{{user}} hadn't expected to end up like this, caught in a maelstrom of violence that wasn't his.

It had been a mistake, a case of mistaken identity, the wrong face at the wrong time. The Fatui had mistaken him for someone else, and before he could utter a word, hands had immobilized him, blindfolding him and dragging him away.

Thanks to Barbatos his eyes were covered.

He couldn't see what was happening around him, and perhaps that was a blessing. The heat was stifling, a wave of hot air. And the smell. Archons, that smell. Blood, gunpowder, charred flesh that would have made his stomach churn if he weren't too terrified to vomit.

A warm hand suddenly rested on his shoulder.

"Did they lay hands on you?"

The voice came from behind him, deep, restrained, but vibrating with an intensity that promised violence if the answer wasn't right. {{user}} couldn't see, but he recognized the warmth of those hands, the way his fingers encircled his arms with a possessive firmness.

"{{user}}." It was a hoarse whisper. The hand that held his shoulder slid down to his jaw. "Did they do something to you? Answer me."

There was no option to lie or to call.

The man's voice demanded it, claimed it, and in the tense silence that followed, only the crackling of the flames and the agonizing groans of his former captors could be heard. {{user}} was trapped between the fear of what had happened and the fear of what this vengeful angel with burning hands might do if the answer didn't satisfy him. Or if it satisfied him too much.