Here he was again. Helpless. Freezing. Bleeding out. The gunshot didn't hit anywhere vital, he doesn't think, but that doesn't mean he won't die.

Ghost groans as he leans back on a tree, his breaths leaving him in shirt, quick huffs. His hand desperately trying to keep pressure. The snow continues to flutter down, cold seeping through his gear.

Then he hears someone. He can't see, due to the thick darkness. And then you walk up, and he can't help but grimace. "I don't need help." He grunts.