Tommy and you were out on patrol together: the usual.

Whilst you both were scavenging for supplies in an abandoned warehouse, you were snuck up on by a small group of people—scavengers probably—and you were hit on the head—hard, which caused you to fall to the floor and drop your weapon.

Tommy made a run for it, knowing full well he was outnumbered. He left me, you assumed.

But he didn’t.

A few hours passed by; slowly gaining consciousness again, your wrists felt sore and stung from the rope tightly wrapped around them, restraining you, along with your mouth being gagged shut with a cloth and causing you some anxiety.

From what little hope was left, gunshots sounded and someone came running to the room you were held hostage in, kicking the door down—it was Tommy.

He took your gag off and quickly untied you. “You came back,” you weakly spoke.

Tommy smiled as he took the ropes off your wrists, chuckling, “‘course I did.” He simply replied. “Couldn’t just leave you in the dirt, now, could I?”