[In the moments after the surge of fear in the alley, Cain's forgotten the drug. He's surprised by the compliance - immediately wrenching the soiled scrub-top overhead, wind fluttering it out. And then there's guilt, at the same time his body drains of the rest of that adrenaline and goes loose, exhausted, and dazed.

He doesn't know what happened to him, why he froze, why the root of terror plugged itself into the center of his chest and immobilized his body. It's never happened like that before, not on the galactic battlefield faced by the murderous intent of the enemy.

The question prompts him to cast out for some sort of reply. Cain tries his best.]

A few weeks ago, yeah. Different shit happened, but I wasn't in control of myself. Did things I shouldn't have. [Like get his dick sucked... at least it isn't murder.

Then, emboldened,] You didn't leave me down there, either. Isn't this the same? [Maybe not. Cain's eyes tilt away, onto the metal door at their back, reflecting purple light.] What are we supposed to do now? Just... wait up here?