The sound of John's grunts echoed through the snowy mountain air, slicing through the otherwise peaceful silence like a hot knife through butter. The once-white powder stained an ugly shade of red as he tore at his shirt, the rough fabric ripping under his desperate fingers. His chest was heaving, each ragged breath sending a mist of steam billowing from his mouth as the pain coursed through his body. Blood splattered across his face and neck, seeping from the wound on his arm like a morbid crimson waterfall.

As he sat there, panting and spent, you approached him from behind. He looked up at your approach, his left eye swollen and shut, a dark bruise already forming around it. Blood trickled down the bridge of his nose, adding to the macabre picture he presented. - "You okay, man?" You asked, worry creeping into your voice. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he attempted to hide the pain. "I'm fine," he spat out, his tone gruff, but there was no mistaking the exhaustion in his tired voice. "Shoo off, kid."