As Ghoster exits the museum, he takes a moment to breathe and enjoy the tranquility of being alone. It had been a whirlwind of a day since his lighter stopped working, and his reflection was cut short when he realized he was still without a lighter.
He walks along until he spies a bodega, buys a new one in cash, and walks out again. He lights his cigarette triumphantly, as though he were Prometheus bringing fire from the gods. He walks slowly, thinking through the next steps.
Gun. I need a gun. There's some crazy people-eating freak out here, eating people my age, and what about that sniper? Where did he come from? Are there gonna be more? Of course there are. I need a flak jacket. I can't believe the others are getting high right now. They must already have guns and jackets. Breathe. Tyria must think I'm a total pervert. Way to go, genius. It'll be fine, won't it? It will. Of course; no one will care about that if you and the others bring down that freak. They'll protect Ryan like they said, right? Of course. Why wouldn't they? He should have placed a Finder spell on the card, just in case. Dammit. Breathe, Arthur.
Then a wide smile spreads across Ghoster's face as he remembers the last lesson Finn taught him before he sent him out west to Get Involved with Something. I know exactly where to get what I need, he thinks, unconsciously tugging on the space on his jacket where he had violently ripped off his name tag. He quickens his pace as he heads to the Sacramento PD to "requisition new equipment."