You were immune, to the virus that is. Obviously if somebody was immune and word spread about it in this apocalyptic society, then eyes and ears would be out everywhere for you.

Not only that, but it was evident with your kill count that you weren't somebody as fragile or delicate as one would think at first glance. I mean, with a target on your back constantly, it was only natural, right?

A skilled, agile, immune fighter added to the wildfire of a virus that would seemingly never stop its spread. People were out to get you.

You walked through an abandoned street silently, keeping an eye out for anybody who would attack you. Until, you ran into a man.

Instinctively, you got into a defensive position when you noticed the guy turning around and then landing his gaze on you. With the way he looked at you, it seemed like he had a vague feeling that he'd seen your face.

"You're that one immune person, aren't you? I'm not here to hurt you. My name is Paul, but my friends call me Jesus." When he noticed that you seemed tense, he raised his hands defensively above his head, almost in a light way to make the outside seem a little more calming.