Kyra looks to Michael, frowning, then nods as he mouths the single name. Matthew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After closing the door, George moves his immense frame back to the couch, lowering himself into it carefully. He stares at the blood staining the rich sapphire leather, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. With a slight sigh, one that would better fit an elegant lady, George turns his thoughts to the recently departed officers. He looks to the simple business card in his hand.

George smiles faintly at the memory of Sherriff Volkenwold's face when he'd first seen Crowly's swollen and bloodstained countenance. "Seems even cops have no respect for the victim anymore." George says softly, tossing the card onto the coffee table. "It's not like I used excessive force." George's voice sounds hollow to his own ears. "Glad I didn't tell that farggin waste of a uniform what Crowly'd said."

With a slow shake of his head, George stops vocalizing his thoughts. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears a foreign voice reminding the old man that talking to himself was the first sign that he was losing it. With a sudden lurch Stratfield jumps mental tracks to the revelations the captain had made.

So, the Army's makin a new breed of fightin animal men. An' it's all this 'Hawkman's' work.... Hawkman can only be Dempsey. Matched the description..... George allows his eyes to close, running over the details again and again and again. Some small fact continues to elude him, inspiring frustration, which, in turn, pushes the factlet further from reach.

Stratfield stretches out his legs, suddenly feeling a slight cramping in each calf. He releases a slow, bear-like grunt, running over the details one more time. The formula gets injected once every six weeks for six months..... It effects the adrenals, stimulating them to heighten the senses. As a side effect, it spurs adrenaline-based strength... super human strength. It makes the user prone to bouts of paranoia.

He frowns again, knowing that something is missing from his mental equation. Seems like a great formula. It's a great weapon. Give the scouts these injections. Heightened sight and hearing.... they'd be able to spot traps. Intel would be easily acquired. Inject women.... super spies.... Hell, the women been wantin equality....

A growling chuckle rumbles from his throat as George shakes his head at the thought. Sobering quickly, he turns his eyes back to the blood leeching into his couch. There's gotta be a downside. There wouldn't be so much fuss if it was that good..... And what the hell's Branson gotta do with all of this?

With another shake of his head, George pushes the thoughts from his mind. He rises from the couch, moving into the kitchen to attain cleaning solutions and a rag. As he returns to the couch, kneeling slowly before it, his voice rumbles from his throat again.

"Just cause you're a SEAL don't mean yer furniture's gotta be blood stained."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Matthew remains silent, watching the approach of his intruders. Although he recognizes his brother, a stab of absolute joy piercing his heart at the realization, he does not recognize the woman. Klaxons blare within his mind as Matthew's keen senses pick up the Wolf's scent. For half a moment he contemplates leaving his safe perch. At his brother's words, Matthew pulls his fingers away from the Barretta at his side.

"Matthew..." Michael's voice is quiet, the word a statement rather than a question. "If you're really here, I'm coming up."

Kyra raises a brow, looking at the nearly smooth face of the immense tree before them. Softly, she speaks. "Wolf, come." The large husky immediately moves to its mistress' side, sitting at attention, its eyes still glued to some point beyond Kyra's sight.

Michael nods to her, then moves toward the base of the tree, crouching down before it then leaping upward, just barely grasping a branch easily ten feet off the ground. Kyra tries to stifle a laugh, but the sound pushes from her lungs regardless as to her attempts. "Woah, I bet you can slam dunk with the pros."

Despite himself, Michael laughs, hauling himself up to sit on the thick branch. "No jokes, Kyra. Someone might think you're -" His words are cut off as he hears an echo of his laughter. Michael looks upward, a bright grin breaking across his face.

"Damn it, Matt, if you're up there, lower the ladder!"

Watching the scene below, Matthew pauses only a moment before deciding the woman is of no threat. He moves to the far side of the platform, speaking lightly as he unfastens the titanium chain ladder, allowing it to roll over the side. "Who said white men can't jump?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~