Upon their escape into the sewer system, Ozymandias and the rest of Red Star rapidly make their way out to the edges of the city. There, a couple of jeeps await them, and take them in. After climbing inside, Ozzy would watch as they activated some sort of visual cloaking device. Imperfect—it merely refracted light—but sufficient so as to ensure that anyone looking from a long distance away wouldn’t be able to see them. As a bonus, he could see out through the jeep, even through the floor, but nothing could see him inside.
They slip back inside Bunker Chicago with ease through a hidden side entrance. They then make their way back to Morai’s apartment complex, where the locals seem to protect them all from being noticed. They enter the religious room, where he was meditating earlier. He pushes aside a large statue, and underneath it is a trap door. He knocks on it in a strangely musical pattern, and the trap door is opened through mechanical means—a hydraulic limb pushes it open. Morai motions for everyone to enter, and then enters himself.
Inside is a small concrete basement. When they finish entering, the trap door closes shut behind themselves, and Ozzy can hear a couple of the apartment’s residents pushing the statue back over the trap door. Inside this small basement is a large number of tools and a few computers and monitors—and something else. A small, metallic pod. Morai knocks on it and speaks up. “[Chinese] We are home, Wisdom.” The pod cracks open with a hiss, and Ozzy would watch as a small, pale looking woman falls out of it. She looked to be of a mixed heritage—not truly of the foreigner’s land that Morai was, but certainly not of Chicago’s stock either. She takes a deep breath as she rips a plug out of the back of her neck and then coughs, before looking up at Ozzy. A slender, smooth looking woman. Were it not for her being bald, she would in every way be objectively beautiful from a traditionally feminine standpoint... Yet, even then, there was a certain gentleness in her eyes. Something that screamed of an unmarred beauty in a place where scar tissue was the norm by the time someone reached their tenth trip around the sun.
“My name is Wisdom.” She spoke with an accent, like Morai’s, but her English seemed a little clearer. Perhaps she simply had more practice with it. “I am the leader of Red Star’s local cell here. I think we have questions for each other, do we not?” She stands up, and quietly reaches for a towel hanging off the side of the pod. She wraps it around herself to give herself some decency, and otherwise looks down at the ground, avoiding looking into anyone’s eyes.
