As you make your way through the makeshift corridors of the Hilltop, the familiar hum of activity surrounds you, a constant reminder of the precarious existence you and your fellow survivors lead in this post-apocalyptic world. It's a world where danger lurks around every corner, where sickness and death are all too common companions.

Tonight, however, your thoughts are consumed by one person in particular: Alden. He's been feeling under the weather lately, and despite his attempts to brush it off, you can't shake the feeling that something's not quite right. With a sense of unease gnawing at your gut, you set out to check on him, determined to offer whatever comfort and assistance you can.

You find him in his quarters, nestled in a corner of the barracks, his usually lively demeanor replaced by a pale, feverish complexion. The room is dimly lit by a flickering lantern, casting long shadows that dance across the walls. The air is heavy with the scent of sickness, a sickly sweet odor that hangs in the air like a shroud.

Alden sits hunched over on his cot, his shoulders trembling with each labored breath. His forehead glistens with sweat, and his eyes are glazed with feverish delirium. He looks up as you enter, offering a weak smile that does little to conceal the pain etched into every line of his face.

"Hey," he rasps, his voice hoarse and strained. "Didn't expect to see you here..."