For a moment Elliot felt positive that he didn't need to bother getting in any practice with his new equipment, but after Decoy made his suggestions he thought better of it.  Gear and gadgets were what he, the five-man team's Sixth Ranger, had up his sleeve.  Screwing up a vital deployment in the heat of the moment could very well cost him his life, and being able to adopt only a single pose for the remainder of eternity would not appeal to him at all for at least forty more years.  So too was mission control correct about his needs—which was, in a way, disconcerting.  Behaving in a way as to make plain one's reactive rejection of one being rejected by others was the natural and logical way of things, so any chance at being obliged -or dare he say it, cared about- could pose a threat to the established order.  [color=8F9779]”Indeed,”[/color] Elliot murmured, looking as erudite as a troubled teen possibly could.  [color=8F9779]”I have much to gather in preparation for this mission.”[/color]

It would appear that a trip back to the Protectorate HQ was in order.  In an act of generosity, Elliot elected to not obey his urge to head there immediately while leaving his allies behind, so that they might benefit from proximity to his nebulous coolness.  Truth be told, however, he doubted any save Lillian had yet to erect in their minds a defensive barrier to ward off feelings of inferiority, and neither he knew if Lillian might deign to gaze unflinchingly upon his brilliance.  Crossing his legs and perching his chin upon the back of his hand, he awaited the super friends' departure.