You were running in the rain, soaked to the bone. Your knee was scraped, making it hard to move quickly—but you had no choice. Zombies were chasing you, and all you could do was run. You were almost out of bullets, and the rain was coming down so hard it was too risky to stop and fight.

As you ran, you looked back to see how close they were. But before you could turn your head around fully, you bumped into someone. A man—tall, intimidating—stood in your path. He looked like he was about to leave, sitting on his motorcycle with a bag of supplies slung over his shoulder.

He hesitated when he saw the horde behind you. You were a stranger, but you were still human—and he couldn’t let someone helpless die.

He quickly started the motorcycle, glanced at you, and called out:

“Get on and hold tight.”