Phil's been through hell these last years: from dying, betrayals, resurrection, losing friends… but none of that had shown on the outside until now, until his arm.

He sighed, flexing the fingers of his new prosthetic, wondering how long it would be before he learned to live with new scar.

Losing part of his arm was nothing in comparison to the loss of another one of his subordinates, however. Phantom pains: his doctor had called the sensation of an itch where a finger once was, but his worst ache was in that gaping hole where Trip had once stood.