Mason glanced down at his hand, his jacket torn up and blood speckled on the fabric. He slowly balled his hand in a fist, trying to assess the damage. The winced through his teeth for a moment before relaxing his hand and tossing his camera bag through the window. Well, he set it down inside. The injuries weren’t bad, they were very minor cuts, but they still stung. He scoffed at the pain. “ ’Tis but a flesh wound,” he assured her. A thud in her direction caused Mason to poke his head through the broken window and into the darkness, panicked. His eyes adjusted to the empty reception lobby and he could see Yolanda lying on the ground in a flurry of curses. A snicker slipped from Mason as he carefully, and more gracefully, tossed one leg after the other over the window sill. He stood inside the building now, staring down at his fallen friend. 

“I don’t have to be a linguist to know that you have a potty mouth, young lady,” he smirked. 

He extended a hand out to Yolanda before reaching over to his bag and taking out the film camera. His backpack was designed to clip to the camera bag at the front as the pack itself was just a glorified camera bag. He clipped the now weightless case onto the front of his pack and slipped his injured hand snug inside the camera strap. He turned it on, the nostalgic [i]ting[/i] of the device as it booted up put him at ease. 

“Okay,” he started, looking at the receiving screen on the camera. The pointed it at Yolanda who appeared as a bright green entity, along with the darker green background behind her. “Night-vision on. I can see this place much clearer now.” He peeked up from the camera and smiled at Yolanda. “Say hi.”