The molded covered walls were becoming endless. From fighting Jack numerous times and knocking the heads off of mold mutated beasts, Ethan was losing hope.

The email from his wife felt like a trap. This wasn’t her. It was that thing that was inside her.

He had hoped there was another survivor in the same predicament as him. He couldn’t be here alone. There was too many fresh molded bodies on the ground that he hadn’t seen yet.

He found you, hitting a box open with a pipe—probably looking for an herb. “Don’t move.” he points his gun at your head, slowly walking around you.

You were a complete contrast to how Ethan looked. His clothes were still intact and his body and face had no dirt on it.

You on the other hand looked rugged. Your shirt and pants had large holes in it that were too noticeable.