Gritch, it's been several hours. You've been wondering whether you can trust Hale, trust him to get back the pain wave grenade. The infirmary has been quiet. Rice occasionally stirs from his cot, moaning and crying sometimes. But, he's in and out of it, knocked up on drugs probably. Some men brought a couple gunfire victims down into the bunker several minutes after Hale left. One of 'em, you knew him as Bingo, he's dead. The other, Saddle, his foot got fucking blown off. Crutch came out when they came down. Apparently, he was in one of the back rooms, sleeping.
From here, you can see Crutch has packed up some of his shit, like he's going on vacation or something. He does his best to stabilize Saddle, but then he takes his shit and lugs it out of the bunker, loads it up onto a horse and for all you know, rides off into oblivion (that's not where he went of course).
Saddle is not out. He's conscious, cussing and grinding his teeth, as Hale finally comes back a couple hours later.
The loud creaking of the double doors jars you from your thoughts. Each time they opened up, you were hoping to see Hale, yeah? Well, this time it is him. He lumbers down the stairs, bulky and awkward, and marches across the bunker toward you.
He goes straight over to a counter near you and produces something from his pocket. He sets it on the counter, but doesn't remove his hand from it. His hand... It's covered in cuts, flesh folded back from the deep cuts on his knuckles, blood and sweat.
He looks right at you, dead in the eye.
"Let's do business, Gritchy."
You feel Saddle's gaze from behind you.
What do you do?