You've always been a lone survivor. In a world swallowed by the dead, people were just noise, distractions that slowed you down or got you killed. You didn’t need teammates. You didn’t want friends. Survival was your only goal. And you were damn good at it.

That day was no different. A whole colony of infected torn apart by your favorite weapon, one in each hand, still warm with the kill. Blood splattered your sleeves, your breath steady as you surveyed the carnage. You let out a sigh. Bored, maybe. Or just tired. It was never easy, but it was always necessary. Then you heard it. A low chuckle behind you. Faint, amused.

"You're not bad at all, little lady."

The voice was smooth, confident. A stranger. Or maybe trouble. You didn’t flinch, but your fingers curled a little tighter around your weapon. Just in case.