Le Sourcier est revenu dans la douleur, s'emparant de son cou pour essayer d'arrêter l'hémorragie. Il a trébuché à plusieurs reprises lorsque le cri d'Aria pour le feu de couverture a été rencontré. Bien que seulement quelques rondes aient glissé entre les plaques blindées des bêtes hulking, il suffisait de continuer son trébuchement. Lentement, le feu a cessé alors que les filles s'arrêtaient pour se recharger. Le Seeker rugissait en arrière, s'abattant sur les filles avec un rugissement puissant, s'élevant à près du double de leur taille. Le Sourcier a baissé sa tête juste à temps pour voir que c'est la prochaine cible - un van qui s'est envolé vers elle.
Le missile Miro-guidé a fait contact, le bruit exécrable de métal sur métal criant dans la rue avant d'arriver à un arrêt d'écrasement. Même la force d'un véhicule d'assaut complètement chargé n'était pas suffisante pour arrêter la bête. Pinné de la taille vers le bas, le Seeker a arraché au pare-brise avec une force charnelle, essayant avec toute sa 'capacité d'atteindre dans la cabine et décapiter Miro. Il s'est serré de plus en plus près, soutenant le camion loin du mur qui avait massacré sa moitié inférieure, essayant avec tout ce qu'il pourrait atteindre sa cible. Les yeux du monstre se sont enfermés sur l'inconscient alors qu'il s'approchait d'un dernier coup.
- Avant de réaliser que c'est une grave erreur. Dans la distraction, Aria s'est faufilée au coin de la camionnette pivotée au point mort du Sourcier. Elle se jeta, tira la lame, élargissant la blessure laissée par le think tank inconscient. Déposant l'outil contaminé, Aria s'est approchée de sa poche latérale, en retirant une grenade à fragmentation et en l'initiant en un seul coup. Avec une expression tordue de dégoût et de rage, la jeune fille vêtue de bataille a poussé la grenade dans la plaie exposée du cou du Sourcier, avant de se replonger dans la couverture. La bête a volé un dernier regard sur Miro avant que son esprit ne disparaisse dans une brume mince.
Aria a gagné comme des morceaux du cauchemar a volé sur le champ de bataille. Elle s'est levée et s'est essuyée du mystérieux liquide. Le champ de bataille était maintenant très silencieux, les filles se tenant là dans l'admiration. Ce n'était pas tous les jours qu'un Sourcier était repéré, et encore moins qu'un seul avait été tué. Ils se tenaient immobiles, prenant ce qui venait d'arriver. Même Aria regardait les restes de la bête, s'imprégnant de ce qu'elle avait accompli avant d'en sortir.
"Ne restez pas plantés là! Liria, Kristen, prends l'homme! Il faut qu'on bouge maintenant! »
Alors que les filles se dirigeaient vers Miro, Aria se dirigeait vers Lyn. Glissant sur ses genoux à son camarade tombé, Aria a fouetté un injecteur surrénal de son sacoche, l'enchevêtrement dans la cuisse externe de Lyn. "Venez avec Lyn, accrochez avec moi, vous ne pouvez pas nous quitter maintenant, nous avons besoin de vous, j'ai besoin de vous!" Lyn a réussi à donner à Aria un aspect faible et douloureux alors que sa respiration laborieuse continuait. "Vous allez aller bien, nous allons vous ramener à la base, ouvrir les voies respiratoires, et vous stabiliser, alors vous serez de retour sur vos pieds en un rien de temps. Je sais que tu le feras, n'est-ce pas, Lyn? N'est-ce pas?"
Des larmes coulaient de ses yeux alors qu'Aria soulevait Lyn, sprintait vers le van, s'éloignait de la zone de guerre...
 
New York Midtown: POLTAVA Forward Base: Tente médicale
Temps depuis le raid infructueux: 27 heures
 
Lyn a regardé de sa robe de l'hôpital sabre et patchwork comme Miro s'est réveillée. Son cou était un violet profond, noir et bleu, presque comme si quelqu'un avait trébuché avec une palette de peintures et les a cognés sur une toile. Elle ouvrit la bouche pour parler, quand Aria l'arrêta. "Lyn, je ne pense pas vraiment qu'il soit sage que tu parles maintenant. Vous devez vous reposer." Lyn secoua la main dédaigneusement. Elle ouvrit la bouche, une voix râpée et douloureuse émergeant.
"Ça fait assez longtemps qu'Aria, tu sais que le médicament que nous avons ici est bon." Elle soupira légèrement, avant de faire un autre souffle douloureux, "Tu sais Miro, tu pourrais être le genre de fou dont nous avons besoin ici. Quiconque veut se faire tirer dans le bras et se donner une commotion cérébrale, juste pour aider une petite fille pourrait être le genre de gars avec lequel je serais prêt à travailler."
Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister.