Garsin's vision was fading out on him and he knew he didn't have much time. He started on his way to the Pumphouse because that's where he thought everyone was going. He stumbled a few times and used his sheathed sword to help prop himself up. When he looked up from the dirt he could see the building ahead, at least, he believed it was the right one. He made his way closer an could hear people inside. He now made it to the open doorway at the front of the building, sword in hand. His vision was nearly gone and everything inside was an unidentifiable blur. He wasn't sure if the people inside were enemies or not, but at this point he had accepted death already. Soon, it felt like the room was spinning and he stumbled forward through the door, "Here we go again," he thought as he crashed onto the floor, sword clattering and his helmet rolling away, but still attached by the air tube. Then he blacked out.

His armor was beaten and broken in numerous places, dirty and bloodstained. The cloth accents were nearly torn apart and the glass on the visor was cracked in few spots. He was covered in reopened old wounds and fresh ones alike. But the armor served its purpose, keeping any vitals free from fatal injuries. However, the giant of a man could still only bleed so much. His body was run ragged and wouldn't move another inch for him, if he were to live, he would need medical attention, fast.