A glance to Oculus. "Time wears everything down, if you let it. Vibrations from cars, temperature extremes, moisture and fog ..." Vigil's eyes unfocus, as he seems momentarily lost in memory. "I was never one for complicated design, but I knew my craft. There's always something to repair, and precious few of us willing to leave the safety of the walkways to reach it. I'm an ironworker by trade. Danger was always part of the job."
A sweep of the others present, taking in words, mood. Focus shifts to Campanella. "I want to help. I'd like to be that extra set of hands. But I need to know what I'm walking into. Especially if there are few of us. Where do we go from here?"