The gun in the refugee calls up an all too familiar feeling of dread that travels up Asriel's spine. He knows what they mean, he knows what they sound like, he knows what it feels like to have their bullets embedded in your flesh and fur while trying to guard the body of your dead sibling.

He knows exactly what's going to happen to them.

"Mom-" Asriel's voice is high, desperate. "Mom, please - let's just run!"

His hand reaches to paw at her dress. They could still make it if they run now, all they had to do is get moving right now-