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Technically, you've pooled loot/funds (way earlier session) and saved each others lives once, but I see your point.
The day isn't getting any younger, but you figure a couple of minutes of contemplation couldn't hurt. After all, having nearly lost a teammate to the Zone gives one a certain perspective on how even mundane choices deserve attention.
To give you time to think, you dig out the bulky military ballistic vest you filched off of the LMG-toting bandit and toss it to Twitch, "put this on," you advise, "not that the last one did you much good, but no point tempting fate."
Twitch seems to agree, commenting, "it doesn't fit very well."
"Well, Twitch, you are ridiculously short," Damsel says laconically, "think of it this way: it covers more of you."
"There are people in the Zone that can resize things like that," Bird adds.
"Better than being shot," Twitch gives you a crooked smile.
You decide to press on. The house looms off to your left, forbidding even by the standards of the Zone. You can't really place your finger on it. You exchange a glance with Bird and he nods once, "feels off, doesn't it? Could be anomalies or a mutant den."
Your scanner doesn't show any anomalies and you're not willing to look for mutants, so you press on; the sun sinks below the edge of the earth and the twisted trees of the Zone seem to huddle in close, as if they too feared the night. The goggles dispel the gloom but not the tension.
Ahead, a man in a SEVA suit is ambling up the road gamely enough, his headlamp on. You can't tell if he sees you or not, but his body language communicates no particular fear.