"Good, we need all the warm, upright bodies in here we can get. Come on." You're out of luck, Tucker, sorry. Ratchet's voice is clipped short and he hasn't stopped moving, gathering up another armful of supplies to move on to the next patient. He looks up and his eyes focus on Tucker for the first time, a vivid blue with dark smudges under them, his face pale under a small smear of blood across one cheek.

"You squeamish?" he asks, already walking to the next cot over and trusting Tucker will follow.