The filaments underfoot deaden any approaching footsteps, but there's no mistaking the crack of a second voice through the hallway; Warsman's nerves are jangled enough that he looks up with a hissing intake of breath, fists jerking defensively into a striking position.

"Where are you?" He's dizzy enough now, trying to focus on every corner of the hallway at once, that he barely even realises he's slipping into Russian until it's too late. But language barely even matters when he's potentially in danger. Spying a humanoid shape nearby, he takes a few threatening steps forward, eyes burning. "Don't make me hurt you...!" And doesn't want to hurt anyone, but...