[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/s3DDsMJ.png[/img]

[h3]Brewing Storm[/h3][/center]

[color=fff79a][i]Okay.[/i][/color]

That was the mantra that dominated his being as the other two ran off to the next room, leaving him to fend for both himself and the battered, bloodied Priscilla.

[color=fff79a][i]Everything's gonna be okay.[/i][/color]

Whether or not that was entirely true was out of the question. In fact, you could probably argue it to already be retroactively proven false— basically, a lie. To be frank about the situation meant one had to accept that it was far from okay as-is, and seemingly worsening as minutes dragged by.

[color=fdc68a][i]But that's what we have to be here for.

Take something not-okay and make it okay.

That's a Hunter's job.[/i][/color]

[b]"...So it'll be okay."[/b]

He began to run through the checklist of first-aid protocol his mother and father had drilled into his mind from the tender age of already seventeen, one of the many crash-courses in his buildup to the trial periods for incoming transfer students who hadn't already completed the curriculum of primer schools like Signal.

Only, it would be a lie to say it was that simple.

The human mind is a labyrinthine monstrosity, twisting and turning and full of traps and hangups and dead-ends. 

[color=fff79a][i]Lots of cuts.
Lots of blood.
I need to stop the bleeding, right?
But I need to locate the cuts to do that—
The specific ones, and prioritize the worst...[/i][/color]

His mind began to overclock, trying to keep itself straight.

You might have already guessed this if you're familiar with the kind of guy he is:

It didn't work.

[i][color=fff79a]I see a lot here, but I don't have anything to clean them with.
What if there's more on her back? I'd need to move her.
Wait, you're not supposed to move someone this battered, right?!
Her bones could be broken...
When's the[/color] [color=fdc68a]Professor gonna get here? 
What if she runs into something on the way?
What if something runs into[/color] [color=f9ad81]me?
I'll have to handle that.
I should probably get that jacket off to make sure there's nothing big concealed under it...[/color]
[color=f7976a]Wait, no![/color]
[color=f26522]Idiot![/color]
[color=red]She'll lose body heat like that![/color][/i]

Gritting teeth and venting what would be steam if this were a cartoon from his nostrils in a concentrative breath, he even went so far as to shake his head and rub his temples, gripping the end of her jacket with his other hand.

He honestly felt apologetic for how little of a reassuring air he was giving her here. He now more than ever understood why he didn't want to pursue the medical field at any point in his life: the pressure of holding a life so directly in your hands was palpable.

Hey, wait.

Hands.

He squeezed the jacket again, noting now that the end he held contained a pocket.

And that the pocket contained something hard and thin and rectangular. Not a credit card, but...

[color=6ecff6]"Luke, spot me!"
[/color]

It was then that Cian burst back into the room, hand already outstretched even within her protective barrier. She needed to come back for something, that much was obvious. Specifically to him, and he knew as well as anyone that he wasn't playing the team pack mule here. The only thing he could have had that they didn't was his drills, to get through a wall, or door—

Or something his charge could have used to get through said door. Something she could have used to get back in after it automatically locked. Something the team never realized they needed with the questionably operative power in the facility.

Something you'd need to get into a security room full of cameras in any other place.

He quickly swiped the object from her pocket, reaching out for the gunslinger to offer it up ASAP.

[b]"Keycard, got it!"[/b]

Action spurred on action.

He made a choice.

As soon as she deftly plucked the card from his hand, he was already at work shedding his precious hoodie, intent on tearing as many pieces from the thing as he could to stop what bleeding he could. Blood loss was the most immediate thing he could both counteract and needed to worry about, but he was going to need two things for it to happen.

Cloth and steady, firm pressure.

[color=fdc68a][i]Both I can do— I might need to change up my wardrobe, anyways.[/i][/color]

A tank top for the rest of the mission wouldn't be too bad of a look if it meant he bought Priscilla time.

It'd certainly make things more okay than the alternative.