[Murphy's head is throbbing. It's not like a headache, or the pain of an impact to the skull. It's more like bloodloss, dizziness, disorienting drag at the edges of his senses. Whatever the hell Anders is doing, Murphy wants to get far away from it, feels like his slim concept of mental barriers are going to wear through at any second.

Bellamy's are already gone. Lexa's might be too, but Murphy isn't familiar with the wash of guilt from her, doesn't want to spend any time focussing on the flood to try and discern between the two of them. The last time he'd paid attention to what was coming off Bellamy, they'd gotten stuck, reflecting and echoing back at each other like a loop with no end and no beginning. He isn't letting that happen again.

Maybe it's lucky, then, that the blood on Bellamy's face draws a different image to mind. Clarke, pale and seizing, black blood dribbling from her nose, foam at her mouth. He could even think of the robot gathering going on as a stand in for ALIE, if he wanted.]

Good to know you're still missing any self-preservation skills.

[Definitely directed at Bellamy, but he glances at Lexa, too. They'd both been idiots, as far as he's concerned.]

We should get out of here, before he cooks what's left of your brain.

[And get that wrist seen to, because the dull not-his pain rolling up his arm is one more touch of weird he doesn't want to deal with right now.]