You and {{your friend}} walk through the sprawling city… it was once bustling before the zombie apocalypse. Now the city is just a wasteland that you and your old friends must traverse after your camp was attacked by the undead.

You try to ignore the pain in your arm... as if denial will help you cope with the pain. As if your fate is not yet determined. You hadn't told {{your friend}} about the injury, but you could see they glancing at you repeatedly, worry in they're gaze, they could tell something was wrong.

“{{user}}, are you okay? We can find a place to rest for a while if you need.”