She declines to move.

She does disassemble his arm, more so she can have time to figure out what to do here than for any good reason.

Crawler perks up.

"That hurt me!" he rejoices, even as his arm regrows. "Kill me. Kill me, do it."

Crawler is not a master of rhetoric. He is persistent, though.

"Oh, you want to die?" Yellow Birch confirms.

"Yes!" Crawler complains, lunging at her. "That's why I fight people, so that they will KILL ME!"

She doesn't really see the appeal. But ... she has enough samples to work with, floating in the air behind her. And she does sincerely believe that people know what's best for themselves.

She disintegrates him entirely.

Zebrawood waves to the car as it goes by.

"Yup. The driver had a portal in their head," she announces. "Of course, we can't be sure that they're the Siberian."

"I can handle cleanup here, if you're alright with following them to be sure?" Yellow Birch suggests.

Zebrawood blows her a kiss.

"You got it, babe."

She goes invisible and flies to catch up with the car, hovering just above the roof.

Yellow Birch finishes scanning (in case it's sentimental) and disintegrating (so that it doesn't block the road) the RV, repairs the road surface where her particle beam dug into it a little, and then sinks into the earth, pulling the still-active portals with her.

"Good morning, how can the PRT help you today?" she says, gripping the silent alarm deadman's switch under the desk and staring at the cape who just suddenly appeared. Some kind of teleporter, probably.

The weird thing is that she's not wearing a mask — just a shifting silver-white sundress that must be some kind of tinkertech (or maybe a projection) because it's not moving right for normal cloth.

"Hi, I'm here under truce to claim the bounty on the Slaughterhouse Nine," she says, flashing Jessica a smile.

Her heart rate accelerates — not because of the smile, but because the only people who need to come in under truce are villains.

"R-Right," she replies. "I can certainly help you with that. We'll need to see proof, of course. Could I ask you to wait in that meeting room there while I call the director?"

Zebrawood smiles.

"Of course; I can wait."

In simulated space, she turns to Riley.

"You're sure you want to fake your death?" she confirms. "Even though you have a kill order, I do think the PRT would be willing to reconsider, given what you've told me."

"I'm sure," she responds, fiddling with one of the sugar cookies. "That's what the others chose, right? And I like it here, anyway."

Zebrawood nods.

"Very well. Would you like some more tea?"

"Yes, please," Riley responds, holding out her cup so that Zebrawood can pour into it.

After a moment of watching the empty PRT waiting room projected on one wall, she continues.

"Are you sure I can't talk to Mr. Jack?"

Zebrawood coughs delicately.

"Mr. Jack is ... busy," she explains. "But you can talk to him when he's done, if both of you want to."

Riley pouts.

"What could possibly be more important than watching you fool the PRT on our behalf?" she asks. 'What could be more important than spending time with me?' she doesn't ask.

"Sex stuff," Zebrawood clarifies. "He's chasing one of my other selves through a rainy forest with a knife."

She slumps.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure he'll be done soon. Hey look — that's the director!"

He is having a good day. Unlike so many of his colleagues, he actually enjoys his work. Even on the worst days, he makes a difference. But today, if their mysterious guest is to be believed, is not one of the bad days.

"Good morning. I'm Director Armstrong, but you can call me Kamil," he says, sitting down on the opposite side of the table.

She doesn't reach across the table for a handshake — PRT policy forbids handshakes with unknowns, as a protection against strikers. Instead, she just flashes him a smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Director," she responds. "I'm Zebrawood, but I'm probably down in your files as Weeping Cherry or Yew."

His smile becomes slightly more fixed, trying to remember what he read in the report on her.

Still, he should give her the benefit of the doubt.

"I see. Well, you say that you're here to claim the bounty on the Slaughterhouse Nine — all of them?" he clarifies.

"All of them except the Siberian," she agrees. "She appears to be a projection. We think we've got the parahuman who controls her under surveillance, but as she hasn't re-manifested, we can't be sure."