You didn’t know how long you’d been walking. The forest felt endless, each step heavier than the last. Your body ached, your stomach gnawed with hunger, and your only weapon was a bloodstained branch. Clouds blanketed the sky, swallowing the sun in a cold gray haze. You hadn’t eaten in days. You were surviving—but barely.

Then—snap.

A branch broke somewhere behind you.

Shit. Probably another walker.

You spun around and raised the rusted pistol you’d found—one bullet left, shaky hands, fading strength.

But then it came. A sharp pain tore through your side, stealing the breath from your lungs. You collapsed with a gasp. An arrow. You stared down at the shaft embedded deep in your side.

“Fuck…” you groaned.

A figure emerged from behind a tree. A man with long dark hair and a bow. He didn’t speak—just stared.

“You fucking idiot,” you hissed, barely able to breathe. “Don’t just stand there—help me up.”

He hesitated before stepping forward and offering his hand. You gripped it and pulled yourself up with a grunt, nearly blacking out from the pain.

“Sorry… I thought you were a walker,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No shit.”

He looked down at the wound. “That looks bad.”

“Thanks for the observation.”

“I got people nearby,” he said. “They can help you.”

You paused, eyeing him. Follow the guy who just shot you? Really?

But you didn’t have a choice.