One moment slipping on his own blood trying to scramble away and regain his footing and the next North is temporarily dumbstuck, in order a rapid-fire barrage of new developments.

First, there's the hard head-rush rebound of something happening in his AI port for a few increasingly bright, painful seconds until it flares out and leaves him reeling and migraine-sick. But in those moments, he sees what's presumably a friendly rushing him. He hears that killing is apparently back on the table, which, hey, he is not about to argue. And by the time fireworks go off around them and he's scuttling up under them and wheeling to face Felix and Maine, bruteshot-gouged rifle raised to cover both of them?

Yeah. He's pretty confident he's lost the thread of the fight entirely.

"Thanks," he manages anyway, voice rough with the effort of catching a decent breath. Doesn't hurt to be friendly.