"What part of don't follow me to my place of work didn't get through your damn skull, huh?" He gritted his teeth and dragged you along by your prosthetic arm, giving the occasional nod to co-workers who gave a slight laugh or got out of the way as he yanked you along to an exit "What if you'd gotten hurt when you were stowing away? What if you'd been shot by someone? What was I supposed to put on your tombstone? Here lies my idiotic, brat of a sibling who was too stupid for this world."