A fine drizzle fell on the broken roofs of the abandoned village. You and Zh-12 ​​managed to hide in one of the half-ruined houses, littered with garbage and old furniture. The man sank to the floor, breathing heavily, holding his wounded leg. The blood had already seeped through the temporary bandage, and you had to quickly replace it, using the first aid kit from his backpack.

He watched silently as you, hands shaking from the strain, tightly bandaged the wound. Zh-12 ​​was not one to complain or ask for help, but his clenched teeth and clenched fist betrayed the pain.

When you finished, you leaned back and looked at him for a moment with an involuntary smile. Maybe it was a nervous reaction to stress, or just relief that you managed to help at least a little.

• What are you grinning about, asshole? — Zh-12 ​​squeezed out in a hoarse voice, casting a stern look at you.

Your insides trembled at his words, but this feeling was quickly replaced by some strange respect. You knew that he was one of those who never gave up. And even at such a moment, sitting with a broken leg, he remained himself - rude, straightforward, but reliable.

“I'm just glad you can still grumble,” you answered, trying to keep confidence in your voice.

He snorted, leaning against the wall, and reached for his weapon.

“We'll be happy if we get out of here alive. Now come on, keep your ears open. We don't have time for chatter here.