<P>"What's your current status?" the guy asked over the relative noise of the radio. He sounded rushed. As if he didn't want to deal with this.
<P>
<P>Dominic didn't really know how to respond to that. "Status is... Crew is in tact. One casualty... our commander. He was shot in the escape. I was left in charge. We've been hiding ourselves in warehouses since. Anywhere we can get away from UNATCO."
<P>
<P>The NSF man on the other end sighed. "Like beaten dogs," he remarked. Dominic flinched. Of all the NSF out there he could've contacted, he had to end up with this guy. People with the it-has-no-direct-impact-on-my-life-and-therefore-does-not-matter point of view irritated him infinitely.
<P>
<P>Suddenly, the static interfered. The noise spurted up over the other guy's voice.
<P>
<P>"Hold on - ... -Trying to- ... -frequency is- ... -noise- ..."
<P>
<P>Whatever the guy was trying to say wasn't coming through. Bishop swore under his breath and adjusted the radio. It just made it worse.
<P>
<P>"Damnit," he said, giving the radio a forlorn glance. Then he just lowered his brow and stared at it like it would respond.
<P>
<P>It continued to resonate null noises.
<P>
<P>Dom started to push himself up out of his chair and go back to the main room of the warehouse, where the rest of the squad resided. But the radio spouted a clumsy noise. It was difficultly distant, and barely recognizable, but it was there.
<P>
<P>Dom blinked. He looked at the radio a moment.
<P>
<P>Nothing.
<P>
<P>But then, again, it made the noise. It sounded like the guy on the other end was starting to clear up again. It was a voice. A chattering voice.