Oh thank God- [ Bella gasps, once the immediate threat has passed and Horse informs her that there are in fact a fair few friendly ships left even if the REAPER forces are thick both in the air and on the ground- even though that thing that bored down from above is still operational ] -I can do fuckall down here. I need a proper ZDG craft, with an interface.

[ Said luggage remains closely guarded, and it is with visible reluctance that Bella sets it down - nestling the box securely between her ankles - so that she can facilitate the impromptu medical examination. For the most part she's bruised and scratched on neck and shoulders. She rolls up her bloodied sleeve, revealing some of her plugs along with some long scratches that have all but entirely clotted. There is a deeper wound in her leg, some inches shy of any arteries, but easily the worst thing she's sporting. ] I think there's some shrapnel in there-[ she comments with a strategic lack of affect ] -nothing too big, though.

[ In summation: crippled, N - dying, N. She probably should get that leg looked at, but it's evidently useable for the time being. Much of her present mobility, along with her pain endurance, is probably due to the adrenaline searing through her veins. Despite the clipped pragmatism of her words, there is a tremor constantly threatening to climb up her throat. She's scared shitless, clearly- more in need of a stiff drink than a splint. ]