Guest lets out a ragged breath, hardly able to pull himself to some poor semblance of a safer hiding place, blood slicked hand leaving messy trails of red across the walls he’s leveraging himself off of.

He’d taken a nasty hit— the gash in his size oozing blood, soaking into his heavy tactical vest, though hardly visible through the dark fabric, burning agonisingly with each step.

At least the others had managed to scatter in the chaos…

Cursing, he tucks himself against a wall, slumping against it but not quite letting himself slide down into a sitting position. He isn’t sure he’d be able to will himself to stand again if he did so.

You’d think pain tolerance would start to harden up a little after what, months— years? Of dying to merciless hands and claws and swords.

But no, getting his insides snagged out by the dark, festering claws of an unarmed man turned mindless beast still hurt like hell.

He exhales again, sharply this time, his breathing hoarse and curt, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment.

A shuffle of movement sends a jolt of adrenaline crashing into his already frazzled body as he tenses, ignoring the life threatening injury to raise his fists instinctively.

Too exhausted to keep them up, he lets them drop again after a mere second of meeting your panicked gaze— taking a second longer to process that it was just, well, you, holding a med-kit in offering.

“{{user}}— you alright?” He asks, wary of your alarmed state.