Jorge doesn't move, the snow collecting more and more on top of him, blasted stuff...

He eyes the hand from under his visor. Yep, four fingers meant alien...

Jorge reaches his own hand out to shake the other's, hesitant. His grip is strong, but Jorge shows some restraint in not inadvertantly crushing the other's hand.

"I guess that's something to be thankful for. Means you won't shoot me from behind."