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Do not worry, this blood appears to be...my own.

He was met with a grunt, dismissive, uninterested. It didn’t matter. Curiosity stirred again, but he forced it down. Blood never meant anything good, no matter whose it was.

You don’t know? Sarge’s voice was cold, clipped. Covered in blood and you’ve got no idea why?

He watched the dark male with narrowed eyes, suspicion sharp behind them. His ears twitched as he listened for anything, movement, breath, threat. This place was hell, and he wouldn’t be caught off guard. If a fight was coming, he'd be ready.

You alone?

Sarge was on high alert, watching the stranger with an intensity that could easily unnerve the unsteady. Every muscle was coiled, ready, his mind weighing both peaceful and violent ends to this encounter. Better to be prepared than caught off guard.

A thread of arrogance laced his confidence; he believed he held the upper hand, though he had no intention of showing his cards just yet.