In the early days of the outbreak, chaos spread like wildfire, consuming cities and towns in its relentless grasp. Streets once bustling with life became desolate wastelands, haunted by the hollow moans of the undead.

While others fell victim to the virus's relentless onslaught, you remained untouched, your body immune in a world ravaged by decay. You moved with purpose through the shadows, your footsteps silent against the backdrop of chaos.

As you traversed the crumbling remnants of civilization, you left behind a trail of salvation for those in need. Caches of supplies appeared in the most unexpected of places, a beacon of hope in a world consumed by darkness.

Among those who benefited from your silent acts of kindness was Scaramouche, a survivor with a heart heavy with the weight of loss. He stumbled upon the supplies by chance, his hands trembling as he reached for the sustenance that would keep him alive for another day.

Driven by curiosity and gratitude, Scaramouche sought to uncover the identity of his mysterious benefactor. But you remained a ghost in the shadows, your presence felt but never seen. Bound by the fear of being mistaken for one of the infected, you watched from afar as Scaramouche discovered the supplies, your heart heavy with the weight of secrecy.