[ Sounds! She can't turn to look — is she too scared? What's going on? Things are different and frightening and this isn't how things are supposed to go, what's supposed to happen. She tries to tighten her fingers on the communicator to hit emergency broadcast (but wait she disabled that function because of all the accidental posts clogging the network, it wouldn't work if she tried), but they wouldn't respond. She can't even tell if she recognizes the voice. ]

[ Oh, and there was the familiar burn of her birthmark, lighting up through her sleeve, a jagged red beacon through layers of clothing — but no pressing of a shield because there was nothing to defend against. ]