[@Takida Inigo]
[@alexfangtalon]

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“One thing's for sure...” The kid responded with a curious stare across the field at a few of the guards laying on the ground, some moving and others still. “Doesn't look like those PSF jerks are having a good night.” He snickered, trying to make light out of an otherwise cluster of chaos. 

At the get-go, Bryson knew he'd be the one to take point, not because he felt obligated to amongst his peers, but rather a genuine knee-jerk reaction to help the others, whether or not it would get him killed in the end. For the last two years it had gone from bad to worse, back to bad, and then the cycle continued as the administration did their best to make everyone else feel like aliens, freaks, rejects, or whatever not-so-original name they could conjure up for the kids. And contrary to what a few thought at first, the camp was anything but your usual holiday destination.

“Otherwise, I don't see an-" Bryson paused as he craned his neck around the door, catching a scuffle near the other end of the cabin, but just out of range of the noise. Squinting his eyes, he could barely make out the one being beaten, until it occurred to him who it was. 

“Shit, it's Kord!” The kid exclaimed as he turned to the others behind him. “Guard just cracked him across the face, and he's down!” For a brief moment, Bryson was ready to leap out the door and gun it to the aid of his cabin mate, but reason overtook suicide as he remember the assault rifle the PSF officer had on him. “The dude is packing serious hardware, so...might have to sneak around, or-". And just like that, the kid had an idea as his eyes caught a small pile of stones just a few feet from the doorway. 

“Alright, this seems crazy, but you [i]should[/i] be able to pull it off. They're just projectiles, right? Practiced this all the time...” Bryson mumbled to himself before speaking at a normal level. “Uh, I'm going to distract the guard and hopefully do a lot of damage to him in the process.” He said with a sheepish grin. “Who's with me?”

But before the others had a chance to respond, Bryson took a few steps out the door and grabbed the stones, which were jagged and sharp, just as he hoped they'd  be. He figured the distance between the cabin door and where the guard was standing over Kord was at least twenty-five feet away, still within a decent range for the kid to hit his target with a moderate degree of force. He raised his hand which held the golf-ball sized, jagged stones, and focused his thoughts as best he could on them as well as the target spot: the PSF dude's bulbous head. 

Three of the five stones slowly lifted from the palm of his hand, rotating on their axis as they hovered a few inches while awaiting the next mental command, which came almost instantly. The projectiles launched with inhuman speed toward their final destination, raining hell against the side of the guard’s head in rapid succession, eliciting a loud growl and knocking the man off balance and to the ground. Bryson couldn't tell at that moment whether the guard was alive or not, but he was fairly sure a blow like that at least dazed him enough for the kid to have the upper hand momentarily.

Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Bryson ran over to Kord in hopes that he was still conscious. “Dude, you alright? We gotta get out of here!” The kid's words ran together as the adrenaline spike he’d sustained earlier from the telekinetic energy began to subside and what could only be described as a massive hangover washed over his mind, causing his hands to reach up to his head while he gritted his teeth in agony.

“Not again…”