Eh. They're fine. Nasty clothes aside, they haven't felt better in days. Not hungry, not smarting from half-healed wounds, not even tired. Death is apparently a nice hard-reset, without requiring cryofreeze. "I was going to go get new clothes," the Soldier points out, but there's a half-smile on their face, anyway. They see right through you most of the time, pal. "But then you were here. Aren't you supposed to be inside. Where it's safer."