Though he's slept less and worked more than he has in years, Jae feels - well, he doesn't feel good, of course, but he feels surprisingly okay. A tolerant, 'Well, given context' okay, but okay nonetheless. He's never pictured himself in any kind of leadership position and frankly still finds the idea of it alarming, but he's been able to function... okay. There's all kinds of 'you should have been an action reporter!' and 'you're so promoted after this if we don't all die', but the truth is, it's really fortunate for everyone involved that his boss and some of her peers ponied up and helped wrangle his nebulous and probably dangerous idea into something workable, and that SMB has such good technical support. Sometimes, when he's in the sound booth he's claimed as his own cubicle, housing his sleeping bag and a lantern, he imagines doing this by himself and knows it would be a disaster worth of legend.

When he gets the text, Jae smiles - almost against his will - and with a quiet word to the other employee working dispatch (one of the coffee gophers around the office, who came in enthusiastically when she heard the first broadcast), he slips downstairs and outside. Little starry eyes, he thinks, and then whatever else prompted that thought flits away as he tastes fresh air; going out there still wigs him out a little, even though the courtyard and several meters in every direction is warded.

His appearance - warm jacket, a beanie, and, yes, his glasses - betrays the fact that he (or someone in his stead) went back to Creekside to nab his vitals. But it paints a better picture than days before, when he looked like humanform reheated week-old diner food. Jae reaches through the ward line to take Sunny's hand so that he can pass through, and cracks a lopsided smile.

"Hey."