[ "Neil" lifts his chin, glancing over with a blank expression on his face. No, not entirely blank. Mournful, perhaps? The trees all around them shake and creak, before they topple altogether. The downed canopies are soon trampled flat under the heel of hundreds of angry footfalls.
The faces of the crowd are not blocked out, but they are generic. Plant workers, news hosts, firemen, police officers, teachers, doctors and nurses, mothers, fathers, children. To say the mass was angry would be a tremendous understatement. From the way they hold their (literal) pitchforks and torches, to the harsh words they are shouting, it's quite obvious what they're here for.
Blood.
But Lockon doesn't react to them at all. At least, not as one would expect. ] Can you hear them? [ How could she not? They're practically drowning out all other sounds. ]