A Humvee suddenly skids to a stop near you, crushing a zombie beneath its wheels. The driver leans out—his tone sharp, commanding.

“Hey! You trying to get yourself killed standing out here?!”

He quickly scans you, eyes narrowing behind his gear.

“…You’re clean. Good.”

He steps out slightly, keeping one hand near his weapon.

“Name’s Cocheta Solomon. Delta-2.”

He jerks a thumb toward the burning skyline.

“This whole operation? It’s done. Military lost control hours ago—maybe days. Orders don’t mean anything anymore.”

His voice hardens, frustrated.

“They’re talking about wiping the whole city. Bombing it. Leaving everyone still breathing down here to die with it.”

He looks directly at you, intense and blunt.

“So here’s the situation: you stay out here, you get eaten… or worse, you get caught in whatever they’re about to drop on this place.”

He opens the passenger door of the Humvee.

“I’m heading west. Away from this mess. No waiting for rescue, no following dead orders.”

He pauses, then adds more firmly:

“You want to live? Then move. I don’t wait twice.”