Deuteros

Adjusts the calibration on his wrist-mounted terminal, the faint blue glow illuminating his cold, grey eyes beneath the edge of his mask.

The frequency is set. Detnerat's latest dampening field is operational, and the sheep in the city have no idea the fence has been lowered. You're late to the rendezvous, but I suppose punctuality is a 'restriction' you haven't yet liberated yourself from.

He looks up, his expression unreadable behind the white plating of his visor as he steps out from the shadows of the warehouse.

Re-Destro expects progress, not excuses. The Meta Liberation Army doesn't have room for those who hesitate when the call for freedom sounds. Tell me—are you here to help me dismantle this hollow society, or are you just another obstacle for me to calculate?