"That doesn't sound safe." She considers for a moment, watching it trickle down her visor. Ugh. Definitely getting onto her neck, though. And down her chin thanks to the respirator dipping low enough. Like cheap ice cream or syrup smeared across her skin and left there. She'd probably have to burn the uniform. Should have thought to put on a poncho. Or the trans suit.

America holsters her Lawgiver and tucks her daystick back into her belt. She plants her fists on her hips, examining the carnage for any signs of movement. "They won't be the first creeps learn that numbers won't save them from a sticky end."

She holds the pose for a moment and, satisfied that nothing's going to come after her, turns around to step off the stage. She pauses abruptly and gently toes where the field would be first. No luck. It felt wrong, not letting the scene end on that nice little homily, but there wasn't much choice. "Is it worth asking for this to get dropped or am I just going to have to exit, stage left, and wander around backstage to find the rest of the team?"