The process of carrying Asadi out from the cab and into the apartment is painful for every inch of it, but it is a discomfort Rush disregards in full. His jaw sets on a harsh edge as he levers Asadi onto the bed without somewhat less care than is intentional; the throbbing to his ribs increases the difficulty of the endeavor significantly.

A swift assessment of her pulse, present if faint, assures him that she is alive if presently not conscious. He begins running hands over the nonresponsive husk that is what remains of her prosthetic, the full power of his attention devoted to the open panel and the frayed chaos of burnt and torn-out circuitry buried within. He presses one hand to the side of his head to ward off the impending headache, the other extricating the first of many wires from within. Some have melted against their fellows from the heat, and it has made their subsequent disentangling maddeningly difficult.

The arm is cold. The lack of heat and life and motion is one he finds intensely unsettling.

Rush does not look up from his work as he continues to evaluate the unfortunate state of her arm, eyes troubled and intent. He mutters the question distractedly without lifting his gaze. "Do you have materials to fashion a sling, possibly?"