Jack was barely alive.
Fang kept checking up on him every five seconds, hoping against hope that he wouldn't suddenly kick the bucket. He was a lot more mangled and disfigured than Fang was, after all. His right leg and arm were twisted at ugly angles, and his chest looked as though it had been blasted in by a bowling ball. His skin was throbbing with intersecting blood vessels that had been puppeteered gruesomely by Ess through Bloodwork, giving it alternating shades of green and red.
What could be seen of Jack's eyes was concerning. Fang hoped they could meet his for even a second. He would feel the slightest bit reassured. But unfortunately…
Fang wasn't doing so well himself. He was barely able to keep the steering wheel in his grip. Three of the fingers on his right hand were facing the wrong way and his entire left arm was a pretzel. He used that pretzel to shift the gear lever as needed though – albeit with a horrible grunt each time.
