--who next found himself on the ground, twitching uncontrollably, covered in Florian's spores. "Good job," you whispered to your small plant friend. You swerved behind you, expecting another attack-- instead, you were met with a far greater skirmish than you'd expected.

The lawn had quickly become a mess of lead and fury. State militia troops wrestled with Staters, wrestled with neofauna, wrestled with each other-- in all the chaos, it was almost hard to make out that you had the militia on the defensive. A great start-- and a distraction from what you needed to do.

The steps of the capitol were easily climbed. Your greatest trouble came in keeping yourself on-balance, not tripping over your own toes as you climbed the brief staircase and rammed into the building's doors, turning to shield Mary as you threw your entire body into the great oak gate keeping you from Sacramento's head of state. It took only two attempts for the doors to swing open. They... hadn't been locked.

Once you'd stumbled forth into the grand foyer, you stopped. It was hard not to be taken aback in brief awe. The ceilings of the building were enormous-- at least thrice as tall as you were, if not taller. The lavish domed roof hanging over your head put your hotel's lobby to shame, with its intricate patterns and detailed color work uniting in a wonderful display of...

creeeeak

Your heart skipped a beat.

You weren't alone.

You checked your watch again, as if hoping it would show you some other time if you squinted at it hard enough. No-- it was hardly four thirty. Nobody was supposed to be here until hours from now.

The floor here was wooden, carpeted. A familiar stench arose from it-- one that reminded you of the hotel's stables. The stench, however, brought you far more comfort than the continued creaking from above.

You gave the lawn one last glance, its chaotic battle almost inscrutable from this distance. Aster had gone to Andrew, as you'd commanded him to, and yet...

No-- the carpet simply had to be cleaned, that was all. And besides-- the rest of your team remained with you. There was every possibility they were the source of this.

You strafed right, into the carpeted corridors. The creaking above you never ceased-- it only grew quieter without the echo of the dome to amplify it. It was as if a man was pacing-- patrolling, perhaps, some general area on the second floor. A pity-- that was exactly where you needed to be. And yet... what good would pacing do at a time like this? For what reason would there be any need of...?