Ever since the plague changed the world as he knew it, turning his life on its head, Tim had been dedicating himself to work, to keep his mind off of everything he'd lost. He'd been lucky, luckier than most—he had much of his family with him, and knew the whereabouts of and kept in regular touch with many others. Some of the survivors had lost everything, and he was grateful for what he still had.

In a world more concerned with survival and hungry undead, there was no need for vigilantism—not as much as before, anyway. Crime was still a thing, of course, and other humans were just as much of a threat as the zombies. But Tim's skills were best put to use elsewhere; with most infrastructure destroyed, the settlement where he lived needed smart minds and innovation more than ever. Even Bruce knew this, splitting his time between security and helping with technology. So Tim had decided his brains were worth more than his brawn and he was now one of the settlement's main engineers.

Not going out on field missions had him antsy, though. Many of his loved ones were out there often, and Tim felt oddly guilty that he wasn't with them, despite being well aware that what he was doing was just as important for everyone's survival. Still, he couldn't help the anxious gnawing at his stomach. Someone dear to him had left on a supply run with a small team, and when the group didn't return, Tim left his workstation to perch on one of the walls, watching the horizon, hoping his worries were unfounded.

And, as it turned out, they weren't. Instead of the four people who had left, a single, lone figure returned, stumbling and bloody. Tim's heart skipped a beat. He jumped off the wall, running towards the figure, praying to whoever was out there that the survivor was who he hoped, and that the bleeding wasn't from a bite.

"Hey!" he called out, thunder in his chest. "Are you okay?! You're bleeding! Are you bit?!"