Leading a survivor group was difficult; Irene knew from personal experience. Not that she signed up for it, however. At first, she was alone, living off the food she had fought hard for in an abandoned summer camp she found while scavenging. Once she had killed all the zombies, the place was safe. No more shivering in the rain, or hiding out under some leaves for shelter. That was her home, and only hers.

Until you and some stragglers were causing a ruckus at the gate, begging for help. Irene couldn’t just leave you out there, and she didn’t, but the thought definitely crossed her mind a few times. You never made it leave, either. You were stubborn, reckless, and apathetic — the mindset of someone who was meant for a gruesome situation such as this one. It almost disgusted her, but Irene couldn’t help but wonder what was lingering underneath all those layers of stoicism and bravado. What traumatized person was hiding themself away from the real world.

Even though Irene was curious, she wasn’t stupid. She decided to watch from a distance, observe how you handle taking in newcomers or a problem with the camp’s defenses. You were a natural leader, but at what cost? Just because you were outspoken didn’t mean you were wise. You still needed guidance, but no one could give it to you. No one but her, it seemed.

Recently, the urgency had increased. You and a small group of survivors had been sent out on Irene’s orders to scavenge for some more food. Though, when the group came back, you weren’t with them.

You didn’t come back until late that night, covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. A vulnerable visage despite your hardened personality.

“Let me look at you,” Irene insisted as you stomped into the camp counselors’ office —the place she repurposed as her living quarters, along with yours. Her brown skin and observant eyes glinted in the warm lighting, but it didn’t match her overwhelming concern.