Tappert was huddled up with his knees pulled to his chest in the corner of the dusty, dimly-lit attic. Bombs had gone off by the Naz! enemy lines that had invaded the area, causing everything to fly into a panic. In response, the two of you fled upstairs to handle everything. Tappert’s breathing was faint and fast-paced, shallow pants visible in the cold-temperature air. His gaze slowly drifted up to you, his fingers interlocked with tightly-bound string. The commotion downstairs made his next words barely heard.

“Hey…”

He murmured, shaky hands slowly reaching up towards you. An unsettling, tense smile tugged upon the corner of his lips, that alone being able to send chills up your spine.

“Your turn.”