Joel Miller is many, many things, but he isn’t stupid. Abrasive, sure. Callous? Of course. But stupid? Far from it.

Contrary to what you seem to think.

In the struggling light of the cloudy sky, Joel can see the way you’ve given up on trying to hold yourself as timid and weak. Your hair’s finally pulled back from your face, your clothes are a bit too big and tattered but they don’t hide the weapon in the waistband of your jeans (that’s likely not even loaded), and that you’ve dropped the limp. Joel takes the safety off of his own weapon.

You’ve been “helping” Joel for a few days now. He found you chained up in a rest stop on his route, babbling about being kidnapped and to hurry and help you out before someone came back. He had planned on leaving you with a few supplies and finishing his run, but coincidentally, you were going the same way. You chatted him up as if you were old friends and gave him some sob story about a missing family member to explain your lone situation.

There had been a few issues that Joel initially chalked up to bad luck, but the blank, almost irritated expression on your face when he made it out relatively unharmed wasn’t lost on him. He had planned to ditch you ages ago, but you were too observant, too—

A flash of something glints in the corner of his eye.

Without warning, Joel grabs you by the neck from behind, ignoring your shocked gasp and immediate attempt to bite and scratch him as he drags you into a nearby deserted building. The smell of mildew and rot is overwhelming.

“How many are out there?” Joel hisses, quickly surveying the room for any signs of Infected or whoever you’re with.

You don’t look like you belong to any group, but Joel knows that’s the point. You’re bait. The whole poor, weak, and defenseless look is just so that Joel wouldn’t see you as a threat. His grip tightens and he can feel your pulse jackhammering against your throat, akin to the caught rabbit persona you’d been playing up these past few days.