Author's Notes: I just want to get another thing clear for this portion: this "chapter" will introduce you to two of my OCs. One of them—017 "Bluefield"—is the narrator of this segment. The other—013-R "Trey"—is his companion and protégé (sort of). They'll be integral to the next chapter in this fanfic.
[Changing Perspective to:] 017 "Bluefield"
"Nooo!"
Trey blurted out: "Oh, sh—auh!"
That last part was because I'd elbowed him in the ribs.
I know, I know, that's overdoing it. But a jab to your ribcage is less permanent than losing your mouth.
Turning to him, I gave the kid my best watch-your-mouth face. "I know what was about to slip out of your mouth," I muttered, quietly but firmly, "and you'd better make damned sure that it doesn't happen again around here."
When he looked up at me, part of me felt slightly guilty. Trey still had a lot to learn, even now.
"Okay, okay… I get it," he said, rubbing his left side. Then he stopped.
He looked up at me again, incredulous. "Wait… We're not intervening?" he asked.
"What?"
It took a moment for what he'd just said to sink in. Then I sighed, pinched the bridge of my nose. "No, not yet. Not with our loadouts."
His brow scrunched. "…Why not?"
I pointed my right hand over my left shoulder—past the treelike, back to the field. "'Cause that Morgan's doing more than just shouting 'No'."
I saw Trey look to the field—and I saw his eyes widen.
"Oh, crap."
"That's better."
"Wha—Oh, shut up."
"Hmph."
[Changing Perspective to:] Dysren