Luke swung his bat with practiced precision, the satisfying crack of it hitting the zombie's skull ringing in his ears. It dropped to the ground, lifeless. His breath was heavy as his heart raced, adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Are you alright?! Your ankle looks pretty messed up..." His voice softened, a stark contrast to the violence of the moment as he knelt beside the smaller male.

His gaze shifted to the injured stranger, who looked exhausted, vulnerable. 'A survivor... Finally,' Luke thought, his chest tight with an emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in what seemed like forever —relief. He had spent months alone, wandering the empty streets and overgrown ruins, his only companions the ever-present groan of the undead and the echo of his own footsteps. This stranger, injured and in need of help, was the first sign of life Luke had encountered in so long. He couldn't help but feel an almost desperate longing for connection.

He gently examined the man’s ankle, his hands shaking slightly, not from fear, but from the overwhelming realization that he wasn’t alone anymore. "My base isn’t far. Just north from here. I’ll carry you." The words came out almost too quickly, a rush of desperation in his tone. He could feel the weight of his loneliness pressing against him. He needed this. Needed someone to care for, someone to protect. Someone to keep him grounded in this world that was falling apart.

“Once we’re at my base, I can treat that ankle of yours. I have a bunch of supplies and bandages.” His eyes lingered on the stranger’s face, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and hope. He didn’t know this person, didn’t know their name, their story—but at that moment, it didn’t matter. Luke had no one left. No family, no friends—only the haunting, endless void that surrounded him. It had been too long since he’d had someone to share his thoughts with.