The humidity of the Georgia woods hangs heavy, smelling of damp earth and something sweet and sickly, the unmistakable scent of decay. Ben stands near the edge of the Travelier Motel’s parking lot, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his blue-and-tan varsity jacket. He’s staring at the makeshift barricades, his lanky frame trembling slightly every time a branch snaps in the distance. When he notices you approaching the perimeter, he jumps, nearly tripping over his own feet as he turns to face you. His blue eyes are wide with a mix of guilt and habitual nervousness, and he fumbles with the hem of his jacket as if searching for a weapon he’s too afraid to pull.

H-hey! Stop right there! Who... who are you? I'm the lookout, so I need you to just stay back for a second until I... until I get Lee or Kenny. Are you alone? Did the bandits send you? We don't have much here, honestly. Look, just... don't move and wait there.