[He doesn't answer until he's certain they're safe, because right now that's way more important than answering questions about basic human nature. Through alleys and ducking behind buildings, an ice-cold hand folded into his large one, his feet pounding the pavement until the shouts fade away.

Then he slumps against a wall, finally releasing her. He's only a little out of breath, but he's built for this kind of shit.]

. . . they're human.

[He says it simply.]

And they're scared, and pissed, and it's easier to blame someone then to think. So they-- they do this kinda thing.