Sooraya Qadir

She'd come to London--been sent, more specifically--because of everything that had happened with the Purifiers, both under Stryker and his replacement Risman, and Predator X more recently. Sooraya had even moderately enjoyed the transatlantic flight to get there, though seventeen hours without the ability to really move was a bit telling. It had meant she'd enjoyed the seven blocks she walked to get to the London Sanctum. Sure, there were easier (sort of) ways to get there, and Scott had definitely lobbied for trying to use the portaling system that existed between the Santcum locations.

But she arrived without much fanfare, which was what Sooraya wanted, and waited with her backpack and a suitcase, wondering what had changed someone's mind about sheltering her here when at first the idea had been turned down; she'd only vaguely picked up most of that argument, but something about her friendship with Loa had come up and been discussed rather excitedly. Sooraya wasn't precisely sure what Alani had to do with London, but hadn't argued about it.

So she rang the bell and waited.

Walking along the Prinsengracht alone would normally not have been in any way extraordinary: she was nearing the Anne Frank House, somewhere she'd gone to see her first week living in the city.

She had a backpack full of flower bulbs and seeds to experiment with in her free time, and out the top a whole armful of blooms from the floating market. The veils she wore didn't attract nearly as much attention here, and she'd yet to have more tossed her way than a few mild catcalls from blocks off: a vast improvement from the outright battles she'd been particpant to in America.

Still, the idyll wouldn't have lasted long. She knew that. Sooraya turned her head when she heard someone catcall at her, but hadn't expected to have a bucket swung at her. The heavy liquid caught her full in the face as she shrieked.