Garrot doesn't notice at first, but he seems... slower, somehow. Or, well, it's more that everything else seems to be moving in slow motion. Luka's talking so slowly, which gives him more than enough time to note that Eight may have been behind the teleportation, and that the two of them may not be alone here. In Twelve's garden. Twelve. Were this any other time in his life than just moments ago, the realization would have him all teeth and claws and bloodlust like a starving beast. But now?

Maybe it's the garden's similarities to the monastery, where he screamed and wailed and detoxed for years, where he built himself into something good, but he's oddly calm. At least until he registers that Luka, the bound servant of that murdering bastard, is moving towards him, is showing concern, and suddenly his hands are balled into fists, claws digging back into open wounds.

"N-No!" The demand is dire, as much barked order as panicked begging as the towering, proud Monkey Knight reflexively scrambled a few feet backwards like a scared, wounded animal. But... he meant to shout to stay away. Garrot's thoughts are racing, and were it not for the years of zen conditioning coming into play like muscle memory, the crushing weight of his entire world falling apart would have spurred him to violence. Instead, his racing mind brings his widening eyes to his hands as they open and tremble. He sees the tears fall from his face, salt and iron mixing in his palms. He tries to take a deep breath, and his nose is... congested? He closes his eyes for the briefest of moments. The monastery was the only place he felt attuned to his spirit, so he's able to center himself with an uneven, shuddering sigh, and-

"I..." Garrot's eyes open as one hand moves behind him, reaching to dislodge his first-aid kit from his belt. "I'm having a mental breakdown. Give me space." The adrenaline will wear off and his emotions will catch up to him if he doesn't hurry.