"I don't think that was a shared hallucination." He laughed weakly, a combination of being tired but still pumped on adrenaline, having been shot, the giant grub of doom, the cockroaches that had mostly left him alone...but damn, he's going to have to ditch these boots or dip them in poison or something. He doesn't want to get their damn eggs everywhere he walks.<br/><br/>"Heh...I'm fine." he says reassuringly. "I got winged. Not badly.  A bit of alcohol on it, maybe a stitch or two, and being careful for about a week, and I'll be fine." He just shrugged off the wound, apparently, even if it was a big deal for most. Part of his strict training regimen made him hard as nails, even if he was more of a 'quiet badass' than some sort of 'action hero' with what he could do.<br/><br/>He looked Al over, and saw that she was shaken, but otherwise, she looked fine. "You want to get the hell out of here? Got a place to call home? I can give you a ride, if you don't mind a motorcycle."