September 31st, 1991, Miami Florida

You sat down on the couch with a huff, your arm was bleeding from an injury sustained from your last blitz on the Russians. Tony didn't bother to help, too busy dealing with his own injuries from the attack. The swans were too focused on each other to even notice your discomfort. Corey though, she noticed. She pulled off her zebra mask, a streak of blood across the front. She set it aside, and without a word spoken, she grabbed a med-kit from the hideouts kitchen. It fell quiet in the main room as the other "Fans" went off to their rooms or other parts of the hideout. Now Corey was sitting next to you, patching up your arm effortlessly. It did feel a bit awkward though, the silence was deafening.