The frothy red shape resolved into a woman, her face obscured by a mask. Henry had seen the like only twice: at themed parties where outfits and music and entertainment were all appropriately coordinated. The mask made sense. The outfit wasn't entirely accurate for the time period.
That he stopped to consider the discordant details was likely proof that he wasn't dead yet. Hard to say how long that would last.
It took him a couple of attempts to summon enough breathe to answer. "Jacks," he panted. "Ep... epsilons." He wanted to shout that she should alert Mond. Why wasn't Indra sending help? You know why, a voice whispered at the back of his mind.
This wasn't New London. It couldn't be.
Henry swallowed. "S-sickle." And other gardening tools, but he didn't have the energy to list them all, not even for the sake of completionism. He moved his hand so the stranger could see what he was referring to; immediately more blood gushed through his fingers.