Sighing heavily, Regan gave both Brandon and Silas a look, one the two men no doubt knew well. “Now isn’t the fucking time or place to start shit,” he hissed, although he did agree with Brandon’s comment about avoiding heroics. But he could also understand why Silas might do it, after all if Sol were here he knew he’d lay down his fucking life if it meant saving hers. “Nobody’s going to do anything heroic, alright.” He added, hoping to stop the discussion in its tracks.
His reaction to the oncoming threat was a grimmer, more tense. He didn’t chuckle or smirk. Fighting was about the last thing he enjoyed, but he had to face the music and deal with the fact that he would fight, and he would probably kill. As his grasp tightened on the gunblade he held, he made peace with the fact that this was for a good reason, they weren’t fighting simply to fight – they were fighting to protect.
Fuck. Regan’s gaze snapped over to where Shelley now lay lifeless. They needed to get moving, because standing here like this was making them sitting ducks. “Obviously,” he muttered in response to Brandon’s comment. That was their first mistake; they had under estimated the Bedford group. Regan just hoped that would also be their last mistake.
Hauling himself over the barricade after everyone else was over; he tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, the one that told him that things were only going to get worse. “Have to agree with Silas, lets see what our eyes up there can see,” he added as his gaze surveyed their surroundings. Being on the street like this made him uneasy, cover was limited and god knows what kind of traps these people might have set up in the areas that could serve as cover.
As he eyes scanned to the left, he caught movement in the shadows. “We’ve got company to the left,” his voice was low as he inclined his head in that direction.