[Jack had just assumed that what had happened a month ago was some sort of shift, honestly, with how widespread it had been. That it had been Billy - Billy, of all people! - comes as a surprise. Because sure, Jack had been sort of suspicious that most New Yorkers in Luceti were actually superheroes, and Billy had done a few things here and there to lift Jack's eyebrow in his general direction. But at the same time, he's the Billy who let Jack rip the better part of his music collection. He's the Billy who nearly pissed himself over a Slenderman video game. Hearing that tone in his voice . . . magic or no magic, it leaves Jack feeling a little sick to his stomach, both with the immediacy of the situation and the detached, distant familiarity of it.]

Hey, Billy. I- yeah, the thing didn't hit me, so it's not my place to forgive. But . . . well, I've seen friendly fire, I guess. And it's absolutely awful, you're right. But it's human too. Pretty common, even.

[He pauses, just a moment, put so soundly back into the world he'd left behind it's a little disorienting. But this had happened all the time, back at the beginning. Sometimes he wonders how many of the early deaths were really zoms, and how many were living men against one another.

He huffs a little noise that might have been a laugh, if there was so much as a smile in it.]

. . . now I feel like a right tit making you fetch us dinner.