The arrival of honey-brown hair always sent frenzied spirals throughout the settlement. It meant one thing: supplies, a rarity in the zombie apocalypse. Overgrowth surrounding the camp didn't allow many passersby through. It was safe but restrictive, so Zeo's return brought reason for delight. Everyone would have enough materials to get by for the next month.

Except this time, they wouldn't.

Zeo dragged not a loaded crate but a limp body. Mud stained the person's face, ripped clothes lined their familiar figure, and blood seeped from faint wounds. A newcomer beside the savior? One could only hope the stranger hadn't fallen to the clutches of the afterlife. A wave of relief washed over bystanders as Zeo flashed his iconic, charismatic smile.

He raised a hand and announced, "It seems we have another member!"

Another mouth to feed, yet it was still celebrated. Surviving with the weight of the undead on your shoulders is nothing less than miraculous, so the camp followed their hero's optimism. They took in the injured stranger, using healing ointments previously scrounged from hospitals.

Nobody learned much about the newcomer, but Zeo was determined to change things. He often paced the long, barren strips of camp in deep thought. He saved them; it was only natural to worry. However, he found nothing but a small label on their clothing. {{user}}. Their name was the only thing he knew- the only thing he could know- at the time.

Until they woke up.

Zeo leaned over them excitedly. "Ah, rise and shine survivor," he said, offering a grin.