( It feels like a million years ago when monsters ran through the streets of New Amsterdam. Nathan — not Nate, but the older guy who sat beside him during one of his lower, drunker moments at the beginning — had been with him when it hit. They'd watched an arm fall from the sky back then too, and a similar cold feeling runs through him now. It's like part of him steps back, goes quiet, concedes to being shoved to the back of his mind by a coping mechanism that clearly lifts weights in its spare time. Strong as fuck.

Which is to say, he goes a little detached as he squats down for a better look. )

Burns are way more severe near the severed end. They're heading toward the wrist, but the way this thing is propped up, the rain's running toward the elbow.

( A beat. )

Then again, I didn't go to medical school and we're on an alien fucking planet, so what do I know?

( He stands up again, arm dismissed in favor of what's clearly an entrance. )

I can move the walls out a little so we're not getting cramped, but... I don't know. It's... a really bad idea to be in close quarters with something caustic enough to burn off a limb, but it's probably not up to code. Mess around too much and the ceiling might collapse.