[center][b][h1][color=#44F03E]𝔽[/color][color=#42E93C]𝕦[/color][color=#40E33A]𝕥[/color][color=#3EDD39]𝕚[/color][color=#3DD737]𝕝[/color][color=#3BD136]𝕚[/color][color=#39CB34]𝕥[/color][color=#38C532]𝕪[/color][color=#36BF31]:[/color] [color=#32B32E]𝕋[/color][color=#31AD2C]𝕙[/color][color=#2FA62A]𝕖[/color] [color=#2C9A27]𝔾[/color][color=#2A9426]𝕣[/color][color=#288E24]𝕖[/color][color=#268823]𝕒[/color][color=#258221]t[/color] [color=#21761E]𝔾[/color][color=#20701C]𝕒[/color][color=#1E6A1B]𝕞[/color][color=#1C6419]𝕖[/color][/h1][/b][/center]

[center][hider=Signs of a Puppeteer's White Gloves on All Fronts][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0KmP86WUms[/youtube][/hider][/center]
[right][sub]With [@Squad 404][/sub][/right]
[color=mediumvioletred][b] “If you look deep enough into a mechanism, grinding its cogs to sparks, spiralling, shredding any foreign component that interrupts the inner workings of a great machine; it seems so vile, but then you start to understand why it exists. Because the decision is all yours—let the gears click on in lockstep or stick your hand in between their serrated saw blades and feel the metal edges. Feel them twist deeper towards bone. You’ll feel finality in agency.”[/b][/color]

[b][i][color=#ffdf12]ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕄𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕒 ℂ[color=orchid]>>.,[/color]𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕠[color=orchid]?<<>..[/color]𝕥𝕖 
𝕋𝕨[color=orchid]??>>..[/color] ℂ𝕚[color=orchid]{{>>... > <??[/color]𝕝[/color][/i][/b]
[color=green]>>> …[/color]
[i][color=#ffdf12] “I called the station. We can’t cut the feed. Both vest cams still recording.”[/color]
[right][color=lightgray]“Does Valentine know what’s going on?”[/color][/right]

[right][color=lightgray]“And we gotta find something.”[/color][/right][/i][hr][hr]

[h3][color=black][s]𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℂ𝕠𝕣𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖[/s] “ℕ[s]𝟘[/s] 𝕄𝔸ℕ'𝕊 𝕃𝔸ℕ𝔻”[/color][/h3][color=008000][b]ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕡𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕝[/b]
[b]𝔸𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕝 𝟚𝕟𝕕, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟝 :: 𝕆𝕟𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕖[/b]
[b] [𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤] ℝ𝕖𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘...[/b][/color]

[b][color=aqua] “Right,”[/color][/b] Salt said. [b][color=aqua] “Outpost Two, I’m coming in hot.”[/color][/b] The message reached Glory’s radio only moments before the sound of the grappling hook smashing into the side of the unfinished structure’s concrete walls. Further below, Salt was already in the air, sailing—or rather falling—after the hook on its overextended rope. The grappling rope went slack when he crashed into the side of the building. He wheezed for air over the radio waves.

[b][color=aqua] “Reeling in. I’ll be right there.”[/color][/b] Salt triggered the industrial winch in his grappling gun, and sailed skyward, watching the edge of the building for Glory’s outline.

Together, the commander figured, they could at least look like they emerged straight out of some buddy cop movie if they were going to get beatdown in the crowd below. He stuck a hand up blindly as he gasped for breath. Footsteps and shouts from below echoed through the unfinished stairwells below Glory’s recon position, but their voices were distorted. The swell of sound could only mean that a rush of people from the crowd had entered the lower floors.

