[h2]Alessa Heather: Streets of Denver[/h2]
Death god? Xolotl for sure, then. And with that kind of opposition, it was no wonder why Sonar was now "down", whatever that entailed. Unconscious at best, dead at worst. Either way, Margrave was apparently calling 911; frankly, they'd take too long, and Sonar was far too valuable to lose over something silly like that. Walking after Tulpa as she headed back up top - citing that something was wrong, as though she herself weren't strongly aware of that - she tapped the PCE once again, this time calling the PRT HQ. A woman greeted her on the other end; not entirely cognizant of who it was, she responded formally: 'Messiah here. We need emergency services over here ASAP; Sonar is injured, possibly severely.'

Continuing to not really hear what the woman said, and in fact mulling over the injustice of victory essentially being snatched from their grasp in seconds, she climbed up the ladder to the street after Tulpa, a bit more steadily to avoid scraping herself against the sides. It took only a short time to reach topsoil - top concrete, as it were - and just a couple of moments after that to see the damage done to their leader. Which, as it happened, was a [i]lot.[/i] Son of a...

'Messiah? I asked what injury Sonar has sustained?' the woman repeated, snapping Messiah out of her funk. After half a second of self-composure (and movement towards Sonar to further gauge the damage done to him), she replied 'Serious head trauma. He's unconscious and heavily bleeding, I'm not sure about skull fractures. If it matters, I think his helmet took a lot of the impact... how should I try to help him?' she asked. What else could she do in this situation?

'First of all, don't move the victim,' the woman responded calmly. 'He's probably sustained a spinal injury alongside the head injury, and moving him could cause further damage. I'd suggest applying direct pressure to the head injury, but if the helmet is still mostly intact and on his head, that's likely applying more than enough already. Secondly, check that he's still breathing, and make sure his airways are clear.' She knelt down on one knee and held her hand over his mouth, and was luckily able to confirm he was breathing through it, though far too lightly to be healthy. After a moment of grossed-out hesitation, she also pushed her fingers into his mouth, widening it just enough to ensure his tongue wouldn't block off his airways, then wiping her hand on her costume as the woman on the other end continued to talk: 'Third, check his alertness and responsiveness to voice and pain: does he respond to questions, and does he move if pinched?'

'Sonar? Are you awake?' Messiah asked, moving so that she now knelt on both knees. No response. She pinched the skin of his arm, possibly harder than needed. Again, no response. 'N-nothing.'

'Alright, you've done well so far. Medical services are on their way. Stay next to him, tell me of any changes in his condition, and again, make sure he isn't moved until they arrive.'

'Will do,' Messiah responded, staying in place beside the unconscious hero, and continuing to check that he was breathing, ready to tell anybody who came near to not touch him. And if she had her way, they wouldn't.

[hr]
[h2]Raymond Haywood: Streets of Denver[/h2]
Well, it certainly sounded like Arsenal was interested, and he only began to appear more interested as he looked over the contents of the envelope. Reading over the man's shoulder, it struck Raymond that part of the deal for him involved providing whatever technology and equipment the man wanted... 'You're a Tinker then,' he muttered quietly into the poncho-wearing man's ear. 'Mind if I ask what field?' He was certainly interested to know, to see whether or not the man might be in any way directly helpful for the mercenary. If not, no loss on his part; but if he was, he could plan around that to acquire improvements for himself, be they to his body or his equipment. Whichever worked best, essentially.