-- and started again, clinging to hope.}
This call is going out to The Archer and his people... The Infected are growing in number. We need to leave. While we still can.
We have weapons. Meds. Supplies. Can you offer safe harbor?
@HamsMyBiscuits@EveryFineGrain
-- his thumb to the button's smooth surface.
They had to get out. @BarbecuedHottie knew it as well as he did. All they needed was a safe place to land.}
This is...
{Falling silent, hyper aware that any ident would only make @RegalRage's job easier, he straightened --
-- loyalty to @BarbecuedHottie making him hesitate.
Would #Carlos blame him, if the call brought bad news? What if @SoManyArrows and his group had been taken?
What if @ThornOfUmbrella was gone?
Jaw tight at the thought, he let out a breath, laying the pad of --
-- functioning radio, he eyed the mic and huffed a sigh, @BarbecuedHottie's warning echoing in his head.
@PandemicProfits would triangulate their signal. @RegalRage would pick them up in minutes.
Gloved fingers drifting for the transmit button, he stilled his hand, --
-- the last time he'd sat on something that fell somewhere in the realm of comfortable.
Their time was running out. Their safe zone shrinking by the minute.
How long before Wesker and his squads found their lone sanctuary?
Parked in front of the station's lone --
{Exhausted.
The word didn't seem big enough. Every muscle in his body ached; nights spent trying for sleep on a cold, damp cement floor, hours spent running from Ugly Death coming for him or one of their rapidly dwindling number.
Hell, he couldn't remember --
-- us out. Pick us off on supply runs. Snatch up the starving. We need to take our people and /leave/. Get out of the city. While it's still our choice to make. {exhaling} Those people. Abraham. Daryl. Do we have anyway to reach them? @BarbecuedHottie
-- across his skin, he looked away, steeling himself for the resistance he was altogether certain @BarbecuedHottie was about to push in his direction.}
We're nothing but targets here, Carlos. The Dead will, eventually, get through our gates. Or Wesker will wait --
-- terrified, they're disappearing. Snatched off the street before the Dead can pull them. There's talk of them being /used/. Experiments, brother. No better than rats.
{Pushing sweat dampened hair away from his face, soot and dirt covered gloves leaving a smear --
It's getting worse, brother. Worse by the hour.
{A cocky grin on his face, exhaustion in his eyes, he dropped heavily to a seat opposite @BarbecuedHottie and sighed, watching #Carlos' face.}
Wesker's squads are patrolling and people... Well. If they're not --