[[A man stands on the envelope of the blimp, the wind whipping his white coat about him. He holds in a baton in one hand and stares over the City, the gunfire and the screams, the minor explosions and the major, the smoke billowing from the hall of the missing. He turns to the camera and smiles. A horrible smile, a little tick that never leaves
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(OOC - response to the missing remark)
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Valentine, wasn't it?
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We know how reckless he can be.
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