"Woah, hey. Okay, Tumbleweed," Party immediately rushes in to trying to calm her down. It's easier if he pretends it's Kobra having another episode, and his voice softens and he gets a little closer to his own tablet, holding his arm in view. He's wearing brown leather, fingerless gloves and a blue string of buddha beads, but underneath that was an identical bracelet.

"Listen up. This is what I'm talking about. They track our every move. They fuck with us. Like we're experiments or something, and after BL\ind., I--" He stops. Catches himself and tries yet again, staring at Gwen. Willing for words to fall out of his mouth when he's just normally a quiet, awkward 20-something with a laser gun and a give-'em-hell attitude.

"I hate these things," Party muttered. "Go through that door. Give me five minutes and I'll meet you outside."