The sensation of being dragged across a rough terrain of soaked rubble and rocks was enough to yank you out of a slumber. The wooden board beneath creaks and groans under your weight, adding to the chaotic symphony of sounds as it skids and catches on debris.

It was at that moment that memories came flooding back. Your escape, the pursuit. The Bandito's. You spotted them, their eyes fixed on you from the hilltops as you ran from Nico. They silently gifted their encouragement, casting down handfuls of bright yellow flower petals.

Your eyelids flitted open, and the bright sunlight poured in, momentarily overwhelming your vision until your eyes adjusted. All you could feel was a sense of weakness. Limbs heavy and aching from previous exertion, a sharp sting across your left cheek, and a dull throb started to pulse at your temples.

Somewhere along the way, sight started to tunnel, creating an evident vignette, leading you to involuntarily slip out of consciousness yet again, the rumble of gravel slowly becoming less audible.

However, in an almost cyclic fashion, you'd been jolted awake yet again. This time around, it was caused by a sudden ice-cold pressure against your cheek. It was dark outside now. The sky now covered in a sheet of black, and the occasional dotted white of stars.

Your surroundings appeared different now; a faint crackle of a nearby campfire, incoherent conversations from afar, fabric tents set up along the dense dirt floor. Some sort of campsite.

Though weak, curiosity had gotten the best of you, feeling a pull to get up and explore this new place. But your intentions were quickly interrupted by a sudden hand on the shoulder as you tried to sit up.

"Woah- hey. Slow down a second. Please. I'm trying to treat that nasty gash on your cheek."

Turning your head to the source, you're met with a man knelt beside you. His face mostly concealed—the nose and mouth being cloaked by a yellow neck gaiter, and the hood of his hoodie pulled over his head—leaving just the eyes in view.