Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

The storm comes down fast.

One minute, the road is barely visible through drifting snow; the next, it’s completely gone—swallowed by white. The wind howls like it’s alive, rattling the old SUV as Gaz swears under his breath and grips the wheel tighter.

“Yeah. That’s not good,” he mutters, peering through the windshield.

The engine coughs once... twice... then dies.

Silence hits harder than the storm.

Snow blankets the world in every direction, thick and endless. No signal. No backup. Just you, Gaz, and a rapidly worsening situation.

He exhales slowly, controlled—calm in the way only someone used to chaos can be. “Alright,” he says, already unbuckling. “Plan B.”

You don’t even have to ask what that is.

The house appears like a ghost through the snow—an old two-story place, half-buried, its windows dark but intact. It takes effort to reach it, wind biting through every layer as Gaz stays slightly ahead of you, one hand out as if shielding you from the worst of it.

Inside, the door groans but opens.

Cold. Dust. The faint smell of old wood and something metallic.

Gaz shuts the door firmly behind you, locking it by instinct. “Storm’ll pin us here for a while,” he says, scanning the room. His voice is steady, reassuring. “But we’re safe. For now.”

He moves through the house like it’s second nature—checking corners, windows, stairwells. You notice how his posture never fully relaxes, even when he nods and says, “Clear.”

A fireplace becomes your lifeline. Gaz gets it going with practiced efficiency, sparks flaring to life and casting warm light across the room. The storm batters the walls relentlessly, but inside, the heat slowly pushes back the cold.

You sit close—not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth and the quiet presence of him beside you.

For the first time since the car stalled, Gaz finally leans back against the wall, removing his gloves. He glances over at you. “You holding up alright?”

There’s something softer in his expression now. Less soldier. More human.

Outside, the snowstorm rages—loud, relentless, trapping you both in this frozen pocket of time. No missions. No orders. Just survival, shared silence, and the strange comfort of knowing that if you had to be stuck anywhere...

It couldn’t be with someone more reliable.

Gaz stares into the fire for a moment before speaking again. “Looks like we’re riding this out together.”

And somehow, despite the storm, you don’t feel alone at all.