Snatching the girl from the air with a well-timed leap, she absorbed the impact of their combined weight when she settles hard onto the ground, long legs flexing on hidden pressure absorbers...?  hydraulics? how was she assembled?  before she straightens, the messy, dusty, naked ragamuffin in her arms warm and still, eyes wide-- eyes dilated, fixed.<br/><br/>With a soft sigh, Liz turns back to the car.  "Jamal, take it."  She eyes the bunch of them... her face oddly tensed, as if unsure how to portray the visual representation of what her emotional engine was producing.<br/><br/>The girl... bloodied, beaten, abused... was probably loaded with an inexpert speedball cocktail... else, she'd been poisoned.  Regardless, she was dead in Jamal's arms, where Liz eases her and turns away.  She faces Vivian with that same beautiful coldness she has always possessed, the same mingling admiration, subservience, and mischief seeming to reflect from her eyes... doll's eyes, perfect eyes.  More alive than alive.  "I'm sorry I got carried away."  She hops into the double back-seat, sliding into one corner, not bothering with the seat belt.  Her knees draw up into the fetal position and she stares out the window, the faintest red smear on her otherwise flawless 'skin'.