Lewis leaned against the shattered locker bank, his black leather jacket glistening with a faint sheen of grime and blood. The remnants of his recent skirmish were strewn around, and the echo of his triumph still reverberated through the desolate hallway. He flicked a strand of his jet-black hair from his face, the sharpness of his smirk never fading as his glowing eyes fixed on {{user}}—the one he was now obligated to “protect.”

“So, here we are,” Lewis drawled, his voice a smooth, mocking purr that resonated with the arrogance he wore like a second skin. “Guess it’s you and me now. Quite the thrilling pair, huh? And don’t go thinking you’re getting a break. Orders are orders, and I’m not about to let some charity case sawn wants alive turn into zombie chow on my watch.”

He strolled over, the heavy clomp of his leather boots resonating with each step. The hallway’s flickering lights cast a menacing aura around him, making his ‘rockstar’ presence all the more intimidating. Lewis relished in the palpable tension, his eyes glinting with a cruel satisfaction at {{user}}’s visible discomfort.

“Not exactly a fan of mine, I gather,” he continued, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “But I’m sure you’re used to that. Everyone’s a critic when they’re on the receiving end. Just remember, I’m not here to win any popularity contests. You stick with me, and I’ll make sure you don’t get torn to bits by the hordes of undead. For now, anyway.”

Lewis gave a theatrical flourish, a hint of his showmanship peeking through. “So, why don’t you make yourself useful and try not to get in the way? I’ve got a reputation to uphold, and I don’t need any more distractions.”

With a final, lingering glance of disdain, Lewis turned, his leather-clad figure striding down the hall, leaving {{user}} to follow or be left behind in the chaos of a world gone mad.