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"...I have a radar in my skull," Owle answered, rubbing a hand on the back of her head. She was squirming under the suspicious glance, not really sure how she was going to explain this quickly.

"...that's really the best way to explain it," she added, shifting uncomfortably. She was now playing with her hair, another nervous gesture. She hated to admit it. "Telepath."

And she just waited, for more suspicious looks. For them to condemn her, to warn her not to go poking around in their skulls. That was the reaction she'd been taught to expect by a guy in an eight foot tall mech suit, once.

Now what?

Walking backwards, raising the rifle, Saul intended to put a whole lot of distance between him and Explodey McCorpse. Getting covered with gore wasn't high on his lists of interests.

Twisting his head around to make sure he didn't step into anything big enough to trip him, he looked forward again. Nineteen rounds left in the mag, one ******** up corpse.

From where he was, Saul just watched.

"That's gross."

Fighting the natural urge to go over and poke it with a stick, or otherwise see what just happened. Moving away, really fast.

Just in case it really wanted to go all Matryoshka Doll on his a**.

Owle blinked. No notice taken of the fact she was a ******** by soldier boy, at least. Thank the gods.

So...

Following right behind the guy heading towards the trouble when you don't have a ranged weapon isn't the best idea. Ever.

Owle thought about staying where she was for a second. Two.

Then again, being seperated from the only person in this whole group she trusted to get her out of here alive...that was a worse idea.

With a muttered curse, she went jogging after Gabe.

Nearly tripping over his own numb foot, he dropped into a crouch with the rifle up. Facing a handful of people jogging his way, atleast they weren't zombies. Hopefully.

With the camopatterned helmet balancing delicately on his head, Saul didn't say anything. Just watching with a dumb look on his heavily tattoo'd face. Branching arcs of barbed wire crisscrossed his face in a design Saul thought was cool at the time.

Having not given much thought to the situation, Saul didn't stop to think that maybe they think him hostile and start shooting. Maybe not, considering his overall soldier-y look. Despite his forearms being covered in blood from the elbow down the flak jacket, dogtags, camo helmet and pants, and rifle were very distinct.

((Sorry I thought more time has passed, my mistake. I'll be back later. Pm me when enough time has passed))

When Gabe began jogging towards the sounds of gunshots, Drake silently followed, his katana drawn as he moves in his version of a jog, a slow shambling movement that is about as fast as a quick walking pace for an average person. Drake could care less that the medic was a telepath. He knew how to guard his mind against them, and her abilities only increased her worth to the group, despite her hasty and impetuous mind. He could also care less about Tweak's thinly veiled "get-rich-by-loot" schemes. He had everything he needed...well, except a few things...

Drake: "I think that's Saul."

He breaks his silence once he sees the unique tattoo branded across the face of the man before them.