When the dust begins to clear, it reveals a small, perfectly circular clearing in the woods. Those trees that have been left standing to describe the circumference lean out from the centre as if they've been crushed into new, unnatural angles under the weight of something invisible— and in the centre, the wreckage sits and smoulders. It would hardly be recognisable even to the engineers who'd designed and built it, now.

Kylo's efforts preserved his life and little else. The yoke, console and pilot's chair are the almost comically untouched eye of the storm of twisted plasteel, exposed through the horribly distorted shell. With the explosively scattered viscera of the Silencer giving little indication of its origin or purpose in any language Murphy would recognise, the slumped figure at the centre of it all may be the only lead worth investigating.

From the edge of the clearing the pilot seems unmoving— though as Murphy staggers forwards a section of buckled bulkhead gives way with a groan loud enough to wake the dead. Kylo's shoulders shudder, but he doesn't even attempt to rise, yet. His senses are screaming static noise, still crackling with overload... but he's alive. The rest might take a little time.