His eyes narrow at time is a bit unreliable and stay that way, but it's confusion, at least, and not hostility. Not more hostility.

"No," he says.

He's made assumptions, ranging from mostly to entirely incorrect: that he's in an underground bunker (again), that someone's conducting experiments (again), that he must have missed his dose or—something. Something must have gone wrong. He can't remember.

He looks at his wrist, where his tattoo is barely peeking out of his loose cuff.

"Was there another Rising?"