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Before tilted his head in thought as he listened to Bix and his reasoning. Huh. Going for the heavy hitters made more sense. "But is the pink-haired one, isn't like, iunno, fire-type is she? Cuz I kinda wanna see what'll happen if whoever gets picked is compatible." he pursed his lips at that.

As for the Shakespeare-quoting-creature, Before never liked the dude when he was in school and was unconsciously tuning it allllll out xnx

"Pink. E-13. My name's Harrison. And yeah I know him, he shot my a** during...try-outs. But I guess if we were gonna hold grudges for the stuff that went down there, I'd be in a lot of trouble."

Harrison grinned.

"I remember you. You crawled out of a piranha pit. You're a real All-American badass. ...And hell, ice sounds almost normal. I think something's wrong with ours."

Harrison remembered the staircase full of needles. "I don't care for its jokes much. ...This is Jerry. He wasn't pink or blue, far as I know. Your guess is as good as mine on why he ended up with the dress."

But like he said before, he thought the pink suited him. He looked back at the cages.

"The ones in the Japanese schoolgirl outfits, those are the ones that jumped some of our guys?"

Harrison shrugged. "Doesn't matter." They'd done the same s**t. It wasn't personal, it was just kill or be killed. Maybe it was personal to people like Jerry though, and maybe if you were like him or felt sorry for guys like him, what they were doing was a kind of crusade.

"These are all kids though, right? How'd they end up in a house by themselves without any heavy-hitters around?"

Ugly and no face, eh? Well now..she was certainly interesting. Candace grinned. "Cute. I really like this one." She stood straight again, her hands on her hips now. She didn't want to turn this one into a weapon...not yet. She was going to be fun to play with a little while longer.

Candace fell quiet once they attempted to turn another one of those things into a weapon. It...it didn't work? She blinked. What did that mean? That it could never be made into a weapon?

...Apparently not, because the creature was destroyed anyway. Well then! That takes care of that! She was still feeling rather off or she'd have grinned at that, merely giving a small smile and looking around to find Jerry and Harrison again. Could they leave? She didn't want to be around the others right now...but then again she didn't want to be in the damn house again. She just didn't want to fail anymore. She couldn't handle it. It was because of this she had essentially tuned out everyone around her, the only voice she couldn't tune out was the one in her head. Candace. Snap out of it, okay? You can do this later when you're by yourself, but now really isn't the time. Atropos murmured calmly into Candace's mind, trying to stay soothing and calm since everything around her wielder was not. Besides, it looks like your little Jerry needs some help. Candace looked up then, turning to find Jerry raging and pointing his bazooka at a particular cage. She raised a brow and tilted her head to one side, watching him at first. What had his knickers in a twist? She'd never seen him so angry, she never would have thought he could get angry before today.

Humming softly, Candace walked over to where Jerry was standing and put her chin on his shoulder, lips pouted and gaze turned toward the creature he was nominating to be the next experiment. "Ohhhhh, Mr. Grumpypants. You're cute when you're angry." Candace teased affectionately, pressing a kiss against his cheek before waving a hand dismissively at the creature in the cage. "Anything that can make Jerry this angry will probably make a good weapon." Considering Jerry always seemed so cheerful? Yeah. This was an accomplishment. But she was rather concerned..he'd been close to this bad earlier, too. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Was he okay?

She heard Harrison's question about the kids and frowned. Princess Watermelon made a good point. "Not sure...adults tend to get kind of pissed when their kids are taken. Somehow I'm not sure even these things would let their young flit about outside of their little world unsupervised."

It was on the discussion of other older individuals that Glen realised once again how flawed his memory of what had gone before his captivity was. Things were muggy and blurred, and he put it down to shock, urgent life-or-death situations tended to bring the present into sharper focus right? Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of longing for people to actually be out there, able to save them from this torment. He could dream, certainly.

It was unfortunate that fate had placed him as it had, listening to the hunters talk he was stricken with the impression that they weren't hugely different from their captives. That was probably why they wanted so badly to label them animals. There was a sort of resignation that had settled in him, beyond the anger, beyond the denial.

"Ah barely rember anythin'" he volunteered.

Davey eyed the captives that everyone suggested. He wasn't sure that attacks or elemental affinities would have anything to do with being 'compatible' - and it was so like Caelius to give them a task to complete without explaining how they were meant to do so. But Davey could handle that. He'd done it before with no memories, and he could do it now with nothing but his own wits - and those of the other Hunters, too. Besides, Davey felt like he had a better chance of not ending up maimed or dead during Caelius' tests than anything else Doctor H might ask them to do.

"Trying the new ones sounds good," he agreed. "Maybe the others have been having their FEAR supressed for too long, made them useless somehow."

And then one of the captives spoke up - the Scottish one - and seemed to be trying to offer information in exchange for his life. Davey walked over to his cage. "So what do you remember?" he asked.

Spoon, the pink boo with a chef’s hat, plopped. It was sprawled on the floor of the holding tank, pancaked. It looked nearly dead, but its body was moving, breathing perhaps. Its eyes were closed. Its mouth, lined with small jagged teeth and slightly longer canines, was wide open. It stirred at times, twitching slightly.

The boo was livelier when it got prodded. It seemed, as if by instinct, slapped at the metal prod at it poked. Yet the ghost still remained sleeping.