a hard pull on her purse and lashes out with a hard kick toward the guy's shin at the same time but the only result is that he rips the purse out of her hand and throws it to the ground. Whether the shin kick hurt or not isn't so clear, but the way blood showers from a broken nose and cracked lips it seems more obvious that the straight-jab he puts into her face hurt a lot.

The girl goes down in a heap, clutching both hands over her nose and mouth and starting to cry. After a moment she starts kicking her feet at the asphalt, trying to back away, while the man slowly stalks one step at a time along with her. His face is a mask of dark amusement.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Oh.

Well that happened.

Now, Phantasm wasn't privy to the conversation prior, nor does he follow the Christian Mingle social calendar that much. But- He is more than familiar with the behavior of one being cornered. And considering the strike that occurred- he's inclined to side with the lady this time around.

The bird hops off the light pole, gliding down quickly. Perhaps a bit too quickly for such a short distance. The flightpath adjusts and what force available is adjusted to be focused to the front part of the wing, allowing for a very effective clothesline tackle of the approaching man.

That is definitely not natural.

Spawn has posed:
Without any warning of the incoming hit, the guy catches that long wing across the collarbone at full flying speed. Not just flying speed, but swooping down assisted flying speed! The impact and the weight behind it knocks the air out of him with a heavy grunt, and sends his feet flying out from under him so he can hit the asphalt hard on his back. The guy lays there, stunned, staring up at the sky while the woman scrambles to her feet and rushes over to her purse. Kneeling beside it and treating the accessory more like a military satchel than a woman's all-purpose mobile junk drawer, she retrieves a stun gun in one hand and a pistol in the other. Then, with a quick glance back toward the restaurant windows, she heads back to where her "date" is laying on the pavement.

With a practiced, easy motion she drops her weight straight down and plants her knee HARD in the middle of the guy's throat. Her next long-practiced move is a one-two-three pistol whipping to the man's mouth and nose. In the end, she digs the little barrel of her undersized handgun into the man's left eye until she can force the lid open with it.

"So where's Jeremy?" she asks sweetly, smirking down at the man. "And who the fuck are you?" A non-descript panel van, painted in a drab shade of off-white, turns onto the street and cruises slowly toward the parking lot entrance.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
The raven comes to a landing and turns around. Seeing the woman turn the tables on the knocked down man, the bird's beak drops.

What the hell type of Mr. and Mrs. Smith shit did he fly into?!

Ok. So. Who is the actual bad person in this? Is there one?

Spawn has posed:
The white van cruises slowly. It's not particularly suspicious, unless you're familiar with the "rape van" stereotype. Plain white paint, no logos, no windows on the sides except in the front-cabin doors. The rape van swings around into the parking lot and pulls up where it easily blocks the view from the restaurant's windows and then the sliding back side door rolls open with barely a sound. Whoever set the thing up really knew what they were doing.

While the driver and passenger appear to be having a mild-mannered conversation through the untinted front windows, the woman drops her weapons on the asphalt and moves to to grab her "date" by the feet and waits while another man jumps out of the back cargo bay and grabs the guy by his wrists. "What happened here?" that guy wants to know as he takes in the woman's bloody face, the date's bloody face, and the weapons on public display.

"It's not him," the woman answers grimly while the pair give a sudden, expertly-executed simultaneous hoist and just toss the limp guy's body up into the van. "That shit you gave me didn't work at all."

"That 'shit,'" the accomplice' tone has a definite edge to it which puts the quotation marks around that word, "will knock out a horse in twenty minutes. Did you give him the whole pill?"

He jumps back into the van, grabs a handily placed roll of duct tape, and starts tying the hands of the unconscious one, while the woman collects her weapons and purse and gives the ground a quick ocular patdown for any evidence that might be left behind.

"And who the fuck is it if it ain't *him*?" the guy in the van demands to know while he glares at the woman's cool preparation to flee.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
As the van pulls up, making the situation even weirder, the bird looks between the trio and the unconscious man on the ground.

Being that they're not really focusing on the bird itself, he flies up, plopping itself upon the roof of the van.

He has NO idea what's going on here. If only he were a mind reader or som-

...

.oO(Nathan? Are you listening? I tried stopping an assault but I think I may have screwed up. But I'm not sure...)Oo.

Sinister has posed:
<<I'm always listening. Not always paying attention, however...>> -- elsewhere, Sinister looks up from his microscope, glancing askance with a frown and a following eyebrow raise, his attention faraway focused -- A button is pushed, a pause placed on something or other.

<<Try not to get killed...>> -- exeunt, stage door left. Or rather, lab door left and engage biomaglock. Then humming to himself, other things are done where only he can see.

