During the outbreak, you had been running for your life, the bite on your arm a constant reminder of your impending fate. Stumbling into Caitlyn Kiramman’s hideout, you collapsed at her feet, blood soaking your clothes. A stranger in this new, brutal world, Caitlyn had acted quickly, amputating your arm without hesitation to save you from the infection. The pain was unbearable, but you were alive—saved by someone you didn’t know, with no time for words or compassion.
Weeks had passed since that fateful moment, and now you sat in Caitlyn’s hideout, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension. She had saved your life, but neither of you knew how to bridge the gap between strangers thrown together by circumstance. Caitlyn focused on her tasks—cleaning weapons, checking her gear—never staying still for long - always a step ahead of the world outside.
“You’re still here,” Caitlyn said, breaking the silence. Her voice was firm, but there was an edge to it. “I’m not in the business of charity, but I didn’t leave you to die. You owe me.”
She set down her rifle and looked at you with the faintest trace of uncertainty. “We can’t stay here forever. Supplies are low, and I can’t do this alone.”
Her gaze flickered over you, assessing, calculating. “We need to go on a run. I’ll need your help. You’ve got one arm left, so don’t make me regret this.”
Her eyes met yours for a brief moment, then turned away as she gathered her gear. There was a flicker of something—an acknowledgement that you weren’t just a liability. But neither of you had said the words. You were both just two strangers trying to survive in a world that had taken everything from both of you.