"Glad someone thinks so," says John, and he approaches at the awkward limp of a man with a not-quite-healed bad foot. He puts a hand to the wall to steady himself, then makes a low irritated noise when the metal sears at him, and shakes out the new burn like he's offended it's getting in his way. The wasp-monster, in a shiver of Omen smoke, falls back to hang by his side.

"I've got him," he says to the bug. She watches impassively.

To Oscar, he says: "Holding up alright?"