[center][url=https://fontmeme.com/dont-doubt-the-god-font/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/190204/5f4386709734def8b23ddca56f1906bf.png[/img][/url][/center]

Unfortunately, Proctor’s eyes met Campbell’s at the very moment that he suggested the cyborg go down and keep a close eye out for Knights in Central Square. That would make it difficult to act as if he hadn’t heard Campbell and mysteriously decided to hide in the bathroom for the next hour. Typically, Proctor felt at home in the dense biomass that was the Reclaim’s crowded streets, but Center Square wasn’t exactly the same at the moment. It was filled to its absolute limit, and with people from every part of the Reclaim, and especially those that Proctor usually made and effort to avoid. But, that was that. That one second of eye contact had doomed Proctor, who felt a nice, heavy weight set in on his chest.

Of course, these thoughts flew through Proctor’s head at a mile a minute, before he finally stammered out an answer.

“Uh, sure thing Mr. Campbell. I’ll head down there and keep a look out for anything fishy.” He replied stiffly before Campbell began speaking to each of the other team members.

Everything Campbell said after that, however, traveled the full way through Proctor’s head, in one ear and out of the opposite one. He tried to shake himself awake, and headed for the door, ready to leave, before remembering all the journalists and cameras which waited on the other side.

[color=slategray][i]Maybe I’ll just let Campbell take all that goddamn attention with him before I make my way down there…[/i][/color]

[center][color=slategray][u][b]- - -[/b][/u][/color][/center]

Once Campbell and the rest of the camp made their way towards the debate stage, taking their flock of cameras and microphones away with them, Proctor slipped out of the room mostly unnoticed, only being seen by a few of the building’s attendants that were stood in the hallways. He made for a side staircase, away from all the attention, and slid in, immediately bracing his back against the wall and burying his head in his hands.

Proctor let out a long, low, growling moan, which echoed through the empty staircase. Thinking about going down to the Square, which was packed to capacity, to look for gang members who also happened to work for one of the few men who still wanted him dead, certainly caused a bit of the dread for the man. For the entirety of the campaign, Procor had put the utmost effort into staying out of the limelight, away from all the clamoring cameras and TV bots that hovered around every big meeting that Campbell held with the people of the Reclaim. He’d stuck to the shadows that he knew so well, and it finally felt like his time of slithering around unseen was coming to an end.

Paranoia came natural to him, but this was something new. This level of anxiety, tightening his chest and clouding his already muddled mind, was strange to him. Shutting his eyes, he stood, letting his arms slowly lower down to his side as he took a few, calm, deep breaths to help cool himself down. Getting off the wall, Proctor stood, alone, in the poorly lit staircase, and stretched. He raised his mechanical arms and spread his robotic legs, and stretched everything out, a nearly imperceivable whir from his limbs being the lone sound moving the air around him. He reopened his eyes, and moved his gaze down at his hands, focusing on the two fingers on his left hand that had stiffened up. Pinky and ring finger refused to move, no matter how hard Proctor willed it. His jaw stiffened, as he delivered a sharp smack to his hand, his fingers finally relaxing and giving way to his commands again. 

A soft chuckle escaped his mouth, as he shook his head. Under his suit jacket and over his dress shirt, he ran his fingers over the grip of his pistol, and it greeted him with the ever familiar feeling of aluminum and polymer, tried and true. Taking a deep breath, Proctor gave his chest a good whack, feeling the layer of armor he wore under his clothing.

It was time to go.

[center][color=slategray][u][b]- - -[/b][/u][/color][/center]

[color=slategray]”What do you mean ‘Haven’t seen shit’? You’re telling me in this whole crowd, [i]nothing’s[/i] happening?”[/color]

With the general tidal wave of noise coming from the crowd around him, Proctor was having to nearly scream so that he could be heard over the droning din surrounding him and his agent.

[color=thistle]”Well, look around dude! Besides the political crazies and people like that, there’s not much actually going on! Everyone’s just waiting for the debate to come back.”[/color]The woman replied.

With a confused look painted across his face, Proctor turned his gaze towards the crowd. Talking heads bobbed above screaming colors and under the bold faced, loudly colored signs they were waving, not to mention the brilliant colors shining from the various neon signs that were splashed up and down the Square’s buildings all around them. Every shape, size, and color could be beheld, as it all melted together in one smelly, foggy, politically charged mess. The ground beneath Proctor’s boots seemed to shake as much his head was, not just because of the thousands of feet stomping on it, but also with the Reclaim coming alive to see what all the ruckus was.

Dotted in and around the crowds were food stands, with steam and smoke rising through the air above them, and even from where he was standing, Proctor could smell the various different foods, making him salivate a little. It had been a long while since he’d last eaten, and all the paranoia was working up an appetite. Each food cart, with their tantalizing smells, had a crowd of people around them, clamoring and waving credits around to get their hands on some grub.

At the front of all this incomprehensible noise was the debate stage, which was currently occupied only by armed guards, the same which protected the candidates’ suites. Contrasting the crowd, they stood still and firm, all with large guns at the ready. Most with faces fully or partially covered, the pressed an ominous presence over the crowd, and the crowd responded by maintaining a solid five meter distance away from the stage, without even being asked. The last thing anyone in this crowd wanted to do was to annoy the Enforcers, and getting too close to the stage was probably the quickest way to piss them off.

Eyes turned upwards, Proctor could see even a few figures on the rooftops overlooking the Square from above. From up there, the whole Square must’ve looked like a big pile of neon vomit. How many of those figures were more Enforcers with a scope trained on him, Proctor thought. The thought, funnily enough, convinced him to bring his gaze back down over the crowd.

Oddly, despite his former anxiety, Proctor was beginning to feel more at home, a sense of familiarity with this congealed mass of a crowd. No one recognized him as a member of Campbell’s campaign, nor as the Ghost of the Reclaim, He was, once again, a part of the crowd, and it helped make him more comfortable, despite everything else. The only thing that stuck out about him was his rather clean suit, which helped hide his rather unique arms and legs, and perhaps the large augment on the back of his head, but even those weren’t extremely uncommon sights in the Reclaim, where the unusual was the commonplace.

Now, to watch...and to make sure that the shit didn’t hit the fan in Gatch’s and Campbell’s last bout on stage.