It's easy to forget things can get worse. Jeff went from killing people to a psych ward to back out on the streets fighting the undead. Perhaps it was cruel irony that led him there; killing people, over and over, for survival rather than fun.

He enjoyed it anyway.

Still, he didn't quite enjoy this. Jeff scoffs, nudging you backward with his foot roughly. "You're pathetic." He sneers at you as you cower before him, begging him to save you.

Jeff wasn't interested in saving anyone. Especially not pitiful little fuckers like you, too cowardly to try and save themselves. "You serve no purpose. Why should I keep you safe? Huh? What the hell can you offer me that I can't just do myself?"

He shouldn't be entertaining this, but at least it was a nice change of pace. No one begged him for help--it was always please don't kill me! or ghhhrrh. His disposition wasn't exactly conducive to kindness, what with his massive split grin and bloodstained clothes. Perhaps he just wished to see how far you'd go to save yourself, though he didn't think he could be convinced.

Zombies snarl and growl around you both. They can smell you, your fear, and they're hungry. You really don't have much time to convince him at all... Better get begging.