Don didn't move.
His eyes remained fixed on the screen.
"…Charles, can they handle those things?," he asked.
Flat.
Charles exhaled slowly beside him.
"…No," he replied. "No... they can't."
Mr. Olynk's jaw tightened.
The projection continued to play.
And outside—
The perimeter was starting to break.
Mr. Olynk stared at the projection, eyes narrowing as the grotesque figures advanced without resistance. His jaw shifted slightly before he muttered, almost to himself—
"…what the hell are those things."
Don didn't take his eyes off the screen.
"Think of them like a mutant infected."
His voice was still flat.
Certain.
Charles exhaled through his nose, his expression tightening as he watched the same feed.
"Power, speed… inhuman reflexes," he said, gaze fixed. "And no function for pain."
His frown deepened. His head turned slightly toward Mr. Olynk.
"I think it's best you have everyone retreat inside so we can make a proper—"
He stopped.
Mid-sentence.
