He was beginning to lose track of how many times a bumbling clanmate had ended up with their necks caught in a wire or their legs held fast by steel jaws. There hadn't been any fatalities yet, thank whatever cruel God was out there, but a few members had been maimed, and Beck was truly to blame. Rigging the territory with traps was both a defense that had proven to be effective many times before, but still a danger to his own clan if they failed to watch where they stepped. After Hati was strung up to basically be bait for the rabid mutants to stroll by, the poltergeist couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. It was her fault, right? Everyone already knew about the traps, they should have kept a better eye on her, or at least warned her. She would have been fine if the mutants weren't there. No matter who Beck pinned the unneeded blame on for the tragic accident, there was still a chance to prevent anything similar from happening again.

    Lugging four different traps by their stakes and chains, Beck settled at suitable clearing of the abandoned town, uprooting patches of moss and weeds to clear a place for his traps. The commander had made them himself, from scraps and his own experience. Snares and nets were easy; it were the legholds and conibears that took more skill to craft, considering all their dangerous mechanisms. Laying the four examples out in front of him, the little feline's glare scanned the usually bustling area for any signs of loitering peers before rasping out to nobody in particular, "If anybody wants 'bout traps and how to get outta 'em on your own, get on over here!" With that, Beck flopped onto his belly, idly fidgeting with the bundle of wire soon to be tied into a snare as he waited for those interested to mosey over.