"Anything can kill them, aye." He takes a few pills, then settles back against the wall. "But it'd be... unwise for anyone else to try. To say the least."

A quick mental inventory reveals the following: Fletch has a chipped molar, some skin missing on the left side of his abdomen from that bullet, scratches along his arms and one on the back of his neck, leading into his hair, and bruises... possibly all over. His hands are still shaking.

Nothing feels broken, though. Or punctured, aside from the fabric of his suit.

"Why?"