The leader climbs on his bike and kicks it in gear. Upon closer observation, the white haired woman notices that he only possesses a total of seven fingers, and his dilapidated riding gloves have been altered to accommodate such. Creepy.

Oddly, he's headed away from the blocky looking structure that was the rebel base. He didn't seem aware of it at all, that's odd. Shouldn't he be going back? Wait what- oh yeah.

"Ahhhh, sir? Might I advise a revision in regards to your navigational plan? We're going the wrong way." The second in command politely intercedes with the leader's actions to lessen the chances of a very very long night. 

"I would accept said advisement and thusly resolve to [url=https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/0/03/U-Turnposter.jpg/220px-U-Turnposter.jpg]flip-a-bitch[/url]." He pulls on the handle bars and turns the bike back around, headed for the base once more. He remembers this patrol quite well, and ends up guiding his team flawlessly.

"Fuma, we're en route back home. Visitor in tow." The leader promptly updates his waiting superior, on his current actions and status of the visitor.

"Excellent work, Calvin! And so timely, for once." Fuma responds to his officer optimistically, encouraging him but ending the transmission with a playful quip. He pushes back his highlighter orange hair out of his masked face and watches the fighters slowly turn in for the night. Tension always grows as night approaches, as does the silence. They're fearful, but equally exhausted. One by one they give in to sleep, and hunger. 

[i]Good...[/i] He decided. The less to interact with the visitor the better. His fighters were under enough stress already, having lost their families decades ago and live on fighting a black, burning enemy. They're fearful of the enemy, as well as their own nightmares that every fighter is enslaved to. Despite the bleak status of the dimension, Fuma always thought himself be a warm host. He made it his mission to help, protect, and accommodate stragglers. The world is a harsh one and he refused to give in to the convenience of overlooking anyone who may need help. This new visitor may not need anything that his rebellion has to offer, but he would certainly do what he could to ensure they aren't left behind.

[i]We're the good guys. The good guys always suffer, but that doesn't mean that others should have to bear that suffering as well.[/i] His rather romantic musings are interrupted as a pounding comes from the hangar door and the scout troupe enters in their tight formation. Fuma jumps a bit but takes a deep breath and stands. He fixes his annoying hair again, and strides across the hangar with a confident gait. His masks tries to depict a smile with the strange markings, and he gestures to the visitor with a half bow.

	Calvin, the ring leader, pulls off his helmet and allows his black eyes to adjust to the bright light in the hangar as he shakes out his white-blonde hair. With a bit of a jerky movement, he assists the visitor with getting off his motorcycle and steps aside to allow unhindered contact with Fuma, as he would prefer that.

"Welcome to the Circus, miss. I'm Fuma. Who might you be?"