Scott Summers feet were sore and the footing he chose was unreliable. Beyond simple discomfort--pain & exhaustion--he felt righteously indignant. He was stepping on the rocky shore of a media mogul's summer home. It wasn't that Scott simply hated everyone human or television. A little bird had told him of a mutant mill under the house where mutants are 'mated', born, housed, and sold after being kept completely incapacitated. It's walls matched the length of a large urban apartment complex. Few windows were at ground level, there were roughly two dozen all around the second story, only a roof with a pressure sensitive parapet stood on top of it, prepared to execute a silent alarm and dispatch a troop of guards at any time of day. Sentries were posted on top of every exposed entrance. So Scott wasn't going through any exposed entrance. [h3][I][Color=Red]Ssrrewwk![/Color][/I][/h3] He fired into the side of a dirt wall that stood above the beach, close enough that no one would see his crimson blasts and soft enough to avoid throwing the dirt into a flying horde. There was a bit of noise, but considering the distance, Scott found it unlikely that any of the hired door men would notice him. Taking a pause, he closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing on his words and thinking loudly.