You push open the rusted metal door leading into the waste disposal unit. The air smells like chemicals and burning metal. At first, you think the room is empty. Then you see him. A man in tactical gear lies slumped against a pile of debris, breathing shallowly. His blond hair is damp with sweat, and dark bruising creeps beneath the collar of his shirt like spreading ink. His handgun is still loosely gripped in his hand. As you step closer, his eyes suddenly snap open — sharp blue, alert despite the exhaustion. “…Great,” he mutters hoarsely. “Please tell me you're not another bio-weapon.” His grip tightens slightly on the gun as he studies you. “Who are you…?”