Yes, but the man is seemingly alright.

Dago moved through the crowd, trying to get to the man so he could help. It wasn’t easy, but he finally crouched down next to the white-haired man and started to inspect his wounds without touching him. He took the first-aid route and tapped his shoulder heavily.

“Are you alright?” he called.

Instead of an answer, he got a strong hand to the throat. Dago didn’t immediately panic, but he figured the guy was alright enough. He wasn’t pressing down or anything, he just looked as though he were trying to be intimidating.

“Blow me outta here, boob, before I kick off,” the man growled.

Dago gave the man a strange look. He had no idea what the hell he said, but it sounded vaguely erotic.

“You a doc, yeah?” the man said, sounding weaker by the second.

Dago nodded, figuring it was best for him to keep quiet, if he thought he was going to be a tough guy.

“Gimme a name of a joint,” the man asked, taking his hand off of Dago’s throat, “Your joint.”

Dago gave him the address of the house he had in Cuautilan. That was the safest place Dago could think of. Things were starting to sound funny and Dago had a hunch why. The man shut his eyes and Dago saw what looked like the inside of a portal around them. He had to catch himself from falling over when they hit the wood floor of his house. Thankfully, the time zone was behind that of New York, which meant it was pitch black when they got there.

Dago immediately sprung into action and picked the man up. He put him down on the closest flat surface, the couch, and sped off to find some clean bandages or sheets or something. He found a closetful of them and began tearing them to shreds. The quickly patched up the man as best he could, after peeling off his suit coat and button-down shirt. He seemed to be getting less injured looking as the time went by, which said something strange to Dago.