Havel isn't the kind of Captain who's ever going to lie to the troops unless it's really important. This is the kind of thing they should be able to understand; Company Men get hurt, and crippled, doing what they do best. Protocol is pretty fucking clear. Shit. From his place on the ground by Yankee, Havel sighs and wipes his bloodied hands on the knees of his trousers, then slowly stands up.<br/><br/>"Listen up! I shot Yankee, as far as I can tell. We were riding to town to back up Gnarly when we ran into the Sun Cult fuckers. Yankee was walkin' with 'em, like one of their own." Ugly growls, audible even over the nearby rumble of engines. Raising a hand for attention, Havel continues. "That fuckin' Priest had him fried in the brain, sure enough. I got him clear of it, but when I challenged the Priest, he let go with some kinda freaky shit. I went blind and tried to get 'im with my scattergun, but somehow I seemed to get turned wrong and hit Yankee instead. He and Morgan were backin' me up. He's a Company Man, through and through."<br/><br/>Waving his hand back in Yankee's direction, Havel says, "He's one of us. But maybe he can't ride, and he doesn't want to be left here with just one arm. Gnarly, if you're standin' there, you oughta give him his Rights when the time comes. I'm still blind on account of whatever that Cultist shit-bag did to me, and we'll handle that when the time comes. For right now, we've got a Brother to attend to. Doc's on her way, but if she can't do anything for him..."<br/><br/>Dropping his hand to hook both thumbs in his belt, Havel waits for their reaction. The only Rights a Company Man had was the Right to Ride, and the Right to Die, both of them under the banner. If Yankee wanted it, and Havel gathered that he did, he could ask for a mercy kill, quick and sure. What with the narco-stab in his system, he shouldn't be feeling anything right now. He'd just slip away, clean as anything.