Suffice to say, on a fire escape nearby, a ring of ozone materiaizes vertically, pinkish in hue and Sinister steps through it, tapping a device on the inside of his wrist as he arrives, looking around at the scene he's been called to, down below. This is not in the slightest bit surreal except for the fact he's wearing splatter goggles and forgot to take them off.

Spawn has posed:
"He told me Jeremy couldn't make it," the woman answers her accomplice as she finishes her sweep of the ground and turns back to the open door. She stands there a moment, staring at the guy inside while he stares back out at her, and then she shakes her open hand at him. "Keys, you dumb motherfucker! And finish tying off his legs."

The guy inside jumps to action, rifling the victim's (ie Nick's victim's) pockets, and when he finds the keyring he tosses them out.

She snatches the keys out of the air and turns, trotting toward a vehicle that she must have seen the victim arrive in since she seems absolutely sure it's his. It only takes two tries to get the right key to work in the driver's door, and then she slips in and gets it started.

"I don't know," the guy in the cargo bay mumbles inside the van, as if answering someone whose question wasn't audible. "He's the guy in the photo. Just get us moving, huh? If it's not him, we just have to find another buyer."

The van's side door slides gently closed and the vehicle starts slowly rolling out of the parking lot, while the woman driving the victim's car casually backs out of the space and lines up to follow. The restaurant's lights finally go dark inside, signalling that the night crew is finished cleaning and about to head home.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
As Sinister shows up the raven glances over from his newfound perch and then looks over to the pairing. Thoughts drift over to a brief summary for how they got here. The guy they're loading up had made the first move and attacked the woman. So from first glance it appeared to be a basic assault where the guy was planning to do more harm to the woman. But AFTER the guy got knocked down, things got weird and led to this.

.oO(Now I don't know who is who in this scenario an-.)Oo.

As there's mention of finding 'another' buyer if the guy they got is not 'him', there's a general concern.

Ok yes. It looks like he screwed up.

...A hit maybe? No that wouldn't make sense if the other guy was talking about Jeremy not making it. Why would he say that?

Despite the confusion, the raven sits on the van as it pulls out, visual of the creature fading from view. Regardless of the unseen status, he's certain Sinister can figure out where he is.

Spawn has posed:
Sinister, at his level of telepathy and given the amount of effort he's putting in, can read the situation as follows:

A team of seven came out looking for Jeremy Goldberg, whose blood type is AB-Negative, which is extremely rare, and who has recently given blood which was tested for a full spectrum of viral, bacterial, and parasitic infections. Jeremy Goldberg, who does not smoke and does not drink and does not use illegal drugs, whose extremely rare blood is extremely clean for a thirty-something in New York City, was targeted specifically because of this blood donation and the outcome of the tests. Jeremy is nobody special. He's unmarried, he works as an accountant specializing in property ownership and self-employment, he has no children, and his only living relative is a sister he hasn't spoken to since college. As illegal organ harvesting operations go, Jeremy Goldberg's parts represent a once-in-a-lifetime heist. The timing is crucial due to the availability of surgeons willing to do this kind of work, due to a short lifetime for internal organs outside a living body, and due to a recently-hospitalized billionaire in Eastern Europe who posted a bounty on high-quality heart, liver, and kidneys matching AB-Negative.

Whoever the "victim" in the van is, he apparently tried to intervene for reasons unknown.

There are only four in the van, plus the victim, then one more is the woman in the victim's car. Nobody is terribly upset that this isn't Jeremy Goldberg. They all have the cold pragmatism of long-time professionals that Jeremy seemed too good to be true, and turned out to be. The guy is going to get cut up and auctioned off no matter what. A couple of them do have plans on interrogation, to find out exactly where Jeremy Goldberg is and exactly who this interloper is, but they're not going to delay the extraction to get the information. One in the hand, they say.

There's no sign of thought or even consciousness from the victim, but everybody (apart from the woman) thinks that's exactly how it should be -- he was given a large dose of horse tranquilizer before he got knocked out by the raven.

In real-time, this information floods out to Sinister in the time it takes the van and its trailing car to get pulled out onto the main road. They're obeying the rules of the road, all the lights work, and the license plate tags are current.

Sinister has posed:
<<My my, Nick, what /did/ you fall facefirst into, I have to wonder? When you find an interesting situation you go whole hog, don't you? You might want to find a more comfortable perch.>>

Indeed, Sinister does not need guidance to know where the raven is perched, visible or not. But his focus is silent otherwise, tilting his head curiously at the information flowing through the aether to him. Information is more valuable than gold and diamonds -- but with a wrinkle of the nose, he hesitates long enough for he vehicles to make their slow and law-abiding turn into the main road, before he acts.

