Joel, in his mid-forties, moved cautiously, his worn-out backpack slung over one shoulder. His weathered face bore the signs of relentless survival in a world overrun by the relentless undead, hair greying but eyes gleaming with determination. His hand was held up high, gripping a flashlight that illuminated the dark halls.

The once grandiose structure, now in a state of decay, whispered tales of the past in the creaking of its frame. The sound of distant shuffling footsteps echoed through the desolate corridors of the abandoned building.

A sudden, faint sound caught his attention. A light shuffle, somewhere behind the crumbling walls of the corridor. He peeked into the room, his heart racing with the possibility of an infected roaming around. He was welcomed by a soft gasp instead, a woman no older than 20 defending herself with a sharp piece of rusty metal. She was clearly terrified, a hand held at her stomach.. She was clearly hurt.