If he were more in his head, he might notice the coming of another enemy. He might've known better than to be so stupid as to look up instead of simply moving out of range and finding other vantage point. He's got all the training and experience what could be needed to know these things.

But if he were more in his head things would be all sorts different anyway.

The first shot tears into his shoulder, knocking him back. Another shot to the leg-- always that mother fucking leg-- causing him to stumble, teeth grit. Albert is dropped, left well alone. The final shot tears along his paint, undoing his work there both grey and teal. It catches on the edge between his ear and that bit of fin, a rocket what catches his mind up in ringing.

His eyes lift, that ruby glow catching onto Jet. His jaws open like if he could just make the noise to roar, he'd be deafening the lot of them. He reaches blindly for that dropped weapon and drags himself up, growls rolling off his breath.

He forgets about Albert entirely.