Walking down from the fire-escape as if thin air were stairs, he looks silently toward the tail-lights, clears his throat and the diamond in his forehead glows a balefire red, bright for a moment or two as his gaze narrows.

Even Larry the Lardass wouldn't weigh more than he's mentally calculating for, in terms of applied pressure. Vans and cars aren't known for floating, so they don't obviously do so, other than to lift about ten centimeters off the tarmac, turning merrily to face the way that they came.

From there, no matter how much torque is put on flipping reverse gear, they're not going to do anything else but inexorably drag themselves back to where they left from. To the waiting Mister Sinister, whose arms idly fold, a polite half-smile on his face as he watches on. He idly looks at his wrist a moment, a hair past a freckle on a timepiece he doesn't wear.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
...

...

.oO(It's a talent of mine it seems.)Oo. Nick allows. He DOES have a knack for getting into weird situations and there's no point arguing against that. Especially when this appears to be a more time sensitive situation. But before he can do anything, information is needed. As the suggestion gets sent to him, there's a moment of pause.

Find a more comfortable perch? Hmm now what on-

As thoughts of the FoHers near the diner come to mind. He stops wondering and starts moving.

...

.oO(Ok Yep! Getting off the van.)Oo.

The unseen phantasm flaps off and ends up perched upon a lamppost to watch the vehicles return to the scene of the crime.

Spawn has posed:
Inside the two vehicles, the drivers are confused at first but then the van's passenger notices what's happening, and when he grabs the wheel it starts a physical altercation with the driver. Shouting ensues in the front cabin, then starts up in the rear cargo bay. The woman in the car throws it into reverse and hits the gas after the first few seconds, but she doesn't even get squealing tires so she quickly gives up and just dives out of the driver's door onto the asphalt.

The guys in the back of the van beat on the partition to the front while shouting demands for an explanation while the men in front yell at each other about what's taking place. Then there's a sudden silence in the back of the van, a blood-curdling scream that's so loud, and goes on so long, that it catches the attention of the restaurant workers coming out to get in their cars, and then total silence.

In the front of the van, the driver and passenger stop fighting and turn in their seats to try and peer through the partition. On the street, the woman pushes herself up with her hands while already churning her feet, so she's running off toward a dark alley at high speed. In the parking lot, the restaurant workers gawk.

Sinister has posed:
Watching all this, Sinister turns his head slightly at the sound of astonished restaurant staff the mutters and exclamations. <<Don't record it. This is perfect television time, you did all see it on the local network after all, imagine! In our city, what /is/ the world coming to?>> The thought is ricochetted from head to head to head as the doctor himself looks back. Woman: Check. "Where -are- you going my dear?" -- unless she's strangely telekinetically slippery, she'll be lifted up in her scrabble, turned upside down with it and shaken a little bit, like a pepper pot, so that anything she might attempt to reach for would be helpfully jangling around.

As to the van contents and the others involved here? He sighs.

<<Am I being nice?>> it's a little rhetorical, that question. A flick of the wrist has the back doors of the van flying open, the lock really not much of a match.

Sin leans to the side, to peer inside. "Someone might want to start talking to me. Screaming isn't an option it just makes things more problematic for you. Not me, you understand. I couldn't care less if you scream like a banshee."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
Did Nick just call in a canon as a fly swatter?

He most definitely did. And considering how weird the situation was prior, if he had a chance to do this over, he'd do it again.

Once the vehicle is stopped, the phantasm glides over to land upon the now stopped van, peering in to take stock of any weapons they might be considering using. He's not all that concerned that the could cause harm to Nathaniel. He seriously doubts they could. But there is the matter of the unconscious man they threw in the back of the van.

Spawn has posed:
The woman is not at all resistent to telekinesis, but she is able to start screaming as she's turned upside-down and shaken like a rag doll. The purse, containing her pistol and taser, dangles below her head. The way it fell to hang by its strap nothing has fallen out, but in full panic-mode the woman isn't even trying to get to it.

When the van's rear doors burst open, what's left of the two accomplices inside comes tumbling out. Decapitated heads have no eyes or tongues in the mouths now locked in their final, gruesome screams. Severed arm and leg sections, hands and feet, and individual finger and toe pieces look like they were ripped off at the joints, one by one. The torsos are ripped jaggedly open and it looks like the internal organs were burned to coal right in place. A gush of blood follows, pouring out of the van's bed onto the asphalt, covering the remains and seeping in an ever-widening pool.

Inside is no sign of the victim. What is there is something that looks like a wall of flowing blood trapped in a forcefield. It roils and bubbles while something up in front of it rips its way through the forward partition with the shrill shriek of metal being forcibly torn. When the scream of metal ends, the men up in the front cabin start screaming as whatever it is gets inside. Big gouts of blood erupt over the front windows and windshield while their agonized shrieks continue.

Sinister's telepathy still finds no sign of anything but the two men up front. Whups! Make that one... and then none, when the screaming suddenly stops.

Sinister has posed:
The sanguine waterfall of body parts causes Sinister's eyes to go a little round in surprise, his brows to lift a margine as parts of it wash up toward where he's stood on the floor of the alley. <<Second thoughts, this was a straight up homicide on the news. Not an evisceration. You all are going to be quite happy that you're going to think that, let me tell you. Now, go on inside one of the restaurants and put a pot of tea on. And coffee. Find the whiskey.>> The thought adapts.

Outloud. "This is nothing to do with me, I assure you..." to the raven, no doubt. So much for being nice. Mind, you, the woman with her dangling bag is suddenly muted by a throat that isn't helpfully allowing the muscles to contract the right way -- this brought about by a fixed stare her way. This man can do brain surgery with the power of his mind, such fine telekinetic skill is not -trivial- but does not cause much of a sweat. A flick of the wrist ALSO encases her in a red forcefield as she's brought close. Still upside down mind you, but now at least... protected. To a degree.

The blood and viscera move idly out of his way as he floats around the front of the vehicle to stare into the cabin. "I'm going to have to compact this down, aren't I?" Yes. He is. And so... after a consideration to remove any ID, fake as it might be... he floats these free toward the Raven, holds his right hand out toward the van and simply makes a crushing motion. The sound of tortured metal compacting itself under force might be louder than the screams. But probably not.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
As the stealth bird looks in to the opened van, there is the utterance of a swear to the sight. Which... kind of kills the point of going to unseen mode.

Phantasm turns his head to look over to Nathaniel as he denies involvement with the bloodbath inside.

"...He looks back in. "What about the guy they thr-"

...

Hmm. One big gore bubble inside.

No-

"...Al?"

Spawn has posed:
That flux of telekinetic energy, effortless as it may be for Sinister to commit, telegraphs itself ahead of time and for quite a distance if you have the senses to perceive it. Spawn does. His senses, and understanding of what telekinesis is, even informs him that it's about to make things very tight, very fast. Rather than attempt to resist it, Spawn phases out of reality. His entity is still there, in the same place it was before, but as the van collapses into a ball of wreckage it simply passes through the Hellspawn along with the kinetic energy that makes it happen.

So he went from inside the cab of the van to outside the ball of wreckage in the space of a second or less, but now that he's standing there he is invisible and intangible due to the fact that light passes through him as if he wasn't there. In this marginally-existent form, the Hellspawn glares hatefully at Sinister and the way the last target is protected, from those eyes which literally burn bright green.

The sense of doom that emanates from the Hellfire-construct remains. It's thankfully much weaker where the restaurant staff are still standing, only just beginning to get the hint from Sinister's telepathic advice, and slowly wandering off to find a place to get a drink. Right where Sinister, Nick, and the van are, it is strongest. In fact it's stronger than usual.

In spite of his physical state, and the fact that he isn't from the Earth so he's several factors more powerful than its most powerful telepath, Spawn leaks intense malevolence which even a non-telepath might receive.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister looks to the Raven, or his general vicinity anyway.... there WAS talking, then slowly around, as another crunching movement of the hand compacts the van a little more. That's messy after all and MUST be tidied. Eventually, it thonks down onto the street with a very quiet thonk. "I'll dispose of the rubbish later," he informs to nobody in particular, as humans do what they're good at and the raven addresses thin air.

Thin air and malevolence.

Suspicious eyes slowly transverse the area, now silent but for a few pops and creaks, attempting albeit without success, to penetrate the veil.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
And so it stands. A simple inquiry made. No response given back and two thirds of the group opting to be invisible.

There's a long pause as the general sense of piss offedness seems to speak volumes for the Hellspawn.

...

"You know." Phantasm's voice speaks up. "A simple 'yeah' would have sufficed."

Spawn has posed:
The Hellspawn snaps into corporeality with a speed that singes the air around him, leaving an overwhelming mist of burnt ozone. Seven feet tall, four hundred pounds, and mad as Hell, the brute takes a step toward the raven with one fist raised to stab a long, clawlike finger in the creature's direction. "YOU robbed me of hours with my prey!" he accuses. Turning on Sinister he takes another big step, and shifts the accusingly pointing finger. "And YOU robbed me of the souls of their accomplices!"

