His torso's bare and battered-up, and it's up to you to fix it.

This wasn't the first time you'd been in this position, seated between Jason's legs as you stitch him up; it's beginning to feel like clockwork now.

"There was a cat in the middle of the road," he'd explained for his reason to have run in the way of gunfire. The thought was sweet — but now he had shrapnel embedded in his flesh.