[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ktlhhm5.png[/img][/center]
[i]“They have Angel, at least... I think they do.”[/i]

What the fuck?

Callan running out to try to save others, Brent could understand. It was noble, even, something that was completely in character for an arbiter whose superpower made her Supergirl. Between letting her stay and letting her go, he would have sided with Callan against Siena, and would have even been willing to help coordinate her from underground. As long as the enemy remained ‘retreating’, the turquoise haired arbiter should be fine.

Zoe and Kusari riding on top of Chris before Kusari is dropped onto the enemy while infected by the black plague and unleashing a viral explosion to decimate the enemy? Brent could understand that as well, how effective it was for there to be someone capable of ‘carrying’ Zoe’s power to an enemy. It was smart, and if they didn’t see it coming, it was going to be an instantly fatal maneuver.
But the root of it, the root of that plan was absolutely, totally, mind blowing. Angelic, being alive? After these Amigos have done their best to kill them? A sandstorm potent enough to rip through flesh, a wooden army that even Zoe could chew through fast enough, a shadow monster that almost killed Hazel with a single attack? Not to mention the laughing she-demon that terrorized the estate, bisecting dozens and dozens? Were they really going to endanger the team for someone who, unlike the operation to scout out Gregory, were absolutely, totally, irrevocably FUCKED?

[color=B0C4DE]“Alli- fuck, cuff transmit. Allison, what th-”[/color]

And then all hell broke loose.

It was the rumbling first, and then the roar that sounded above, the sound of a heavy force slamming into the lighthouse. Ernie, either because he saw it or just instinctively knew, scrambled to close the manhole of the tunnel, but it was already too late. Even with the lid sealed, a waterfall bore down into the tunnels, a stark realization of what was happening hitting Brent as hard as the waist-high wave of seawater. Those bastards weren’t leaving. They just had a hydromancer who, with prep time, was going to [i]flush them all out[/i].

Bounding over to the stone cart, Brent leapt in right as the waves struck with enough force to push that weighty object down and down and down. Seconds at best, but that would be enough. He tore open the backpack, pulled out his dual-filter gas mask, and slapped it on while the cart continue to wobble, on the brink of toppling. Silver circuitry remade the mask into a set of artificial gills, and Brent stood, ready to dive into the quickly filling tunnel…but then the flow weakened, stopped, and…

It wasn’t a murder attempt then.

Not trusting the lull of peaceful silence, his respirator continued to hiss as he hopped out of the cart, sloshing waist deep in chilling seawater, the waterproof nature of his pants meaningless when submerged. 

[color=B0C4DE]“Roll call,”[/color] he said down the tunnel, [color=B0C4DE]“Who's still kicking? End Transmission.”[/color]

A flood was still a flood, and he doubted those top-side were looking peachy, but for now...there was so [i]little[/i] he could do. Stick with those he could reach. Cut his losses today, at least.