Another wave of agony and guilt rolls over him, and God, it's so much worse when it's someone else's. Wash takes a breath, steadies himself, and gets to his feet, offering Locus a hand.

"Look, I get it. I've lost my whole squad more than once, and there was nothing I could do about it." It's not something he usually shares - that his life before Freelancer was peppered with loss, that he was the sole survivor of some platoons and one of very few survivors of others, that he was considered a goddamn bad luck charm before Freelancer pulled him for his survivability and marksmanship - but it's necessary here, and holy shit this memory is affecting him more than he knew if he's able to go that deep down his own personal rabbit hole in the middle of combat. "But that happens, and it happens without a reason, because war is hell. The best thing you can do now is survive and keep fighting. Now c'mon - you have your orders."