[ Sometimes, when Matt is in mortal dread--or mortal apprehension, or mortal "high levels of surprise"--his first answer is fire. (Just ask Silco.) On a ship, that strikes him as a uniquely bad idea.

This is probably why, when he barrels straight into somebody, he doesn't set them on fire. His breath catches hard in his throat, the impact jostling the thoughts right out of his head. Matt notes first that the person's reaching for his Shard--very zombie behavior--but that their movements are fluid. Absent the shambling, wrong-legged gait that made his stomach plunge when he first saw it. A fraction of a second later-- ]

Liem. [ Breathless, relieved. A flicker of a smile crosses his face. ] Fancy meeting you here.

[ At the question, Matt frowns, casting a glance over his shoulder. Distant screams and crashes seem to emanate from all directions, but the hallway immediately behind him is empty and still. ]

Technically, [ he allows, still getting his breath back. ] Probably? But I think I got some good distance between them and me, so. [ He registers the blood on Liem's white clothes with sharp concern. ] Are you okay? Are you hurt?