A loud growl followed by a moan of what must have been pure anguish echoed through the halls of the Watchpoint. One might len it too a feral animal that had skipped on its last meal.
Well... that was half right.
Lena Oxton let out another moan as her stomach roared at her for sustance. Her mini fridge was empty, all of the TV Dinner boxes littered over the floor. Tracer gruntes as her hazel eyes once again looked at her checking account through her phone.
