[ It feels like there's more he should say, or do, or... or something. Livio saved that guy's life -- or tried to, anyway, since there wasn't any other reason Wolfwood could see as to why he'd shoot low -- and in thanks the guy had called him out, and for what? For leaving the cult that tortured him? Fucking stupid, in Wolfwood's opinion, but Livio's always been sensitive.

If that idiot Stampede were here, he'd know what to say, wouldn't he? Wolfwood storms down the hallway, knocking doors in as he finds them, looking for anything promising, anything to give a clue as to why there was somebody still here guarding the place, but all he sees are more meeting rooms, and offices, and all the other shit that any office building would have. If Stampede were here, he'd say something kind, or he'd ask a couple questions, get Livio talking. Maybe he'd distract the guy, start goofing off, slip and fall like a stupid clown. Even if he didn't say anything, there was something about him that just radiated... fuck, he doesn't know the word for things like this. It felt good, okay? It felt nice, like he cared. Like he wanted things to be better, just for you.

All Wolfwood's got is a string of curses as long as his arm and a big gun. Sorry, buddy. ]

Okay, let's think this through. [ The next door he elbows open is a washroom, taps and tiles gleaming even in the darkness. ] Just one guy was here guarding the place, right? One guy's not gonna stop anybody, so what's the point of having him here?

[ He really wishes this place had power for lights. A nighttime raid made sense when they thought the building would be crawling with Eye, but poking around in some corporate maze in the dark? It's bullshit. ]