Respiration
Jack: Feather, are you OK? Because I'm definitely not. I feel as if Matt took my brain apart, replaced all meanders his own way and put it back. If not for the good Samaritan with a note, I don't know if we could handle it.
Task: Go through the living room.
Timer beeps nasty. Jack runs to a chair in the center of the room, insert the key into the lock on the mechanism and cranks it counterclockwise. Click. The hoop now is not held together. Jack throws his away with trembling hands.
Jim's face is bluish-purple. The ropes are cut off and the body no longer restrained by the fetters would fell to the floor, if Jack had not caught him at the last moment.
Matt: Jack, what are you staring at him? Bring a mirror to his mouth. If the glass sweats, then he's alive. It’s the most effective way. if he isn't we'll need to arrange a cemetery at home.
Jack turns a deaf ear to the barbs, his attention fully focused on Jim.
Jack: Feather, pass the test while I'm saving my brother. I'm going to repeat what we've rehearsed a few minutes ago. You see, Matt, you can be useful too. And leave the mirror to yourself, you can admire your terrible terrible face.
Jim opens his eyes and coughs. Jack, tired and sweaty, sitting next to him.
Jim: Hypoxia. Cardiac arrest due to oxygen deficiency. There are no irreversible pathological changes, the brain cells... Are not injured. I hope so.
Jack smooths Jim's disheveled hair.
Jack: Shut up, red-eyed. Just breathe.
You completed the task and received some points of freedom and some tokens
Matt: Jack, this was a game for three, but you continued to hog the blanket. Even - oh, miracle! - analyzed the situation. Has Bill bitten you? Or you're not satisfied with a recurring role and you want to join the protagonists? If you crave individual performance, I'll arrange it.
