They'd drugged him. The raging, bloody idiot spawns of the dark holes of the universe. Why did they always drug him before a battle? And why did he ask question he already knew the answers to? Oh, right, because he never answered anyone else's questions and if he asked himself something, at least he could answer that. Twisted logic but who cared. No one saw the jumbled, chaotic mess that was his mind anyway. Right, drugs. They drugged him because they feared that if he were thinking clearly - HA! - that he'd run or perhaps have a rare, fleeting attack of conscience. Right. The world spun wildly, dizzily around him and the trees blended together in a great blur as he stumbled into one. Blood smeared in his wake and the only reason he'd not fallen over yet was because of the black tail behind him, keeping him balanced. Well, barely. Keene had been separated from the army when the massacre had started - he might or might not have done that purposely...run that is. He honestly didn't remember and really didn't care. The other side was winning. For today. The black-haired male brought his hand up to his temple, rubbing futilely, trying to ease the buzzing in his skull, the pounding pain. Or was that pain in his side? The laser had gotten him pretty deeply. Only reason he wasn't bleeding out yet was because his skin had been seared, burned mostly shut even as it had destroyed both muscle and skin. Keene wasn't really worried about it. Soon as he was on a board a ship or found someone who had a medical kit, advanced technology would heal him up in a matter of days. And even if he didn't find anyone, his body would take care of it. Would be nice if he could see straight before either of those points, though.