Watching the bot surrender to Quintus’s pack, Silas can’t help a stab of guilt. It was easy enough to drown in the thrill of pursuit, but this thing—and it is a [i]thing[/i], he reminds himself—pulls pity straight to the surface. Especially with the way it goes limp. If he hadn’t seen it take a bullet, he’d think that leg would snap. Malnourished. Calcium-deficient. Not that robots drink fucking milk. Get it together. 

He tunes back into the moment at hand, vaguely grateful he missed whatever the others were bantering about while he studied Cho. The tail end is concerning enough. A money pot, indeed. Given its successful capture, he doubts there will be any contention over his call not to shoot the bot, but… well, if it [i]isn’t[/i] valuable, that was a stupid decision. Could’ve jeopardized the bounty. All for what, a few extra creds? Somehow that’s still more reasonable than the truth. He thought he’d wrung out his last dregs of empathy a long damn time ago. Not something you can really afford as a doctor. Doctor. Ha. Like he has a degree.

Collapsing his medkit, Silas samples the truck smoke. Doesn’t smell as bad as your average smog, to be honest. Just close enough to a campfire to excuse its strength. Strength that’ll wrench security over here in no time. Waving the miasma from his face, he huffs a laugh at Quintus’s request. “I’m sure our [i]star pilot[/i] can handle it,” Silas says dryly. The noodle truck spits an ember in protest.

As said pilot makes her way over, Silas stands and nods at Quintus’s pack. “Want me to carry that for you? Sleeping Beauty here will be plenty to lug around as is.” He scans the haze. “That is, if we can find someplace to lug him [i]to[/i].”

[hider=OOC] Silas rolls [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/28776]a 2 and a 3[/url] to find an escape route. Yikes. [/hider]