That, he hears. Feels, perhaps— it isn't the sound that pierces the noise, but its intention.

He'd whirl round to face the source if he had the strength of will to force into his body, but without the incentive of an immediate threat it proves impossible to do much more than clutch at the control yoke and breathe, one ragged breath after another. He already knows pushing up from it now will cost him more effort than he has to spend.

There's blood in his mouth. He lets out a low, wet groan that sets his ears ringing on a slightly different frequency, and begins to gather himself. One chance may be all he'll get.

"Stay back," he hisses. Even he's not sure if any of the threat actually made it past his lips.