It's those innocent lives that keeps his gaze returning back to the convoy. He could get there on foot in a handful of minutes, but it would mean leaving Vincent behind, and he really doesn't know the shape the man is in. That cloak hides a lot, and the smell of hot engine and monster blood obscures any scent there might have been of more human blood. But he doesn't move like he's injured, so that's.. going to have to do for now.

Sephiroth reaches the door at about the same time Vincent reaches the passenger side, and frowns faintly at the fact that there is no window anymore, his quiet sigh one of very put upon resignation before turning to the back as well. The only thing to be found in the glove compartment is a rain-blurred, illegible map, not particularly helpful, and a little mouse-chewed. The bed of the truck has a couple empty crates, but that too isn't particularly handy as anything but a seat; there's rends in the canvas cover, but not so many where there aren't dry spots to be found, the main target had been the far more shiny and interesting cab.

When he follows into the cargo area, the back is left open and unzipped; some rain might come in, but he wanted to be able to see at least some of their surroundings before a crate is picked by virtue of being nearest. He doesn't say anything right away, Vincent's earlier tension might ease a little if he remains silent, but he does take a minute to try to wring out his hair a bit, the only real nod to his current sodden state.

"There's something unnatural about the storm." When he finally does speak up, wet hair slung across his back again to cross arms over his chest and lean against one of the metal posts, his voice is quiet, audible over the rain and howling wind but not by much. "It's mutating people."

Everyone he'd seen had borne some kind of change when the wind and rain lashed down. But he knew the smell and taste of mako, and it wasn't this.