“That doesn’t look like a scratch.”

“I-I…” Well, that hadn’t exactly been what Carlos meant to say when Hancock asked what happened to his face. Someone, a large ghoul who claimed to be Hancock’s ‘favorite’, had jumped him on his way back from the warehouse. It took Neighborhood Watch to scare them off, and by then Carlos had already been shoved into a stack of crates and, apparently, onto some broken glass that was making him drip all over his favorite flannel.

“It’s… What I meant was that… it’s not a big deal,” Carlos murmured, trying not to be obviously avoiding Hancock’s gaze. “But, uh… I-I should get this cleaned up so… er, y’know… in case of infection.”