[h3]Stalker[/h3]

The Stalker made her way back towards the entrance of the Bank with her pockets playing host to a few dozen wet and partially burnt fabric slips and a hope in her heart that they’d still be accepted in the resource acquisition ritual the locals did. She also did so with an audible rumbling in her bellies. If this didn’t work out, it would be time for more drastic action.

Unfortunately for her, there was a barrier between her and the food storage places, one that came in the form of a mass of people who turned their attention to the door as she exited, causing her to freeze up in alarm.

The press, paramedics, and pigs (as a certain Dr would call them) all had her description at this point and as the principle hostage, they all had their reasons to seek her out.

Fortunately for her, the press’ desire to get an interview was disrupted by the distraction of all their recording equipment going on the fritz as soon as she came into view. In a way that would also be a ticking time bomb till they (or some other observer) worked out what exactly it was that their cameras did not like being pointed at.

The cops meanwhile had the appearance of a little man who wanted to talk to them (and vice versa) leapt out the door behind her.

She was just beginning to relax when the third group pushed forwards. Well meaningly concerned about the girl who’d clearly been so traumatized that she’d gone non-verbal, the pair of paramedics striding up the stairs towards her intended to try and hustle her from the press so as to not stress her out even more than she already clearly was.

The Stalker, naturally, wanted nothing to do with this, and so as their approach (and calls of "Please remain calm miss, it's going to be ok, we're here to help" that she did not understand visibly agitated her) became more obviously directed towards her, she stepped to one side, then to the other when they moved to copy her, for making a break for it, duking round the pair, dexterously avoiding the hand of one who instinctively made a grab (along with a shout of "hay, wait!") for her. 

Sensing a story even if they couldn't record footage of it, only audio, one of the reporters pushed forwards to intercept her next, and was for her efforts shoulder barged aside before the Stalker dove into the crowd of curious bystanders which parted through a mix of surprise as she did so. Thus free, the Stalker picked up speed as she made a run for it, a half dozen burnt wet bills slipping out of her pockets and being picked up by the wind as she fled the scene.