He's in over his head. Insufficient intel, insufficient weaponry. And there are a couple of long, shallow gouges in his forearm now, bleeding freely. Probably no venom -- it doesn't hurt any more than the wounds ought to, through the mask of adrenaline -- but who knows.
When you can't hold your own against the enemy, you retreat unless you have a more pressing reason to stay. Trowa doesn't; there's no one else to delay Ava for, no orders to leave no witnesses, no mission parameters that preclude a retreat.
And the intel he does have is a lot of close personal observation of the garage.
Trowa rolls to his feet and keeps going. There's a motorcycle one aisle over and ten yards down; he has no idea who it belongs to, but the keys are in the ignition. (He tested it months ago, when he first found it, and the engine started. Trowa believes in being prepared a lot more strongly than he believes in the sanctity of personal property.)
no subject
When you can't hold your own against the enemy, you retreat unless you have a more pressing reason to stay. Trowa doesn't; there's no one else to delay Ava for, no orders to leave no witnesses, no mission parameters that preclude a retreat.
And the intel he does have is a lot of close personal observation of the garage.
Trowa rolls to his feet and keeps going. There's a motorcycle one aisle over and ten yards down; he has no idea who it belongs to, but the keys are in the ignition. (He tested it months ago, when he first found it, and the engine started. Trowa believes in being prepared a lot more strongly than he believes in the sanctity of personal property.)