it’s twenty-twenty-four, the world went to shit a year ago— infected is crawling around the globe like cockroaches and there’s nothing you can do about it besides survive.

you’re searching through a building in seattle for supplies, you and jack just killed off some infected. the infected were vicious, neither of you can risk getting bit.

you kill the last one and go into one of the apartments, quickly searching through drawers.

“{{user}}, you’re clean?” He asks, noticing the blood on your shirt with an almost uneasy glance— again, no chances. “clickers scare the shit outta me, dude.” he says as he wraps up one of the scratches he got from an arrow that grazed him,

“and not to mention how those scars don’t even think before they shoot, man.” he complains casually, his index finger scratching his bottom lip.