"Not on accidnet," he deadpans in return, eyes narrowing as the door pulls open. He knows better, knows he'll make the shots when needed.

And it appears York opted for misdirection, pulling the attention of the guards who should know better. And, for some reason, still aren't shooting him on sight. Let him charm them, then.

While he moves into their midst? Locus is lining up the shoot. Breathe. Focus.

Fire.

One guard buckles, clutching his knee. Aim. Breathe.

Fire.