Jack is no longer crouched next to the bathysphere. While Sinclair's been out scavenging, he's moved sideways across the room and now he's rummaging around in a trashcan with his left hand. His freshly-bloody right sleeves are rolled up to the shoulder, and the arm on that side looks like it's been mauled by a lightning bolt.

Occupational hazard of hacking machinery.

He's keeping a watchful eye on the entrance, of course. When Sinclair appears there with his gift box, Jack straightens up and makes a beeline for him. His face is tight, but he's not afraid. He's shrugged off worse than this a hundred times before.

(The turrets jostle around in the background, but still remember that Sinclair's a friend. Amazing the intelligence you can coax out of copper and steam.)