Truth be told, Hemi had been nearly asleep when Redhead decided that it was time get up and move out, his eyelids already half-shut by the time she raised her voice and announced what her next course of action would be; on awakening fully, he could see that people had moved around, that the black woman and the 'computer guy' were still absent, and that they had finally managed to strip the corpse of his boots. He had no idea why they would need his boots, but then again he was not [i]really[/i] a thinker after all. What he did know was that he would follow the gun-toting and non-elected leader of the small band, not because he actually cared what she had to say, or because he agreed with anything that she proposed to do, but because he was all too aware that wolves, wild dogs, and every other pack hunted better together.

Slowly, almost nonchalantly, he rose from his squatting position and gave his legs a quick stretch to get the circulation going once more. It spoke somewhat about his mindset that, even as he was dozing, his hand had never let go of the steel piping it clutched...the blood caked upon it now dried and more black than red in colour. This he made sure to keep by him as he took in some deep breaths, getting not much more than death, smoke and the smells of the surrounding forest clogging his nostrils.

"Let's go."

He watched her, noting her encumbrance in the form of the wounded Russian, her act of compassion leaving her [i]dangerously[/i] open to slower reflexes and less of an ability to use her weapon.

[i]No,[/i] he thought to himself, letting his eyes linger on her back as she began her walk toward the cryochamber, [i]it would be too easy.[/i]

Deciding that he would follow after the group, like a hyena on the fringe of a pride of lions, he began his own journey toward the treeline; from there he would follow, watch, and if he needed to he would also kill.

That, and perhaps while he was out here he could find something to act as shelter and, Gods willing, some water...