Ill-Made Martyr [Open]

His unspoken cry for help seemed to have been answered, a ghost drifting from the staring crowd to approach him. Peter stared at her, taking in every part as he tried to determine if she was a threat or not while he still had time to run. Something about her though... it didn't seem safe, or even familiar really, but sympathetic, like some of their scars might match. "I need... need to..." Peter stumbled over the words, trying to decide on them while they came out of his mouth. What did he need? Was he even expected back? He had never been told what to do if something like this happened. Maybe this was... "Is this a... a test, or a pu-punishment?" It had to be, nothing else made any sense at all. He must have ruined something, some minor facet of their plan, and now he was here. His eyes grew distant, hands that were more scar than skin wringing together in front of his chest. He seemed to snap back into himself suddenly, focusing back on the pale girl in front of him, and leaned in so he could speak quietly. "Do you, can you tell me where... where am I supposed to go. I can... I can explain it all, I don't know what I did wrong but I'll fix it, I promise, I just... I need to get back to him. Peter The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.