Ghost's footsteps echo through the abandoned warehouse he's in. It's silent as he grips his gun, no sound present except for the gnarling growl of a zombie and panicked gasps.

Wait.. what?

✮⋆˙~~

He runs into a corner, noticing the soft squeaking of someone's shoes. He grabs his flashlight, turning it on as his heart drops at the sight of someone being attacked by a zombie. The person looks at him with a pained expression clearly visible on their face. Their face tightens in pain and the grisly torture they're being put through, and he knows he needs to put an end to it.

He brings his gun up, evidently dropping the flashlight as he thoughtlessly squeezes the trigger in the direction of the bloodthirsty zombie attacking the person. The pale white light coming from the flashlight seems to put a spotlight on the sticky, fresh blood on the walls.

He looks at the dead zombie, and back to the person. He has to help them. No, he must help them. His hand reaches out and meets theirs, helping them stand up, but a sharp wince fills the warehouse. He didn't even think about their leg. Crap. He finally speaks, looking at the person as the flashlight on the floor flickers and eventually dies.

"Are you okay...?"

He looks at them, a thoughtful expression evident on his face. He squints his eyes, a flicker of light seeping through the dilapidated warehouse and hitting their face. They nod, but fail to fully understand the situation, as the shock fully hasn't faded from their mind yet.

He helps them stumble to his base, noticing that their eyes are carrying a soft milky haze to them. They couldn't be.. infected? They haven't bit him yet, though.. and they doesn't seem to want to, eitherway..

Could they be that one percent? The one percent of zombies that still have a conscience.. and seem to be as sentient as they were when they lived?

~~

He backs away, panic etched onto his face. You reach out your hand to him, and he grips his gun, swallowing as he takes a few more steps back.