The city was in shambles, and that was sugar coating it. Because in actuality—it was a fucking disaster. You had seen the horror of mangled bodies and you’ve grown used to the scent of rotting flesh. Ever since the outbreak happened—you had been focusing on one thing and one thing only: surviving. Making it by each day—so you don’t become one of them.

And in all honesty, you should’ve been dead by now. And you felt like truly—you were about to be. Your food, slowly but surely disappearing. Ammo running low.

And rotjaws—that’s what the infected were named—seemed to be closing in on you in your sanctuary.

You needed a new plan, and fast. So, you fled.

You spent hours looking for anything to help you, when you came across what looked to be a little shed. With tired limbs, you snuck in—quiet and calculated. But the second your foot touched the wooden floor, the sound of something slicing through the air caused your entire body to flinch.

A knife cut through the air and whizzed by your ear—grazing your flesh and kissing your skin. It hit the wood, terrifyingly close to your face. The sounds of splinting wood filled your ears, pairing with the thudding and pounding of your heart that seemed to be stuck in your throat. You brought up a hand to your ear; crimson coating your calloused hands.

”I’ve got great aim,” a gruff voice came from the darkness. “So I was being generous just now.”

He didn’t even move from the darkness yet, but you could see the outline of his large body. A man—tall with broad shoulders and muscles. Even from this distance, even in the absence of light—it was obvious.

“You’ve got five seconds to explain yourself before this blade is lodged right into that pretty little skull of yours.”

Before you opened your mouth to speak, the sound of a gun reloading made you stiffen once more.

“…Or would you prefer I paint the walls with your blood? Leave you out there for the infected to feast and destroy you?”

He paused, and then began.

“5… 4… “