As Salt reached blindly up towards the edge of the roof he would find it answered with a comfortable and firm grip followed by words of assurance. [color=#3374ff]”I got you. C’mon.”[/color] Hauling Salt up over the edge of the roof, Glory gave him a smile before giving him a reassuring clap on the back and cracking a joke in order to try and diffuse some of the stress of what they were about to have to do. [color=#3374ff]”Well. At least you got to use it. Fun as you expected?”[/color] With her brief joke out of the way, Glory resumed taking the situation seriously. [color=#3374ff]“Got a plan for trying to extract or are we going to just dip into the usual playbook for something?”[/color]

Now that Salt was secure, Glory turned her attention to the roof in general. In particular she focused on the door that she’d forced open to get up here. Being the only access point to the roof it made for a double edged sword: It was the only way up, but it was also the only way down. Unless they wanted to try roping down to another floor, that staircase needed to be clear.

Gripping her gun firmly, Glory pulled it free of it’s holster and checked the chamber before nodding to herself and flicking the safety off. If Salt was watching closely he would see Glory’s contacts flash briefly as the smartlink systems switched into their active state and synced with the weapon. It was ready whenever she needed it. Hopefully she didn’t, but being caught unprepared in this kind of a situation was a death sentence.[hr]
[i][color=#00e6e6]It meant something special to interface in the midst of shockwaves. There will always be those amongst us that just operate, and when cocktails start flying from both sides, it helps to keep one eye on the patrons and the other awaiting some

next formula.
A new idea. 
A way to ease and erase 
chaos, as easy as they do order.

Perhaps that’s just formulaic hope. Praying for
Some ditch effort conceptualization[/color][/i] that sometimes never comes.

Stella’s optics lit up with transparent readouts as a shockwave of displaced air shot past her. The bullet hit the brick six feet and seven inches away from the [color=#FF30CF]B - A - R[/color]. The measurement overlay melted away. At the origin, remnants of Turkish’s Bomb Squad cleared swathes through the crowd with the vehicle’s mounted turret. Those that remained outside the factory complex with the vehicles were already scrambling for seats, but their barrels remained focused on an enraged mass—[i][color=#00e6e6]like a growth of shadows. Remnant products of forces absent. Grounds run red.[/color][/i]

The glow of her optic implants flashed orange on the glass of her respirator. The flickers almost blotted out the scene. Hyperactive motion receptors, flicking towards each disturbance in a radius around the [color=#FF30CF]B - A - R[/color]. There were a lot of them. Heart rate too high; still climbing. Skin too cold for the surrounding temperature and nearby blazing puddles. These sensations—they weren’t alien. They had their place but not here, in this chaos. Stella lived chaos, was its conduit in [i]Limbo[/i]. It played out before her eyes, then replayed and replayed and replayed across the cart’s three monitor screens.

The indicator given to her by the goons came alive in vibrations. Its red indicator light flashed at her. It was a simple piece of tech on the outside at least. That was all the communication that was needed—one signal to take the next step. Another of the [color=#FF30CF]B - A - R[/color]’s locked compartments unsealed and inside she could see another bottle. Optic readouts identified liquid benzene. Small thermite charges lined the compartment’s interior.

[right][i][color=#00e6e6]A single instruction, “Bartender”…
Burn and turn...[/color][/i][/right]

A man stumbled into Stella’s cart on a slow retreat. His trembling palm covered a gouged eye—not well enough. Stella flinched, and groaned as she threw her weight into the [color=#FF30CF]B - A - R[/color] away from three enshrouded members of the crowd that pulsed out from the central shrinking mass. She backed away until she felt brick against her back. They were coming closer. Another stray shot ricocheted off the derelict factory and left a bottle of gin in a puddle of shards. Stella ducked low behind the cart. 

[i][color=#00e6e6]Unsustainable Heart Rate. Clouding Judgement.[/color][/i]

Stella gritted her teeth. This Reclaim—the surface—was chaos of a different sort. There were too many factors flashing past. Too many to react. More than any one Mixologist could ever quite micromanage.

