Jack puts his hands to the sides of his head, wincing his eyes shut. He doesn't want the blood on him. He doesn't want the blood on him.
The staining starts to fade, slowly at first, like being soaked underneath his skin instead, the rest fades as if it was never there.
He looks up at Marcia. "She... she died because I.. I wasn't fast enough, or I should have stopped the shooters sooner, or... or.." His lip trembles.
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