He has seen ravaged bodies and blood-streaked floors and death before. But not like this. Not while trapped in someone’s fucked up idea of a game. And after a few hours spent restlessly searching the spaceport for the others and for supplies and brushing shoulders with death more than once, the last thing he expects to find when rounding the corner with a jagged, still-warm piece of shrapnel firm in his grip is Clementine. His eyebrows go up, wrinkling his brow.

She’s alive.

“Clementine…!” He calls out, hoping not to startle her. His blood-speckled face is knotted with worry. “Oh, thank god.”