They'd been fighting for two days straight when the reinforcements had showed up. They were exhausted. Trowa himself was out of ammunition at last--shocking, considering how much he'd packed into that subspace belt, but somehow not at all surprising to anyone--and had resorted to brute force, tiring him out even more.

So when the tide of help came in from the outside, it was understandable that they would try to rest, even if only for a little while.

Of course, having 40-something fans and nearly a dozen coworkers surrounding them in a giant protective... and talkative... circle was making that fairly difficult.

Trowa stared at the person who looked so very much like Zechs Merquise, and yet, was wearing an infinitely more ridiculous mask and had much shorter hair. Although he couldn't be certain, he was pretty sure the stranger was doing just the same in return.

"...What?"