[b] “But, Solomon, the [i]Limbo[/i] is a closed system; the Mixologist its membrane—not a barrier, but fielding every intricate factor, letting the alien pass within and beyond. So [i]you[/i], membrane, disperse. Become its equilibrium.”[/b]

[color=#00e6e6][center]Neon haze and star-filled views from the void erased the danger…[/center][/color]

[b][color=#00e6e6]“What do I—”[/color][/b] Stella said, but she was alone.

[color=purple][h3]𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕞𝕓𝕠 ℂ𝕝𝕦𝕓[/h3][/color]
[color=008000][b]ℍ𝕚𝕘𝕙 𝕆𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔸𝕝𝕖𝕩𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕒[/b]
[b]∞∞∞[/b][/color]

[b]“I’d say it happens to the best of us, but...”[/b]

[b] “But it doesn’t. The young Mixologist, perhaps, becomes enamored, lost in new experience, and wavers in the most important moments. The [i]young[/i] Mixologist fears lack of preparation… For the Alexandria’s finest are themselves infohazardous. They change the concept of economy, of life, of freedom. You can’t prepare for that.”[/b]

[b][color=#00e6e6]“What? What do we actually do?”[/color][/b] 
Stella realized she was pressing herself too hard into the metal counter of the Limbo Club’s preparation station. 

Just beyond the partition was a party of engineers who walked right past all of the club’s defense systems. The turrets, the lasers sparked and fizzled as they entered. They were an envoy or something—the detail had already vanished in her fog. Her BPM monitor went critical, and glinted against her iris. But it started to slow to the steady rhythm of the club as he spoke to Stella. He had the effect, not just on clients. 

[b] “Don’t tell me you’re worried. Is it because of the weapons? Believe me, sweetie, even worse folks have passed beyond our domain without you even recognizing the firepower. And remember… They are the patrons, but it's the Mixologist who’s truly in control.”[/b]

[b][color=#00e6e6]“Oswald lets in a lot of—”[/color][/b] She was cut off by the gunshot. He held up a pristine steel tray and Stella caught just a glimpse of the reflection. One of her clients was somehow crisp, still burning, but melting into the Limbo’s red carpet. Her throat closed up, but somehow she still choked forward another quip. [b][color=#00e6e6]“Sometimes you can just taste when a drink is tainted...”[/color][/b] 

He placed another glass on the counter. Its contents shimmered in the low light. He put on a smile, and stepped out onto the floor. [b] “Calm down, Stell… Remember whose domain this really is. And remember that doses flow both ways.”[/b] [hr][hr]

[b][i][color=#ffdf12]𝕍𝔸𝕃𝔼ℕ𝕋𝕀ℕ𝔼…[/color][/i][/b]
[b][i][color=#ffdf12]ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕚[color=orchid]>>.,[/color]𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘[color=orchid]?<<>..[/color]... [color=orchid]{{>>... > <??[/color]𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟[/color][/i][/b]
[color=green]>>> …[/color]

[b][color=goldenrod] “To what extent is it right to do bad things for good reasons? And how may we identify those who do good things for bad reasons?”[/color][/b] A shaky hand held a crystalline martini glass. It wore a silken white glove that ran past a suit sleeve. Despite the tremor, two fingers curled back to smooth his cuff without losing a drop from the drink.

[b][color=goldenrod] “Advise,”[/color][/b] he said, and the dim lights came alive around him.[b][color=goldenrod] “Construct 3-2.”[/color][/b]

[b] “Yes, Valentine?”[/b]

[b][color=goldenrod] “When must you knowingly stop mass harm?.”[/color][/b] His gloved hand flicked high and slashed the air. The three drone monitors hovering in front of him revolved, their positions taken by a new set of three with multiple media sources of the crowds outside the APEX foundry.[b][color=goldenrod] “How many of those who know but don’t act push their deeds into unconsciousness?”[/color][/b]

[b] “Should I run this question against a database of recent associates, Valentine?”[/b]

His hand strangled the neck of the glass. He feared it would break. [b][color=goldenrod] “No. 3-2, get me on the bartender’s feed. Two-way. The stage is already set. And open the remote controlled interface.”[/color][/b]

[b] “You’re sure you want to risk being seen connected to the Limbo Servant?”[/b]

[b][color=goldenrod] “With haste, 3-2.”[/color][/b]

[b] “Yes, Valentine.”[/b] The lights around him dimmed until only a stark spotlight remained. He adjusted his lapel. The camera drones in front of him twisted in on themselves and opened up with watching scanners.

