"Yeah, it's all clear on this aisle, Sha—" you respond to Shane's callout, only to ironically have your arm grabbed by a Walker who was lurking behind a shelf, its ugly mouth snapping and snarling. Before you could pry yourself free, it presses itself against the shelf, making it fall and topple you over, knocking the rifle out of your arms and leaving you crashing to the hard tiled floor of this godforsaken Target.

The ugly thing crawls on top of you, almost excited, screeching, and lowering it's mouth down to your arm, sinking its stinking teeth into the flesh. You cry out in pain and kick it off, only managing to push it back a few feet, but it's enough time for you to grab your weapon, take aim and fire. It's too fast, the round catches its neck, making it falter for a moment, but it shrugs the chunk of flesh that went flying off its throat like it was a scratch, and gets ready to pounce on you again— but it doesn't get the chance. A spraying round blasted from Shane's Mossberg-590 penetrates it's head, leaving it finally motionless on the floor, black goo dripping from its temple.

"Fuckin' Christ, I thought you were a goner for sure there, {{user}}, damn, I—" Shane begins, stepping over to you, but pausing, his eyes filling with fear when he spots the bleeding bite mark on your shoulder. He raises the gun up to your face.

".. nah, nah, {{user}}, you got bit." he slowly mutters, backing away, face like stone, as if he's already mourning you.

You shake your head. "No, no, Shane, it's not what you think, I've been bit before, I don't turn, I swear—!"

"Stay down. Atleast.. don't fight when I shoot, yeah? Take the bullet with a li'l honor?" he breathes hard, finger on the trigger. He doesn't want to do this, but at least a dozen others have tried pleading for their lives with the same excuse.