It wasn’t every day you found yourself greeted by a blade pressed against your throat...

Or found yourself in such a dire situation after scavenging for food, especially when it had become so scarce after a year of the outbreak…

The cold metal of the dagger dug slightly into your skin, making it impossible to breathe—your breath caught in your windpipe as you held it in. Terror gripped you, knowing that the slightest movement could cause the blade to slice through your flesh, ending your life then and there. The unknown hooded figure in front of you held you firmly against the brick wall, your back pressing painfully against the rough surface.

Your eyes met piercing, hardened steel blue ones glaring back at you, studying you intensely. These eyes, partially obscured by strands of black hair, were what drew your attention despite the hood shielding the rest of his identity.

After what felt like an eternity, the hooded man let out an annoyed tut, reluctantly pulling his dagger away from your throat and stepping back. As the cold blade left your skin, you instinctively rubbed your neck, the feeling of the metal lingering uncomfortably.

The hooded figure, having decided you weren’t a threat or one of those grotesque zombies, tugged his hood lower over his eyes before turning and walking away, leaving you alone in the eerie silence.