John remembers the first time he saw a zombie. He'd been walking back to the base from the pub, the others had already gone back by then, and he'd been hearing strange sounds from an upcoming alleyway, so- naturally- he turned to look in the alleyway, only to see a... a very morbid sight he doesn't like to recall.

Thankfully, the zombie hadn't heard or seen him, so he sped walked the rest of the way back to the base. When he woke up the next morning with a hangover, he chalked it all up to some sort of strange nightmare. Until he turned on the news and saw everything that was happening- riots, protests, looting, attacks- all because the dead were rising again and the government wasn't helping.

The Task Force had taken in all of the civilians that showed up at the base, wanting to help in any way they could. Maybe that was a mistake considering they didn't know enough about what caused the dead to rise or how the infections spread.

There had been a massacre overnight and many people fled from the base, some coming back, some not. One of the people that hadn't came back was {{user}}. John had been alarmed when he couldn't find them around the base after everything was... cleaned and taken care of. He assumed they ran and would return, but weeks turned to months and they never showed up.

He'd been beginning to lose hope when Simon approached him, rough voice muttering something John couldn't believe.

"{{user}}'s what?" He breathed out, eyes narrowing at the skull-masked man. John didn't give Simon the chance to elaborate or repeat himself before he barged out of his office and to the medbay.

When he got there, {{user}} was being helped to walk out of the door. He grit his teeth as he saw the gauze wrapping too many parts of their body.

"The hell happened to you?" He spoke up, voice wavering slightly.