"Uhhhh," he says, scrambling for all the relevant scraps of information he's supposed to be keeping held tight to him at all times. His name, his name. That's meant to be in there somewhere. Unfortunately adrenaline seems to be cutting off all access to it.

"It's, um, it's - okay," he says, slowly, carefully, parsing the words as he goes. They sound wrong coming from him, the stress on all the wrong syllables, the enunciation too cautious and deliberate. "I, uh. It's. Okay."

What else does he say to this? Great. This is great.