Toby's hand flew up on instinct to catch Vivian's wrist, only to find there was no need. [Color=lightblue][b]"Um...thanks,"[/b][/color] he said mildly, using the opportunity Montana had given him to roll away and push himself to his feet. It was a bit jarring, getting aid from...one of Them.

Hoping Montana was keeping her busy enough to hold her attention, and that she was too worn to make another teleportation, Toby considered taking off after Dawn again, pretty sure his long strides could outstrip anything but another warp...but he rather wished Montana hadn't reminded the woman about the mind manipulator. And it was becoming clear that she was going to protect the mind manipulator until she was subdued. He switched his gun to his left hand and withdrew a combat knife for his right. He would rather a firefight than a hand to hand brawl, but she was good, clearly good enough to dodge bullets, and if the teleporter got up close and personal again, he wouldn't be wasting ammunition. And he didn't forget that the regenerator could turn on him at any moment.

He took a defensive stance, waiting for Vivian's move.
---

Spire couldn't hold Dawn forever. He needed to blink, his focus was growing scattered by concern the longer it took Toby to appear in his peripheral vision, and the mental effort to sustain mirroring the young woman's ability was making his head ache almost as much as hers.

Well. Probably not nearly as much as hers.

The teleporter must have been causing more trouble than he expected. He should have taken her out first. His desire for a close fight the teleporter with the psychic out of the way had clouded his judgment - now Toby must be stuck with the fight, with only enigmatic Yoda in a Box to help him--or hinder him, for all Spire knew.

Spire felt the threads of his control snap. [Color=ivory][b]"Agh,"[/b][/color] he hissed through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment at the sting of pain. He was no more good from this perch. She was so far away, and his eyes had gone so watery and blurry, he could hardly see her. He only hoped the young woman's brain sufficiently resembled scrambled egg after their long session together, leaving her weak until he could get her in his sights up close.

He did not attempt Montana's flying squirrel act, instead catching a dangling steel cable through his sleeve and sliding down two floors, making so much friction the fabric of his coat smoked, then dropping the final distance and rolling to keep his knees from shattering.

He sprinted to catch up.