[Probably this guy shouldn't be doing search and rescue. He has little to offer physically, and, in fact, is slightly a hazard to himself, trying to navigate the rubble and largely unable to handle the very strong, very driven working dogs. Still, he seems stubbornly committed to playing some kind of part in this operation, even if it’s just spot-repairing tools and equipment or calibrating the communication devices meant to call in the “professionals”.

He's fiddling with one now, in between supply distribution and (inadvisable) ventures out into the disaster zone. Viktor has set up an area for himself, which is already strewn with wrenches and screwdrivers and various parts that he’s torn out of sub-par equipment. He barely looks up if and when he’s approached.]

Is it malfunctioning?

[Viktor does not even wait to find out what is or is not malfunctioning. He holds out his hand for it anyway

[Viktor, it turns out, is not cut out for this kind of thing. Even keeping to the logistical side—organizing transport, making repairs, distributing supplies—is draining. The sheer exertion of long hours and the emotionally draining situation, and the state of the environment (read: smoldering) means that he reaches his limit fairly quickly. For someone so intensely private as Viktor, any moments of vulnerability are unacceptable, but in a situation like this, he ends up not having a choice, running up against his own limitations at the worst possible moment.

The smog, the rubble, the sheer hopelessness of it all reduces him to inaction. He has to find somewhere to sit, and it’s not long after that he produces a handkerchief, coughing into it, a rough, wet sound that shakes his slight frame. When he pulls the cloth away from his mouth, it’s spotted a vibrant red, though he can’t seem to bring himself to care, instead simply letting his forehead drop into his waiting hand.]