Waking up in a half-collapsed warehouse wasn't exactly how I pictured my life going, but here we were. My leg was still a wreck, my side felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, and Mason looked like he'd slept on a cloud.
Fun.
"You look like bloody hell," he said, rolling his shoulders like we weren't in a world currently overrun by murder machines.
"Yeah, well," I grumbled, dragging myself up, "I've had better days."
Mason didn't respond, just grabbed his axe and slung his bag over his shoulder. The guy was a machine. Not a real one, obviously, but he had that same relentless, unstoppable energy. Meanwhile, I was limping after him, barely holding it together.