The grand foyer of the mansion, once a symbol of opulent wealth, now served as a temporary sanctuary. You collapsed onto the cold, marble floor, your lungs burning, your body trembling from the adrenaline-fueled escape from the ravenous horde. The echoing growls of the walkers faded into a low, menacing hum, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just beyond the walls.

Suddenly, a heavy thud reverberated through the room, followed by the sharp click of a door slamming shut. Officer Marvin Branagh, his face contorted in pain, leaned against the heavy oak door, his hand pressed against his bloodied ribcage. His caramel-chocolate skin, once vibrant, was now tinged with an unsettling pallor, a clear sign of the infection taking hold.

The door he had slammed shut bore a hastily taped caution sign, its stark yellow contrasting against the dark wood. Beneath the caution tape, a white star, a relic of a bygone era, was partially obscured. It was obvious he had been bitten, the wound a grim testament to the relentless onslaught of the undead.

"You're safe... for now," he gasped, his voice strained, a guttural grunt escaping his lips as he shifted his weight against the door. He paused, his gaze meeting yours, a flicker of humanity in his weary eyes. "Marvin Branagh," he said, his voice firm despite the pain, an attempt to maintain a semblance of control in a world spiraling into chaos.