[b][color=goldenrod] “I suppose it doesn’t matter whether they’re conscious or not. It only matters that they exist, but so do I, and perhaps that’s enough this time.”[/color][/b][hr][hr]

[h3][color=black][s]𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℂ𝕠𝕣𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖[/s] “ℕ[s]𝟘[/s] 𝕄𝔸ℕ'𝕊 𝕃𝔸ℕ𝔻”[/color][/h3][color=008000][b]ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕡𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕝[/b]
[b]𝔸𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕝 𝟚𝕟𝕕, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟝 :: 𝕆𝕟𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕖[/b]
[b] [𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤] ℝ𝕖𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘...[/b][/color]

Salt staggered when his feet found the coarse sediment of the rooftop. Glory couldn’t see his eyes, but she could tell something was off by the way he swayed. His hand gently pressed the side of his head, where a trail of blood dripped down from the side of his cracked visor. He took in a sharp breath and settled himself facing Glory. 

[b][color=aqua] “Thanks. I, uhh— wasn’t expecting my descent to involve so much downward momentum. More testing to be done before field operation next time.”[/color][/b] Salt made sure he was far enough from the edge to prevent his subtle swaying from sending him back down towards the crowd. [b][color=aqua] “Let me think,”[/color][/b] he said and dropped to one knee. [b][color=aqua] “Extraction… Yeah, we can go down through the stairwells, but we’ll run into the crowd on the way. They’re probably taking refuge from the APEX goons, or each other, or something.”[/color][/b] 

Salt paused for a long moment, though not just to steady himself this time. He fiddled with the side interface of his visor, fighting its glitched state until his gaze was honed in and following something through the building below. [b][color=aqua] “I got something.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=aqua] “Three other Reavers spotted by the reconnaissance teams before they pulled out. It appears like they’re chasing someone. Maybe the killer? If we—”[/color][/b] Salt paused, and turned to Glory. [b][color=aqua] “Well, you’re in a better state. I’ll follow your lead. Can guide you to their infrared signatures from the rear, but we gotta move to make it.”[/color][/b]

Glory gave a few nods to Salt’s observations before taking a moment to close her eyes and think. Three Reavers that were in pursuit of an unknown party. No information about how they might be armed, and no information on any potential augmentations they had. With the violence and chaos that had taken hold they were likely running entirely on survival instinct, and so anyone who wasn’t one of their own would likely be seen as a threat. Intercepting them and bringing them in would look good, but survival was first and foremost on Glory’s mind at the moment.

Wading into a situation like that wasn’t Glory’s idea of a good time, but if they didn’t get moving they ran a real risk of being abandoned among the storm. Unfortunately, Salt had taken a nasty ding. Glory would have to cover him while they moved. A simple enough task in most cases, but due to the rapid and unpredictable movements of the crowds there were enough unknown factors to make her head spin.

The two paths that Glory could see laying before them were wading into the unknown or sitting around waiting to see if the next person to show up would be help or harm. Neither scenario was optimal, but a choice had to be made. Opening her eyes, Glory placed an assuring hand on Salt’s shoulder before speaking with what little confidence she could put together. [color=#3374ff]”Alright. We’ve got to move and try to get out of here. Keep your visor working as best as you can. Bounding Overwatch maneuvers. I’ll lead. Ready?”[/color]

Regardless of his answer, Glory began to tug Salt towards the stairway down in order to begin making their way out of the building.[hr]

[i][color=#00e6e6]No stranger to the haze and trance states. 
It was like—
a welcome awakening.[/color][/i]

Another locked compartment of the [color=#FF30CF]B - A - R[/color] opened, but Stella hadn’t noticed. A savage Reclaim denizen with a broken arm swung a half-shattered glass bottle for his opponent’s neck. Stella’s Clairvoyance Optics honed in, analyzed trajectories and patterns of blood splatter both from where the man’s hand gripped tight against the glass shards and where they connected against his opponent’s flesh. The uniforms of whatever warring factions may have come to dance had been rendered useless, dull and ashen in the smoke, so she had no idea as to what conflict existed between the two. 

