Hey, cop-types? Say hello to the major hitters for two different allied gangs, and one major meth dealer from Topeka.
[Attached is a cameraphone picture of what used to be a little hole-in-the-wall bar. While still there, the walls, floor, and ceiling are scorched almost completely black. More concerning are the clearly-still-living people strewn about the floor, twelve of them all told. Many of them are sobbing and trying to claw through the wall to get away from the camera, or rather Danny, who is behind it. A few of them look catatonic, with looks of abject horror and grief frozen on their vacant faces. All of them look battered, bruised, and broken, though none look mortally wounded.]
Once they're able to string a coherent sentence together, I'd say a few hours in the worst case, they'll be begging to confess their crimes. Thought I'd give you a heads up.
(OOC: Unfiltered because Danny is in the throes of a breakdown. They’ll start flooding in within the hour, but will be mostly incoherent for a few hours, then they'll have confessions from all of them, though only some will seem penitent and the rest will just be terrified. Even better, every single confession checks out. However, during the early stages where they're still incoherent, every single one of them will babble about the "reaper wreathed in flame" so, y'know, confession-editing may be necessary. >.> Several of them probably aren't going to be quite right again, though, their psyches too weak to handle the trauma of the Penance Stare.)