"You're pretty good at putting up a fight when you want to," Carl says, eyes falling to Jack's chest. "And in the case where you had no choice because something was...forcing you to fight, then I can't even imagine..."

A hint of the anger simmering inside him creeps into his voice, but it's not directed at Jack in the slightest. No, it's directed at whatever the fuck decided it was acceptable to start driving people around like goddamn skin-cars.



"How bad are you hurt?"