Oh fuck. Clearly, clearly, Rush did not evaluate this new course of action appropriately. Clearly. More tight spaces. More small, cramped - fuck. No. No, he will execute this plan of action accordingly and he will execute it fucking excellently even if this is not in his historic proclivity. He is not exceptionally talented in the art of maintaining composure, not now, not in this context and certainly not while surrounded by obscenely large fucking Christmas paraphernalia.

This is fine. It is not implausible. He will execute without limbic damage. Wordless, he follows Asadi and compresses himself into the tiny space. The press of the walls is no object. He is breathing, he is employing forward momentum, he is shuffling along and his rate of breathing is increasing incrementally and that is fine, it is still relatively workable in this solution set, he will maintain this solution set, Asadi is right in front of him and she is still moving so it is not inconceivable that he can continue moving, but for fuck's sake he's stopped why has he stopped.

His breath catches and stutters and halts. He can execute. He can continue executing.

Rush forces himself to continue moving, neglecting the pressure of adrenaline and the squeezing, inching compression of freshly surging panic. The walls are not coffins, nor are they glass containment fields. There is no water. He trembles.