POV: Sandy, the second
Date: February 13, 1995
Time: 8:15 AM

Welcome to the pen.

Here, I curate the freaks of nature the late Adrian Moroe captured over the span of several years, as well as the few I have been able to acquire in the past three years since his death. With the help of his former partner, Paul, I've been able to pick up where he left off. There were repairs that needed doing, but there's no shortage of work ahead of us, so we had to move fast. In order to serve and protect humanity.

The top floors of the pen are still under repair, due to the extensive damage, and the fact that Paul is no help at all, so I'm doing it all myself. I have to use the back entrance to enter and exit, which is why I've made it into a large warehouse. Disguising the area around it as a scrapyard is easy enough, and nobody ventures too far into it without my express guidance. Such as the woman I'm meeting at the door now.

I pushed the warehouse door to the side, letting it slide open with a loud rusted metal on metal sound. There, standing in front of me in the desert sun, is a woman with jet black hair and piercing brown eyes that peer over the dark lenses of her coke bottle glasses. If I hadn't just spent three years staring down things far more unsettling than her, I would shrink away. But I didn't, because I have. The most intimidating thing about her is the silvery briefcase that I know holds her tools.

"Miss Wisper, yes?"

I nod quickly. "Yes, Miss Petrova, I believe?"

She didn't nod back, and that bothers me, but instead just walked in past me and started looking up and around the interior of the building. "This is interesting place you have. Maybe after, you can hire my husband to fix it up, make it look more comfortable. He builds good. You have children, Miss Wisper?"

Children? No, no I don't. "I'm afraid I've never had the opportunity." I mean, I have, just not any that I took, so...

"Me either. I wouldn't want to raise a daughter in place that looks like this, so probably it is for the best." She pointed around at the empty containers and inactive machinery that filled the warehouse. "Unfitting environment."

"I can't disagree with that, but we're not here to raise children. Please, if you'll follow me." I motioned in the direction to the door, hoping she'd let me lead the way.

Thankfully, she did, and we were soon in the elevator down to the bottom of the facility. Once we stepped out and made our way through the lower pen, I noticed she did a remarkably good job at not looking around at the strange layout. She didn't question what the pits were for, or even look at them curiously. We made our way up to the maze of cells that held the more controllable inmates, and she did look down the corridors we passed, but never stopped to investigate further. She didn't care, I guess.

I led her down one corridor, right to the end, where there was a cell with the glass front removed. Inside was what had become my office until the rest of the place was fixed. I waved her to a chair. "Please, take a seat."

"I'll stand."

Whatever. I went behind my desk and opened a drawer, flicking through the files until I found the one I wanted. "This is a dangerous person, and we need you to bring him in. You should be able to take him down with a few shots, and then the rest is simple." I handed her the file.

It didn't take her long looking through the file to determine that she needed to get some clarification. "It says magic. Explain."

That would be my main concern as well. "He has exhibited a high aptitude for magic. Both defensive and offensive. He is considered potentially very dangerous, but a skilled assassin like you shouldn't have trouble, right?"

"Of course I should have trouble. Trouble makes me feel safe. No trouble means I missed something." She closed the file and stuffed it into her coat. "This is complicated, but solution should be simple. One and half million American."

That's a lot of money. I'd have serious qualms about agreeing to that price if not for Paul's ability to essentially create money out of thin air. He can fabricate it and transfer it to any bank account this femme fatale might request. So a million and a half? "Done." Whatever she wants for it, she gets, cause it's not coming out of anyone's pocket.

She gave me a skeptical look, but got up and turned to leave. "You will have to show me the way back out. You wouldn't want me getting lost in here."

No, of course not. I stood and stepped around the desk, leading the way again. "Hopefully, we'll be able to work together long enough that you'll get to see the front entrance in working order."

"Perhaps." Yeah, she doesn't seem that interested.

"Well, I expect it will be beneficial to us both for however long you're working for us."

I got her to the elevator, and from there on it wasn't really hard for her to get out, so I stayed below. There were some other people I needed to check on. I hurried back through the lower pens, hoping to catch our newest inmate while she was still awake. The poor girl is confused and greatly upset by this whole thing, and rightly so, but I still can't let her out. She pulled herself out from under a collapsed building, bones and skin coming back together in a very painful manner. I wouldn't have had someone there to collect her if it weren't for Paul's amazing ability to convince someone to operate for the benefit of our entire species.

I found my one active agent from the past three years standing outside our new tenant's room, arms crossed and staring intently at the captured woman. I joined my friend, who two years ago I never could have trusted, and looked into the room.

My friend, my agent, leaned over to me and spoke in a low whisper. "I don't think we can let her out. Not for a very long time."

Judging my what I could see, yeah I believe it. There were smears on the concrete wall where she had punched it so hard, so much, that her arms turned to a bloody mess. She'd bashed her head on the walls, the floor, and the window over and over, trying to escape or kill herself, whichever came first, but the most she managed was knocking herself unconscious, and then her body would heal itself. Worse, it looked more agonizingly painful when she healed than when she actually hurt herself.

Since she was awake now, still panting from the pain of healing, I stepped up to the glass and addressed her. "Miss Angel, how are you feeling?"

"Fuck you."

"Miss Angel... Melanie. I need you to cooperate. I can't help you unless you help me."

"Fuck you!"

I'm still about eighty percent sure she knows more than just two words. "Am I going to have to let my associate into your room to discipline you again?"

She responded how I had hoped, her head snapping up to look at me, eyes wide with fear. "No! No, please! Just... I'll tell you whatever you want, just don't let her in here! Please, I'm begging you!"

That was more like it. "Okay, then tell me. How did you end up under that collapsed building?"

Her look glazed over, and she slowly stood up. She approached the glass with a dangerous look on her face. There was a lot of rage in her answer. "Why don't you go ask Melany Snow?"

I guess we need to ask Melany Snow. Whoever that is. "Alright then. That'll be all for now." I nodded to my aforementioned associate. "You're up."

Melanie stepped back, shocked. "Wait, stop! Look, I don't really know very much! You can't just let her do this to me again!"

I walked away, hearing the sound of the glass raising. Melanie kept screaming at me about how she'd do whatever I wanted if only I didn't let this happen again, but I was inclined to let it happen anyway. Why, it took a lot more than this to break the first one. She was begging, pleading for mercy, and I was not about to listen. I had a Melany Snow to find.

I heard the chainsaw start up, starting to drown out her screams. It was fine, since I knew she would recover from whatever Nara did to her.