The monster's feet, hugged by his armor-like suit and split like long cloven hooves, usually leave no trace of its passing when it walks. Now, the asphalt is left melted into a stinking puddle when the feet come away, only to rapidly cool with those hooflike prints left behind.

Finally the hand stabs a pointing finger at the telekinetically suspended, and shielded, woman who it all started out with. "And you *will* turn that over to me, now."

Spawn is so far beyond "angry" that it doesn't even try to transmit an auditory hallucination. Instead, it speaks through its own dry, dead, and shriveled throat. The sound is like a choking, gasping, rattling snarl that somehow imitates speech.

Sinister has posed:
The materialization of the no-longer-discorporated and the fury being conveyed meets what might be called a solid wall of dispassion from Sinister. That isn't usually the way you get him to do anything cooperative, that's certain -- the man never has been one to enjoy being told what to do, how to do it, or that he's doing the wrong thing, either.

Eyes narrow slightly, then look to Nick and back, one brow spocking up in challenge of the words as if to say 'make me' without a single syllable uttered.

He clears his throat slightly, not shirking the gaze at all as his hands are tucked lightly in the small of his back.

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
And that was apparently all that it took to get the hellspawn talking.

As Spawn gestures in his general direction, the raven shifts back to a more visible form. If Spawn was expecting an apologetic look from the smaller figure, he is mistaken. If anything the expression on the raven's face is.... burb.

Eyes close slowly before opening once again.

"And you looked like a potential rapist with the way you were carrying on when I came across the two of you. So yes. I struck you down. And when it looked like it was more than what it initially seemed, I asked Nathaniel for help to figure out the situation and maybe correct it."

The bird's head tilts, "You can be mad. You can complain. But We. Don't. Owe. You. Shit."

Spawn has posed:
Spawn is not a nice person. He's not unreasonable, though, so Nick's explanation placates him a little bit. Spawn would move to stop a rape, to send the rapist to Hell, after all. But then the final, insulting bit on top of Sinister's silent defiance?

The Hellspawn leans his head back and lets off a peal of laughter that first sounds like coughing, or choking, then sounds like hatchets hacking wood, and finally rolls unevenly like gravel being crushed under a big iron wheel. "Well," that death-rattle voice croaks next, "this reminds me of a stand-off in Croatia, around thirty-ish years back."

While Spawn speaks, the nature of the matter around the surface of Sinister's shield is being probed. Air seeps in and out, first by nature then by Spawn's own minute control over the tiniest particles of matter. The woman inside has been stopped from screaming by a constricted throat, but she's been murmuring and moaning occasionally anyway, and she starts trying to scream again.

"Turns out," the monster continues to force air through his dessicated throat, approximating speech with what must be painful difficulty, "chlorine gas is really nasty stuff. It's a little thicker than air, but it's caustic as sulfuric acid." The Hellspawn's green eyes cast from Sinister to Nick and back again, trying to judge if they're listening, or maybe if they can understand.

Meanwhile, the chemical nature of the air around the surface of Sinister's shield is transmutating on itself. An electron is borrowed from this atom, added to that one, shifted to a closer orbit around the nucleus.

"Horrible way to die, chlorine inhalation," Spawn continues his spiel. "Exposure to it is bad enough. Smells like bleach, burns like fire, gets in every shitty little nook and cranny."

Inside the shield, exposed to the atmosphere seeping in from the outside, the woman's eyes have gone wide open and started to change to a bright, bloodshot red. If she could scream she'd be begging to make it stop.

Sinister has posed:
"You do realize I've been through the time period when it was used rather extensively in warfare..." Sinister sighs, the fear and horror in the woman's mind a palpable thing. He looks in her direction, back at Spawn, though with those feiry red eyes of his its hard to tell exact positioning then shakes his head, turning to walk off. The crumpled van is carried with him as he does so, lifted to follow like a terribly ugly and unrealistic baloon.

The woman? Her throat is crushed. It's kinder in the end.

Over his shoulder. "I will no doubt see you later. Lucifer is rather fascinated with you, Hellspawn. Good evening Nick."

Phantasm (Drago) has posed:
As Sinister starts to leave with the evidence of what transpired that day, the raven swoops over to another perch.

"Evening, Nathaniel." The bird replies back. As the doctor leaves, the raven looks over to Spawn. It doesn't take much to figure out what happened to the woman who was caught. In or outside the portal she was dead. "Did you ever consider if you hadn't of killed the ones in the van and the bubble, the information on the remaining persons may have been extracted much more easily?"

There's a shake of the head before the bird spreads its wings out. "Later, Spawn."

With farewells given, the bird launches up into the sky to go on his way.