In lieu of Day of the Dead observation, I wanted to visit the Hall before it got mob by participants.

Had expected a bit of Halloween based trouble around midnight while in the City. Just not in the form of Abraham Lincoln(?).

I do apologize, 'Mr. President' for having to incapacitate you. Were warned first. Tossed across the Square should have been taken as a hint to back-off, not make a second go at me with the axe.

WE ARE NEVER TALKING ABOUT LAST NIGHT AGAIN.

[ And Stiles is never getting out of bed again. But oops, instead of just sending that to a few people he's thrown it City-Wide. ]

[ The video feed opens on a small, wet cardboard box and a handful of thoroughly soaked and utterly useless matches. From the quality of the audio, it's evident the recording is accidental. ]

Where am I? This isn't Ashbury. And-- Oh, great, how am I meant to call Luke now? Wait, what's this? Some sort of portable?

[ A hand comes into view as it picks up the device, revealing a sandy-blond boy in his late teens. His hair and clothes are a few decades out of date, and he seems confused enough by what he's holding to suggest he's not from around here. ]

Oh, it's a camera. Sort of? Where's the film go? [ In trying to figure out where to put the nonexistent film, David accidentally ends the feed. ]