Jack's fire goes out after a few endless seconds, but ow. Ow. Ow. Life is pain. His body feels like pork looks when it roasts. But he's still turning around, blinded by pain, and lifting his hand--

--as the splicer starts to scream. Not a scream of triumph. A scream of pain. And he realises she's dying.

And then the person in front of him is Sinclair.

He stares. His eyes are watering, cutting through the smoke that's blackened his face.

Sinclair totally killed that houdini, didn't he?

...Actually, he'll worry about being impressed and grateful when he is not slowly dying.

Jack lowers his hand, slowly. It takes a bit of concentration and motor control. The fire has eaten through his skin but not cauterised, leaving bloody patches, angry red blisters. And burns hurt, it's like being stabbed on every inch of his body, over and over.

"C'n walk."

So ignore the slurring.

"H'lp me look?"