[hr][center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nx13mbU3iE0]A F T E R S H O C K S[/url][/center][center]
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CURRENT DATE -- 23/05/2047[/center][hr]
Arbiter sucked in a breath of recycled air, chewing on the side of his mouth. There was some sound logic behind Stardust's words, despite his rabid desire to mistrust a newcomer after a catastrophe. He lifted the gun and set it back on the shoulder holster. After another second, he looked at the newly emerged Tower and Beacon. And Addison. He pinged Gabbie, who folded the helmet back and out of the way.

He breathed again, this time inhaling dusty, bomb-charred atmosphere. He was so thirsty. "Dammit, Reynolds," he hissed, taking a step toward the body in Tower's hands. What [i]did[/i] they do now? Why the fuck was Reynold's death affecting him like this? 

The sky spun above him, and only Gabbie's gentle stabilization kept him upright. He forced words past the dead tongue-worm in his mouth. "Stardust, stop. Spellbound's gone. Reynolds is dead. If Avant-Garde is still alive, we can't afford to w-wait for him." Was he in shock? Why was he stuttering?

Facts. Follow the facts and sew them together. That was what he did. Fact one: Addison was dead. Fact two: Hex was dead. Fact three: he was still undercover, and couldn't afford to lead anyone back to Midwest City yet. Fact four: a mili-corpo grade missile had just annihilated a base in the middle of a desert that nobody had known to exist. How convenient that it had dropped as they got there. Too convenient.

Another shuddering breath. His heart was slowing down again.

"One of us was tracked here. If I had to guess, I'd say it was Reynolds." The pieces were coming together. Slowly. "We can't stay here." He tromped toward the Tower and, moving as gently as cyber-stablized muscles could allow, frisked the corpse. He hated doing it. It was like burning a cat's whiskers or pouring concrete down someone's throat. He persevered, slipping a notebook from one of Reynolds's pockets. It was full of neatly-recorded notes...on them. Hex's, maybe? 

"We should bury her, but," ET broke off, looking up at the Tower. "Fuck. If anyone was watching the strike, we're probably already on borrowed time. Let's...let's take her with us." He pinged Dave with his mind, and a moment later the super-car squealed down a hill nearby. It pulled up in front of him, and the camouflage that rendered it nearly invisible switched off. The trunk popped open, and he pulled a body bag out of the trunk. Captain Ong really had prepared for anything.

ET tossed the bag to Beacon, then looked at the rag-tag team. Survivors of the raggier-taggier team that had started the op. The rag-taggiest. "Look, here's what we know. We started today looking into a secret, magical base. Someone with an unhealthy amount of firepower just tried to disappear us. That means two things: something in that base was incredibly dangerous, or whatever Reynolds was on to was dangerous. Or both.

"Whatever was inside that base is either dead, or on the loose. I'm erring on the side of caution. Gonna go to Denver and put my ear to the ground. If I didn't drastically need the backup, I wouldn't ask anyone to come along. As it is...I'll ask once." He looked at the newcomer. "And I still don't know your name."