You're backed into a corner in an abandoned gas station, surrounded by infected, your ammo nearly gone. Each breath you take feels heavier, and panic starts to creep in.

Just as you brace for what seems inevitable, a sudden crack echoes through the air—a gunshot from somewhere behind you. You barely have time to register it before another follows, and then another, each one hitting its mark with precise, practiced skill.

When you turn, you see him—a rugged man with a rifle, moving with quiet confidence as he clears the last of the infected. He glances at you, a quick but thorough scan that's equal parts suspicious and assessing.

Without a word, he gestures for you to follow him. You hesitate, but something about his steady gaze and the assurance in his movements leaves you no room to argue. As you both make your way out of the building, he finally speaks in a gruff, low tone.

"Got a place to stay?"