A quick glance around the corner revealed only one MP, heels propped on the desk and head back as he slept. Jor gave Rabin a shark's grin before he dropped to the floor, sliding across the floor, out of the range of vision of either the MP or the security cameras that blinked red from the ceiling. Rabin followed suit, the two almost reminiscent of soldiers during the old wars, crawling behind enemy lines to seek their prey.

Quietly raucous laughter from a nearby room caused him to freeze, looking over his shoulder to Rabin, who rolled against the wall and to his feet in a crouch. Jor mimicked the maneuver, coming up beside the other man. Shit. They couldn't very well walk straight past the open doorway and just smile and wave at the MPs inside. Gritting his teeth, he slid along the wall until he could peek inside, then pulled back and held up four fingers.

Four MPs. Rabin might have been injured, but he was angry... just as angry as he himself was.

He looked to Jor. The boy was new; he didn't know the system, and that's why he was bothering with stealth. Rabin knew the system. He'd tested it on more occasions than he could count. He knew the Security Control Room's response time. Once the cameras spotted them, they had four minutes from the time the tech manning the monitors noticed them to the time more MPs would arrive. And from Rabin's experience, they had at least an extra minute, give or take half, before the tech would notice them.

So he stood up, and walked around Jor. He stood in the doorway of the MPs' locker room, and mentally took note of which had been the one who'd been working on him back in his Cell. The MPs looked up, but Rabin didn't give them time to react.

He launched himself forward, his right fist cutting forward through the air with his whole body's momentum behind it. His knuckles met the face of one of the middle MPs, the one who'd been beating him. The man was lifted right off his feet, and slammed backward into the lockers behind him, then crumpled to the floorlike a puppet with its strings cut. Not out for the count, but certainly not an immediate threat anymore.

His momentum kept him moving forward, and his left hand shot out and wrapped across the face of the MP to his immediate left. He shoved forward, and the MP was slammed into the lockers also, and Rabin used the man to cushion his own impact. Rabin heard an enraged grunt from the man, but that was cut short as Rabin brought his right fist into the MP's gut, and then lifted his knee into the man's crotch. The MP didn't make any sound then. Rabin took hold of the MP's shirt with both hands, and spun, tossing the man to the concrete floor.

His eyes were burning brighter than ever, and that same predatory grin was painted across his face.

Two MPs were down already when one turned and spotted him. Jor snatched a loose stun baton that one of the men must have put down briefly while changing from his riot gear, and hefted the weapon in his hands. Nice. His back was turned to the others, but a wall mirror was all the sight he needed. The moment the MP raised a fist to strike, Jor whirled and swung the baton in a wide arc, laughing mirthlessly to himself as he connected solidly with the side of the man's face, a sickening crunch and groan of pain as the impact knocked the MP against the wall and he slid to the floor limply, bloodied head lolling as he toppled over into a sprawl.

When Rabin turned to give him a predatory grin, Jor smiled back with bloodlust burning.

Evidently, the fourth MP had decided that it was about time he did something, and as he charged recklessly, Jor planted his feet and ducked beneath the man's punch, bringing the baton up into his stomach. A whoosh of air as the wind was knocked from the MPs lungs, then another swing that made him double over with a gasp. Jor tilted his head to the side with mock pensiveness, and noted dryly, "Almost like playing baseball. Batter up..." One last swing of the baton, and then he brought the butt of the weapon down upon the man's head with a short stabbing motion, watching as he too was knocked to the floor and laid unconscious.

A sound from behind them both caused them to turn and look in time to see the first MP Rabin had attacked hauling himself to his feet with an angry snarl. He nodded his head in appreciation as Rabin kicked out unexpectedly, a high roundhouse that hit the man square in the face, blood misting as he barely managed a hissed intake of breath before Rabin gave him an uppercut to the jaw, and the MPs head was thrown back. Jor coughed, and when Rabin turned to look at him, he tossed the stun baton to the man, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile as Rabin swung the weapon and smashed into the MPs ribs with a crack.

Delightful.

The wailing of a faint alarm sounded somewhere, and Jor's eyes widened as he glanced toward Rabin. Their unconscious opponents had been in the middle of removing their riot gear, and a sudden idea struck him, so amusing that he smiled again toward Rabin and began to pick up the gear from the floor. Leg pads were strapped on, a hard Kevlar vest that he slipped over his head, the utility belt that held a variety of fascinating weapons. Jor tucked another stun baton into the holster at his waist before clumping over to an open locker, chuckling to himself quietly when he noticed what lay inside. The fletchette pistol was heavy, but he tested its weight with approval and tucked that into his belt, also slipping a knife into a pocket. If they had Wick restrained, which he had no doubt they did, he'd have to have something to unbind her with.

He turned to see Rabin dressing similarly; the two menacing figures in solid black, and they shared a tiny smirk. Pistol in hand, Jor motioned toward the doorway and stalked out into the corridor, the heavy gear going virtually unnoticed as he shook out his shoulders and brushed the stray curls from his eyes with his free hand. Down the hallway they sauntered swiftly, ignoring everything as the last closed door came into view.

Wick was inside, and they were about to get her back.

Taking up a position alongside the door, with a look that said "I've got your back," Jor held the pistol in both hands and clenched his jaw as Rabin smiled that hunter's grin again and kicked the door open.

He had started with Nathan Terrence, his curiosity piqued by the recent interview with Wick. Johan read the file with interest. Iced for attacking superiors, the boy had been sent to Charybdis for two years. There he had learned all manner of self-defense and… now this was interesting - he had made friends with a certain Katera Quistin, a long-time resident of the Institute. Johan filed this away for future reference. Terrence had finally been declared cured by Dr. Corrina Reynolds (a slight smile at this), and - again he noted with interest - along with Katera, had been sent here, to Command School, calling himself Asmodeus, in retribution for his past crimes, or so the file said.

And yet, Johan found himself thinking, cured though he may be, here he is, tracking down his old enemy and almost burning her to death. Not very repentant is it? Not particularly in keeping with previous behavior patterns, either. He made another mental note, this time to go and have a chat with Terrence's former and current commanders. They could, he thought, shed some light on the subject.