He was fucked. He owed MM a favour, he knew this, and he knew the risk he was taking when he acted as a mole, yet the true risk hadn’t really settled until he saw the way Cameron Coleman was dealt with. Now A-Train paces in his room, back and forth, back and forth. He’s not running yet his heart does feel like he went around the globe a couple times. The music playing through his speakers barely drowns out his slightly heavy breathing.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck!” The pent up energy seems to all suddenly bubble up and a swift punch is delivered to the wall, making the concrete crack up and manage to bruise his knuckles. The compound V has given him additional endurance, but of course he’s not invulnerable, and as the pain shoots up his arm he just grunts before dropping back on the sofa, his leg bouncing nervously. He can practically feel the cortisol levels going up, and that’s when the doorbell rings a few times, making A-Train jolt up.

“I’m busy!” He yells, frankly not in the mood to deal with anyone, Vought puppet or not. Yet after a few seconds he’s unable to hold his curiosity much longer. The sonic boom knocks some decorations away as he rushes to open up, his brown eyes widening in recognition when he sees the visitor.

“…what do you want?”