Lorica inspects it a little less casually but doesn't touch anything.

A less casual inspection shows everything made of glass in it has been destroyed, as well as some of the more fragile non-glass pieces inside it.

Lorica reports this to the channel.

She's asked to make her way back down and out and scan as much of the insides of the building simultaneously as she can with her bots while she does.

Can do.

The comatose people are still bleeding a bit. She might want to hurry so they can determine the building clear of hostiles and get everyone out.

She's going, she's going. Can she get some more Glambots now they're not popping so much?

There they are!

And out they go.

The building continues to look completely clear of hostiles as they make their way down.

And then every single Glam-produced thing in or around the building disappears simultaneously. "What the fuck!"

"Seconding that, nothing else blipped, it's just Glam constructs."

"Building's in lock down, calling in reinforcements, Lorica you might as well send one of your bots to check one of the comatose victims for traps, see if we can't remove them from there. Assume hostiles are still in the premises, calling in backup, medical assistance should be here any minute but we cannot let the civilians out until we know what's going on. Dauntless, keep your shield up at all times."

"Acknowledged," Dauntless says.

"Acknowledged," Lorica says, and a hardware bot approaches a victim and looks them over.

The civilian is unclothed under the skin blanket, and much freer of blood than he should be under the circumstances. Uncovering him or moving him does not seem to trigger anything except for a little bit more bleeding from the cuts.

"Looks clear, at least on this one, but he's not bleeding as much as I'd expect."

"Can your bots check vitals?" the Captain asks after barking a few more orders for other officers.

(Glam tries making a new bot appear and it completely fails to. This is very worrying.)

"Checking." The bot takes a pulse.

Slow and weak. The person's whole metabolism seems to have been significantly slowed down. If there was any doubt this was power-caused it should be gone by now.

"Slow, weak pulse -" The bot gently opens an eye and checks pupillary response.

No response.

"No pupillary response, that's bad."

"Can you move them? Drupe's going upstairs to meet up with you and help."

"I can move them without dropping the forcefield," Dauntless offers.

"Do. Paramedics are here, one of the squads is, too, and Miss Militia's on her way with Rewind and Silica."

(Try again. Fail. Why.)

"Bots aren't specced for weight but I can carry them myself."

"Do it. Be careful. And," the Captain offers one half of a password phrase.