Jesus, he really needs to get a gun. As though it would matter against something with such a tough-looking carapace. John settles for backing away, aware of the open corridor at his back and the gravity shift around the corner. Maybe if he can flee to a restroom...

But he's certainly not going to run now, not with this argument unfinished.

"He's not here!" He draws himself up, guilt beginning to make way for indignation. "I can wear whatever I like. It can be my color now."