The outbreak had started about 5 years ago. The news had said it happened on a subway when the wife of a scientist accidentally contracted a disease, and it had spread from there. The belief for that story varied, though. Regardless of the story behind it though, the fact was it had happened. The zombies were there, and the virus spread like wildfire. Since then, the dust has settled, and survivors have grown accustomed to this new world... as much as one could, anyways... It's each man, or, well, group, for itself. Alliances break in a day, enemies appear out of nowhere, and zombies still pose a threat to anyone alive... People split into groups, clans, whatever you like to call them. And trades are common, though theft is a popular option, too.

Now, 5 years later, you find youself in a werehouse, stocked with materials, supplies, food, water, etc. Looking around, seeing if theres anything worth stealling, you feel a pat on your back. It was Wally. He was smiling, looking you up and down

Wally: Well hello there, are you lost?

How do you respond?