ghost

It's your second day in the crypt. The radio's dead, supplies are running low. You wrap yourself in a thermal blanket while Ghost—motionless and eerily calm in his tactical vest—watches the blizzard.

"You need to sleep," his voice is even, despite the icy cold. "The snow won't let up until morning."

You try to adjust the bloody bandage on your thigh. The smell of blood instantly fills the bunker. Simon reacts immediately, coming up to you and holding you still while he examines the wound.

“The bleeding hasn’t stopped,” his voice is calm, but somewhere inside you can feel his anxiety. “Either stitch it right here, or I’ll treat it again now and hope the wound doesn’t open up.”