[Having just extracted himself from one thorny situation, Connor slips around the corner and lands in an even thornier predicament. His face turns wan and his stomach churns for the gruesome sight of the agent dangling limp in Hayame's grip. He sees the vacant stare of Sam Keating and the crater made of his skull, the unnatural angles of Emily Sinclair's broken body, the memories clawing to the surface like wild things he cannot tame. Trying not to gag on the surge of guilt and the taste of death, he takes a shuddering breath in and lets it out. This does nothing to calm him as he jabs an accusatory finger at the jinba. His voice is low and sharp, a panicked hiss bubbling up from his twisting gut.]
What part of "keep a low profile" did you not get?
[And he shoves his hands through his hair, as if this will help him think.]
01.
What part of "keep a low profile" did you not get?
[And he shoves his hands through his hair, as if this will help him think.]
Oh my god, what are we supposed to do now?