Bang.

The camera and light assembly erupts in glittering sparks and shards of plastic, falling down from the turret. No more light shines from it, though it continues to pan back and forth blindly.

Phew. She kicks the turret over with her foot—just in case—but it mostly seems fine.

Still, she keeps a wary eye out now, scanning all around her for any hint of danger.

Nothing on the rooftop is moving but her — and the helpless, blinded turret she kicked over. Down through the skylight she can see a lot of blinking arcade machines, and a turret panning down on the ground floor.

Atop a couple barrels in the corner of the rooftop are a floppy and another box of a few rounds.

She grins and makes her way carefully over to the barrels, still keeping an eye out for any unseen danger. Once there, she pockets the rounds and inserts the disk into her reader, sitting back against a barrel to read.

This disk contains a file labeled "Semper Fidelis."

If this disk is not blank, it means that you have survived the Mindkill. If you have no memory of what happened, do not be alarmed. We expected this and prepared for this eventuality. We did our best to send you sufficient supplies and guidance, but the rest is up to you alone. Your path is a difficult one, full of hardship and setbacks.

Even though you have forgotten, you have spent years training the Receiver virtues of perseverance, discipline, and courage, and we know you have what it takes. Remember that we are still watching you from Reality A, and we will never give up on you. 

She chuckles grimly to herself. Well if that doesn't confirm her suspicions, she doesn't know what will.

Still, it's kind of sweet—she really hopes they're telling the truth, and whoever's behind these messages are on her side. It feels like they are, reading them, but that isn't always a good reason to trust someone in a situation like this.

Putting her reader away, she stands, dusts herself off, and picks her gun back up, feeling its comfortable coldness in her palm.

On instinct, more than anything, she pops the cylinder and checks the chambers, knocking the single spent cartridge out of the weapon and replacing it a fresh one from her pocket. It may not be entirely necessary, but she still might as well reload when she has the time.

As she makes her way around the skylight and to the far doorway, she watches her surroundings, eyes alert for signs of danger.