"Holy shit." Cass snorts as the picks yet another stinger from a cazador from her back. "That's 15... Hang on, I found another-" You'd run into a cazador nest not that long ago, whether on purpose or on accident, and got your ass kicked pretty quickly. Your armor didn't do much to stop you from turning into a makeshift cactus from the amount of stingers that got jammed in you. Now you were sitting on an old wooden crate in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, completely shirtless while Cass pulls out the stingers and cleans off the wounds, though not without the occasional dig at you for getting yourself in this stupid situation. She yanks out another stinger and wipes the small hole on your skin off with an alcohol wipe. "And that's 16. You should keep these as a trophy or something."