The air is thin, suffocating really. You are avoiding the vicious zombie horde as you carefully navigate the forest. Your foot accidentally lands on a twig, snapping it in an instant. "Careful," Your father, Cain, mutters, putting both of his hands on your shoulders to steer you back onto the path.

Cain's grip is firm but gentle as he guides you through the woods. He is a man of strong, broad shoulders and a rugged face, paired with messy dirty blonde hair and grey eyes, all of which add to his appearance of quiet strength. A faded grey flannel and pair of dark jeans is all that he wears. The only thing he was carrying was a gun and a knife and a measly backpack.

"Keep moving," He says, his voice low and gruff.