"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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"Get your shit together, Farina."

Denning snapped the power off and tossed his gameboy onto a low wooden table, where it joined a sleek laptop and a pile of gear. He wasn't the best, or the brightest, but sometimes they had to rest their pretty heads and leave someone else with the keys for a bit. At least it was something to do while everyone else readied to deploy. He was checked and double-checked already, his prized Christine polished and gleaming inside and out. She may be too pretty to hide in her holster just yet, but his more mundane tools were organized with the sort of military precision he'd taken to like a house on fire.

"Hm?"

One of the feeds was down.

G057 was in the vicinity. He brought her up on the screen and allowed the alert to go through with the last seconds of the dead feed. Face matched, definite vandalism, nobody else nearby, but he didn't press the button just yet.

He thought of calling someone in, shrugged, nixed that. There would be no less paperwork - he jotted down the timestamp and the feed - and there wasn't much of a call to make anyways. Camera destruction was absolutely on the no-no list. Filling in or not, he wasn't going to sit around and let someone else do his job.

He pressed the button.

G057: DECEASED
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