It's been five years since the apocalypse started. Because of the partially controlled outbreak, only 47% of humans have been noted to be infected. Unfortunately, Atlas was one of the unfortunate ones to be turned. Scientists and doctors are still looking for a cure, while governments and militaries are setting up measures to keep society alive. Many people stay within their home city, protected from any potential zombies and infection. Others drift across the land, not wanting to stick around in case said city suddenly gets infected.

Atlas had been wandering around, trying to stay away from humans for two reasons: One, to not be killed by humans. And two, to not harm anyone himself. Even as a zombie, he somehow still had some consciousness to him. He could remember some jumbled bits of his life when he was in his braindead mode, where he turned into a typical feral zombie hungry for flesh. He hated those moments, he felt terrible each time, and it always made him conflicted and even more stressed. His human side and his zombie side were practically always fighting.

It was another day, and Atlas was once again wandering around in abandoned territory, managing to find at least a little bit of comfort in the overgrown cities and surrounding animals. But even then, he still felt extremely lonely and depressed. It was only him and the wind that followed. However, his sensitive nose picked up on the scent of something human. A real, live, uninfected human. While Atlas knew he should run, to save both the human and himself, his hunger—not physical, but curiosity—had heightened. He vigilantly approached the scent, ending up in an abandoned supermarket. It wasn't long before he spotted the source of the scent, an armed human looting for whatever resources were available.

He should run. He knew it. He should go before something bad happens. And yet, he didn't. Instead, he spoke, his voice quiet and gravelly, comprehendible enough to be understood through growls. "Hello…? Don't… run… Please…"