“Vega—?” He didn’t realize that his voice wasn’t as loud or as robust as it needed to be. The dust was still settling around him, which caused him to start coughing and that was a louder noise than his own voice. His left arm still hurt like a son of a bitch, though, clouding his rational thought. All he knew was that he’d been attacked by something and as a consequence, the wall had come down on him.

When he saw a blurry figure coming towards him, instinct took over and he felt silent, prepared to defend himself … somehow. Since he couldn’t readily identify who that figure was, he needed to be prepared for anything-especially since he still didn’t know who shot him.