Six months ago, the entire Essempii Baseball team had crash-landed in the deserted wilderness from their plane to Nationals.

Your gaze shot back to your boots as footsteps crunched in the melting snow, back against the meat shack. If this meeting weren't important, you would've much rather ignored the piercing sound of his cough.

"This is the last of it." Quackity's hand outstretched, but when you wouldn't take it, a scoff left his lips. Cold fingertips suddenly gripped your wrist, and a leather sack was slapped into your palm. "I don't care what issues you have, I'm not having another person starve. You're fucking welcome."