[color=82ca9d]"I hear you, Tabitha,"[/color] Tristan answered, one molten-gold eye - the same eye, a [i][color=82ca9d]constant[/color][/i] - fixed on the girl, the others tracking the recent chaos. The reborn cyborg examined the gun in his hand; silvery, oddly shaped - too square, apparently designed to flow around the hand in Venetian fashion in lieu of the Earthborn preference for recoil applied elsewhere than directly into the wrist - and of unknown lethality. The group was making him nervous, he was almost positive, after allowing for the difficulty in tracking specific anxieties among the new sea of compartmentalized terror spreading out beneath his rational mind. Oedipus had attacked the policeman not even half an hour - [i][color=82ca9d]or was it longer?[/color][/i] - into the past, yet that whole encounter had been too surreal to apply anything like ethics or law in the moment. They'd all been gathered, hadn't they? Oedipus, too, had made the journey. Oedipus, too, held a Semblance. Was he the only wild card among them? Clockwork along the cracks in his 'face' shifted, triggering a liquid aureate rearrangement. 

The thought was disquieting.

[color=82ca9d]"You're right. We shouldn't linger. Not that I want to..."[/color] He trailed off, suddenly remembering his own suicide. Something not unlike embarrassment raced through him, and he was suddenly thankful that whatever the mask had done to him it had also excised any apparent capacity to blush. [color=82ca9d][i]What an empty fucking gesture.[/i][/color] The eye focused on Tabitha rolled off, shifting towards the horizon. They were more like droplets of golden fluid than eyes, really, their form and function fixed by rune-marked gears that ran along his faceplate. Scrying pools for a mechanical seer. [color=82ca9d]"Not that I like that bit about becoming blades, or meeting whatever passes for her friends, but I don't think it's safe out here. Anywhere here. Maybe people will..."[/color]

[color=82ca9d][i]Eat us on sight, maybe. Maybe there's nothing in this world but monsters. No data. No map. No boundaries.[/i][/color] Oddly, the thought produced a kind of discord. Part of him, despite their surrounding unknowns, was at home here. That was almost as disquieting as wondering how many of the others were like the man with the knife, or worse.

Tristan took a step southwards, hesitated. He raised his pseudo-voice towards the trio of what had been the kid, Officer Keahi, and the attacker, whatever they were now. [color=82ca9d]"Don't...do anything you can't take back."[/color]