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[h3][color=4682b4][i][b]Ash Holloway[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=4682b4]Location:[/color][/b][/i] Mechanics (K)
[i][b][color=4682b4]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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	Ash mulled over the words that Mizrahi was stumbling through. He was a bilingual man himself, though it came with its own massive stumbling blocks that hadn't quite gone away. From what he could get out of the man's uncertain verbiage, Ash figured that he had some of the same difficulties that he had, not just in foreign language but in questions of morality on a case by case basis. He ran the sentence that the larger Middle Easterner was trying to say through his head, [color=4682b4][i]"Anger quick when protect,"[/i][/color] searching for the meaning through context of their very short conversation so far. The conversation being that they both tried to be good men, [i]tried[/i], but his anger was quick when ... protecting someone? Ash thought back to the time when, on the road, he swung out of his truck to come to Tatiana's aid. The fact that he was shot nonetheless and couldn't do much in the firefight notwithstanding, he was geared to end people's lives for someone he cared about. Or years ago, when he threatened to sever a man's spinal column with a machete and let him drown in collecting storm waters, with absolute intent to follow through - the man had been part of a group that attacked his people. Or the razor-thin margin by which he did [i]not[/i] kill a man he considered his best friend, because he had murdered another who was (by technicality) under his protection as part of his community; it could have gone either way. And those were just a few examples. There was undeniably a darkness in Ash, one that recognized that it was far easier and effective to ensure the safety of others by the direct elimination of the issue in front of them, before it could become a threat. But what kind of a man would that make him, if that was the go-to course of action? And how many lives had he actually taken, with bullet, blade, or motor vehicle, to ensure the survival of his people? 

	All of those thoughts put a grim set to Ash's face. He nodded slowly, through a momentary faraway look, one a soldier might have who had seen the worst of humanity for too long, and responded [color=4682b4]"I think I know exactly what you mean."[/color] His words were measured and clear, impactful, demonstrating the appearance of true understanding of the nuance of Mizrahi's broken English. [color=4682b4]"We all had to do things to keep ourselves and our people alive. Sometimes that choice is hard."[/color] 

	The next question, be it the simple utterance of one word, did rather take Ash by surprise. [i]Arabic?[/i] Did he speak... ? It finally clicked fully what he meant. [color=4682b4]"Ah,"[/color] he responded. [color=4682b4]"No. English,"[/color] he continued, then raised his hand a little, holding out his thumb and forefinger some distance apart. [color=4682b4]"Spanish,"[/color] he said in explanation of the gesture. He did speak a little Russian, but felt it was not significant enough to give mention. 

	Attention was diverted as the door to Mechanics opened and Mizrahi engaged in abbreviated but more expeditious conversation with a third party, who he came to find out was Tesla, after he stepped into view. Ash could only assume that they were talking about Hunter, though that was a pretty easy guess given the hints dropped. Ash returned the man's greeting with a quick nod and his own, [color=4682b4]"Hey,"[/color] though he pitched it with a little more formality, if such a thing were possible. The exchange continued, and Ash kept out of it, only putting in his two cents when directly addressed, [color=4682b4]"Will do that, thanks."[/color] He was being polite. Ash wasn't quite at the level of being comfortable with friendly banter just yet. He'd get there. Just not today. Today, Ash had a bathroom to finish cleaning, which he got back to presently. Do a good job, maybe next time he gets a better one. 


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[h3][color=dc143c][i][b]Thalia Carmichael[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=dc143c]Location:[/color][/b][/i] Administration (A) (Basement -> Lobby)
[i][b][color=dc143c]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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	Were Thalia a more cynical person, she might have believed that this was part of a great, universal conspiracy to keep her from figuring out these series of riddles. The first time that she asks someone for help (which was actually a feat for her, all things considered), said person gets in a horrible workplace accident that makes him lose consciousness. No to say that Thalia wasn't cynical. It just wasn't her defining characteristic. Yes, before she could even make some sarcastic quip, such as a well timed, [color=dc143c][i]"Ha, ha. Very funny, asshole,[/i][/color] to Alexander's tunnel question, he was dancing the world's worst Lambada without so much as a steel drum to help him keep beat before the smashing grand finale. Thalia could have facepalmed. These days, that was dangerous for her on account of the metal hand, and she had no desire to put a second unconscious body on the floor. 

	But all of these thoughts came and went in the space of a second, and mostly stuck around as background noise after during the events of the moment. In the fore or her thoughts, Thalia remembered that she did have some training in First Aid. Not that this was a thing that she was going to directly utilize at the moment, but she knew enough not to mess around with something like this herself. Alexander was an older fellow, there were no Zeds around or hostile Breathers that would necessitate an immediate move, and they were in a place with medical facilities which included trained personnel. Logic and tactic dictated that she play this [i]by the book[/i], much as that phrase was not her favorite. 

	Two paces saw Thalia snatching up the prosthetic leg. Two more and she was down to her knees, sliding the rest of the way on the floor to Alexander's side. She set the leg down next to him and gave him a look over. No pools of blood or obvious signs of limb removal past the metal one, so she stuck around to make sure less obvious signs weren't present. She didn't know how long it took until the older man regained consciousness and mumbled the possibly very true words that he was getting too old for this shit, but that meant he was in good enough shape to be aware of his situation and status, more or less. That piece of relief handled, Thalia wondered for a fraction of a second if something similar might happen to her fake limb when she had to use it in a fight. That was unsettling. But back to it, Alex was breathing. [color=dc143c]"Gahd damnit Mugs, don't move if you don't gotta. Your leg's right heah, I'm going to go get someone."[/color] Thalia didn't know if he was aware that his prosthetic tried to escape, so that might have come across as a little weird. Well, damage done. 

	Thalia rose to her feet and made for the exit. It wasn't the breakneck pace of someone running for their life, nor was it a leisurely stroll. Call it a moderate jog. Either way, the woman hit the stairs and took them two at a time, making her way back up to the lobby area. When she emerged into the front lobby, she suddenly felt amazingly out of place. The receptionist(?) was sitting at her appointed place, and Hunter, of all people, was there as well. If she didn't know better, this looked like every standard receiving area in any corporate HQ building she'd ever been in, which smacked of contrast to everything she'd experienced over the past few years. It was a little bewildering, to be frank. Thalia eyed Hunter for a moment, wondering why the hell he was here, but said nothing to him. Instead, she moved to Sandra, thunked her heavy metal fist into the desk and leaned in, speaking so that the clarity of her words was only discernible between the two of them. [color=dc143c]"Mugsy's had a fall in the basement. Lost consciousness, is awake now. Don't know if he's hurt. Might want to send for a Dahc."[/color] So far, straightening up a basement had become one hell of a bloodsport. Had Thalia known there was such adrenaline-fueled danger in cleaning and repurposing rooms like this, maybe she would have taken up maidservice instead of boxing in her youth.