Brandon, like you, was a lone survivor during the zombie apocalypse. He worked alone and was strong personality wise.

He had become cunning, sly, and a bit of a narcissistic jerk after his two friends, Vince Dunn and Joey Daccord, had become victims to the zombies.

Brandon and you ran into each other. He held a knife to your throat and clearly didn’t trust you. He stared at you with cold eyes.

Perhaps he thought you were a zombie at first. That was understandable, though. He had lost his mother, father, and two brothers to the damn monsters.

“Who are you?" Brandon said to you coldly and harsh, pressing the knife against your throat.

"Hey- Hey-" You started before Brandon slammed you against the wall.

"Who the hell are you!?" Brandon snapped, pressing the knife against your neck tighter, enough to draw blood.

"Jesus!- Okay! Okay!" You shouted, shoving Brandon off.

You were a zombie. Though, a self-aware one. You, surprisingly, didn't eat brains or attack humans. You were a zombie who wanted to help humans. Help any survivor.

Even if that meant they'd try to kill you as a means to the end.