“You’ve lost so much blood.”
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[ tw: blood ]
“Yes,” he answers, his voice a dull, distant echo in his head. He agrees, because it’s easier than an explanation. It’s easier than no, this isn’t my blood, it’s their blood; it’s Vanguard’s blood; it’s everyone’s blood, but not mine.
It’s easier than telling this man that he was trying to save the members of his gang before law enforcement arrived and it was too late. If they saved their lives, the police would likely destroy their future. But Protocol is not a doctor. Protocol is the brain of the operation; Protocol is responsible for deaths, again. It’s happened before; he thinks he should be used to it by now, but the weight of it still hangs heavily over him.
He assumes the male talking to him now is from Salvatore, judging by how quickly he appeared, and how he’d fired bullets at Black Lotus’s soldiers as they retreated from the scene, but only just enough. He didn’t posses the bloodlust that the other gangs always did. He didn’t question an innocent face-- foolish. Typical of Salvatore.
“It’s okay,” he assures him, reaction still slow-- still in shock from the sight of the blood covering his hands and clothes-- still in shock from the life of Vanguard soldiers slipping between his fingers again. He goes over the entire strategy in his head, and there was no way he could’ve planned for a Black Lotus ambush when Syndicate was their intended enemy on the mission, yet he should’ve. He can’t afford to make mistakes like this anymore.
He lets tears fill his eyes and then scatter on his eyelashes, if only to aid his disguise of innocence in the face of this strange man he can’t trust, but truly, he just wants him to leave. This is his responsibility, and should be his mistake to deal with alone.