Perhaps that was what was missing amongst the terrans. The closed system of Alexandria extended to its nets of information. Everything coming in and out, analyzed and predictable. Earth blurred its factions amongst the meridian lines. They pervaded into one another, spilling and exchanging resources, bacteria, ideas.

[i][b][color=goldenrod] “You’re a Mixologist...”[/color][/b][/i]

It was hard to focus—dissociating behind the optic feed, letting her vision go blurry—but the voice brought her back. Stella’s eyes locked onto the [color=#FF30CF]B - A - R[/color] cart’s displays. The feed showed… another television, an old CRT, encased with platinum, embossed with designs. It spoke through the static, faceless.

[i][b][color=goldenrod] “Progeny of chemists, biologists, ancient alchemists, bards, bartenders, and charlatans. So follow your path. Seek recombinance, reorganize, reshuffle your factors.”[/color][/b][/i]

Stella blinked, and tried to focus her gaze clearly. But something—[i][color=#00e6e6]some shadow[/color][/i]—hemorrhaged in her head and all her clarity turned to [i][color=#00e6e6]dust[/color][/i].

[i][b][color=goldenrod] “You have everything you need—chance would have it—to avert unfamiliarity, return to Limbo. Or find a path.”[/color][/b][/i]

One of the silhouettes from the crowd had reached her—bashed his knee into the cart and tumbled into it. Stella stepped back, her. focus ever-distracted by shimmering analysis of the cart’s velocity across the asphalt and where it would return to stillness. The man clutched at his eye. His palm pressed against the socket couldn’t hide the web of blood across his face. He was hardly aware she was there.

[right][i][color=#00e6e6]some shadow[/color][/i]Just another silhouette, herself.[i][color=#00e6e6]dust[/color][/i][/right]

[i][b][color=goldenrod] “But by all means, ‘Mary’... Don’t let any one passing goal distract you from your art.”[/color][/b][/i]

Stella looked back at the CRT on the feed, and could have sworn it regarded her back. The simplest tilt backwards in recognition of her gaze—it was a cue she recognized in the rhythms of rhetoric in Limbo.

[right][i][color=#00e6e6]As though catching just a glimpse of a scanner gazing back.
Clearly.[/color][/i][/right]

In the new compartment, chilled bottles of thick glass and steel alloy. Her optics bore into the new stimuli for microseconds, then action in the artisan arms. 

[right][i][color=#00e6e6]Matching a shadow to the manufactory.
Weaving from within.
Creating a closed system.
Intent not to mend permeable membrane.[/color][/i][/right]

[i][color=#00e6e6]𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 ℍ[sub]𝟚[/sub]𝕆[/color][/i]

[right][i][color=#00e6e6]ℙ𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝔼𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕝[/color][/i][/right]

[i][color=#00e6e6]ℍ𝕪𝕕𝕣𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕩𝕚𝕕𝕖[/color][/i]

[i][color=#00e6e6]For rending biotic connection was always the quickest way to purge a vessel of contaminants.[/color][/i]

[i][color=#00e6e6]Seared by disinfectant or drowned in antiseptic.[/color][/i]

Stella pried open the industrial capsules and jammed each against slots in the bar. Her formulas intermixed, repressurized, and ran through a tap back into the final capsule. Screwed on top was the same sort of spray nozzle she’d handed off to the Man in Rags. This one was heavy duty. She adjusted her respirator, ensured its seal.[hr]

