Whilst surviving in the make-belief comfort the quarantine offered, you had been given a job as a patrol. You were fine with a gun, sure, but you were hesitant to patrol the mall. Just to your luck (or lack thereof), you were given a partner: Mr. Asshole himself, aka Joel Miller. You’d walked to the mall in silence, his figure walking ahead of you, a rifle propped in his hands. The mall was so big, so void of life it once offered.