You know the Captain knows. You don't know what your face looks like, probably as filthy as the rest of you, with stupid mask-hair on top of it, but you don't care. He knows you, and his eyes widen over the top of his gun. Spotlights slide frantically, trying to get your face in their beam, but you've got your chin down, and out of the way. He says your name. You know he knows.
It's over. You're not sure what that means. Maybe they'll arrest you. You'll go to jail. Or maybe it'll be something federal and nobody will ever see you again. You're not sure. You don't care.
You have to make him understand. She's in the tower. You sent her there, and she's going to get hurt. All you can think about is that she's going to get hurt, and you're going to lose her, just like you lose everyone else that matters. You put your hands out far, and you step forward, closer to the gun. You don't know what to say, so you just blurt whatever comes to mind. You have to make him understand.