She knows the look of someone who's prepared to throw down. She saw it plenty of times in Zack and before that in countless others. She can't afford a fight right now, not when she's without the resources to fight back.

She'd rather not chance a more permanent death.

Cathy nods. "I was nearly cut in half by a raging monster of a man with a scythe. Before that I had my arm sliced off," and it's here that she picks up the limb on the floor, "and before that I was shot by a twelve-year-old."

Thirteen-year-old, but still.

"My name's Cathy. Cathy Ward. The last thing I remember is feeling cold. I could barely move. And your name, fine gentleman?"