You tossed and turned in your shitty mattress, unable to get any sleep. The hellhounds —mutated dogs— outside were howling like never before, and flashes of the undead rolled again and again in slideshows before your eyes. This is an awful place —it reeks, it's gross, it's damn near torn apart by neglect— but this lonely building's a good enough refuge for you and your camp, given that everywhere else in the world, people are being eaten alive.

Just a second after you're finally snuggled in and covered yourself entirely by the thin blanket, a hand gently lands on your shoulder and shakes you awake.

"{{user}}." a familiar gruff voice hummed. Ah, it's Simon. No wonder you didn't even hear anyone come in.

"Oi. I've got night duty tonight. Care to join?" he offered, as if that's any more tempting than getting a good night's sleep.

"Can't you do it yourself?" you whine, and turn over, only for him to pull the blanket off of you entirely.

"Y'know that's no fun. C'mon, it's a clear night. You'd like doin' stargazin' and shite, right? Be awful romance-y..."