[ Sharkface considers it for a single, brutal moment. It wouldn't be like cutting a bullet out. He doesn't have the medical training to pull it off, or at least not by himself. But the feel of this thing in him is all itching pressure, a weight curled up tight inside. He wants it out.

Don't act insane. Don't do that in front of people.

He takes a breath. Lets it out. Forces his hands to unclench. He wants to hit something, someone. Break the tension and turn the moment simple. Violence would do the trick.

It won't help. He can't do that around these people or they'll turn on him and he can't afford that. Not when there's so much he still needs to do. ]

I don't know. [ He says it as evenly as he can. The guy hasn't left yet. Stuck around for some fucking reason. But the anger in his eyes is - real, in a way that Sharkface can understand, and his shoulders relax marginally. Anger's easy. And so's the desire to take a knife and just start hacking until whatever was done to them bleeds right out. ] If I had my gear, I could run a scan.

[ Get some real information. Sharkface twitches hard, and rocks back on his heels. ]

Pins and needles, but---

[ He grimaces. ]

Hollow, somehow. Felt like losing a lot of blood except it didn't hurt.

[ He doesn't know why he's saying this to a stranger. He doesn't know why he hasn't bolted. ]