[ Matt feels the tiredness; the numb nothing; the lack. And his heart cracks a little for it. He slowly comes into "view," appearing within the mind's eye like an image emerging from a photographer's bath: twiggy guy, messy hair, wearing the t-shirt and jeans that were destroyed (presumably) when everything else was. ]

I want to support people too. Who can do the things I can't. [ A faint smile, as he aims for a lighter tone. ] For example, before Springstar, I had literally never been in a fight in my life. It turns out I'm not totally hopeless, but ... there's significant room for improvement.

[ There's a sense of searing pain, of guilt and self-recrimination. The flicker of flames. Contextually, it would make sense to think the memories are from the attack on Springstar, even though they aren't. ]