Omega picks a large piece of debris out and stops. "I can't fix this," he snarls, looking up at Oquirrh. "Hospital is no longer optional. You have a torn Maxwell ligament, I don't have the supplies to fix it." New plan. There needs to be a new plan.

"We're going to get you stable. And then we're going to take you to an orthopedist so they can fix this titanium ligament of yours. That is, if you want to use your shoulder again." It's not going to get worse anytime soon. That's the nice thing about metal implants. They can sit broken for plenty of time.

He doesn't look up from his work, but he says to Louisiana, "When I asked what was going on, if there was anything I needed to know? The correct answer was some form of warning she has these."