*He stood on the tarmac, ragged backpack hitched high on his shoulder. Men ran around him, heading to remove the pallets from the cargo plane. He'd hitched a ride, Psiforce had listed him as a scientist, so he'd passed inspection to be allowed on the charity drops. Who the fuck would look at him and believe that shit? They likely didn't give a goddamn, civil war tended to shift priorities. They ain't too interested in people getting in, but hot damn, getting out was a fucking bitch. Thankfully, four feet traveled better than two. Depending on where he was at, he could cross undetected into Ecuador, Peru, Venezuela, or Panama and get his sorry ass back stateside. He'd try for Brazil, but there were too many damn memories there that didn't need prodding.*