The Reclaim’s [color=black][s]𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℂ𝕠𝕣𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖[/s] “ℕ[s]𝟘[/s] 𝕄𝔸ℕ'𝕊 𝕃𝔸ℕ𝔻”[/color] was bisected at irregular intervals with corridors of perpendicularly intersecting highways where 10 storey skyscrapers once held capsule hotels for the factory workers. The capsule fad never quite took off in South City, so the blocks laid empty. The highways were perfect for the dispersion of an autonomous crowd—paths for conflicts to break and seek equilibrium. Some were quick to use the route as the fires spit more smoke into the street before the APEX complex. Others lingered, still sought conflict. Others made it as far as they could.

The highways led out of the GCZ. Its borders were distinct because the surrounding industrial zone had been excavated at least two or three storeys from the street level of the rest of the Reclaim. Salt grabbed Glory’s shoulder and pulled her to a halt when they neared one of the ramps that led back towards the city.

[b][color=aqua] “Three signatures,”[/color][/b] Salt said.[b][color=aqua] “They’re slowing down. On the ramp.”[/color][/b] He directed a hand towards three silhouettes, ascending the ramp, but congregated before their quarry. The ghostly figure met a fourth Reaver, shredded his jacket open with the same serrated ripper and tossed the man aside as his pursuers closed in. Watching the ghost’s movements felt like a paradox. So slow and methodical, but executed with razor instinct at the exact, decisive moment to drop the Reaver to his knees.

Salt hesitated, instead letting his visor’s display linger on a small ray heat signature hidden in the smoke rising along the ramp.[b][color=aqua] “And we’re not the only ones watching the show.”[/color][/b] Salt flicked his infrared goggles up and zoomed in with telescopic lenses on the small heat signature. The ray emerged just below the brim of a trilby hat. Salt shook his head as his eyes momentarily fogged up. It was vertigo, but with no queue. [b][color=aqua] “Nevermind. Take point. I’ll back you up.”[/color][/b]

As Glory moved to intercept, Salt caught his balance and gazed back towards the obscuring smoke.[hr]

He leveled the black box with his eye in a shaking hand bereft of its own strength and strained to raise his eyes to meet it.[b][color=coral] “Pretend…”[/color][/b] he said to himself between heaved and rasping breaths.[b][color=coral] “It’s your old standard issue…”[/color][/b] He gripped the thing awkwardly, like he was mimicking a revolver grip. With a click, the rectangular box erupted with an infrared beam, siphoning measurements across the ramp to his target—a [color=firebrick]ghoul[/color] and the Reavers that pursued him. As the data reached him, he felt the searing sensation building up again. 

The Reavers didn’t wait after their next man fell to the Ghoul. The source of the smog on the ramp rising into the Reclaim became clear when two of the Reavers withdrew clay devices and launched them towards the Ghoul. On impact, boiling tar rode a brief concussive shockwave and released noxious black smoke into the air. The Ghoul’s torso was half-covered, but the ever-present grimace on his face didn’t waver.[hr]

[i][color=#00e6e6]I pose a question. 
What’s more evasive—
A Justice or the origin of Rage once we escape it?[/color][/i]

Stella once again found her steady step, rhythmically pressing through the crowd the way a mixologist stabilizes their breath when treading with tray high past the weight of a dozen watching eyes. She held her formula high and sprayed it in a massive cloud as she walked. Those who inhaled the thick mist continued to cough through the smoke, but felt adrenaline fade and fatigue set in. Rage, as though artificially placed, began to evaporate. She caught as many as she could, and those who still sought martyrdom in APEX’s bowels began to break rank. Frenzy gave way to fleeing.

She turned back to capture a last glance of the  [color=#FF30CF]B - A - R[/color] cart. Its surface was a sea of blue flames licking up the last bits of volatile ethanol before it dripped down towards the charges within the open drawers. Then, the inferno became a storm. The  [color=#FF30CF]B - A - R[/color] cart vanished in flares, and the crowd could not remain.