"Bloody fucking Christ on a stick, who died and made me the motherfucking beastmaster?" Zach muttered, taking a step back. The bandages crudely twisted around his arm were starting to unravel and he clenched them with broad fingers, trying to keep the blood from falling on the floor. He stank of death - death and blood and fire. Still keeping his voice low, Zach murmured, "You... probably should go... outside."