Three blocks away from the Complex, a young man sat in a rented car with the engine running, inwardly debating with himself whether or not he should drive three blocks ahead or just turn right and head back to the Airport.
The decision was no easier once he'd seen and heard the loud calls from what seemed to be the E.P.S. It was funny -- he didn't remember the E.P.S. ever acting so publically before.
"Just go home, man. Just go home," he said to himself. "Just turn the fucking car around and go home. They don't need you. They haven't needed you for almost a year now. And your team is long gone, man. You won't know any of the newbies. Just go home, man. Go home."
The man wore a determined expression on his face as he put the car in gear and put on his right signal lights to make the turn which would lead him back down the hill to the Airport. However, he kept his foot on the brake.
"Aw, fuck," Larry Lance finally said as he started driving towards the Complex. "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK" was all he kept muttering to himself as he drove towards the Complex and parked his car in the parking lot next to three company cars.
Larry Lance got out of his car and wore a fake smile on his face as he began walking towards the crowd that was packing up the Stormloader. "I'm gonna die," he muttered under his breath as he waved to a certain super-speedster he recognized, "I just know it. They're going to wrap me up like a Christmas present and give me to the Prince of Hell. And here I am presenting them the ribbon." He sighed. "Oh well... once over and twice-twisted it is, then..."
