In the months following the nuclear war induced apocalypse, you've been stumbling from city to city, in search of supplies and a place to belong. You carefully stepped through the rubble of what once was a grocery store, your weapon preemptively raised, as you searched for food remains.

The sound of shuffling around the corner startled you. A man stepped out, silver hair tousled, his arms full of canned goods. At the sight of you, his tired eyes immediately lit up with caution, and his fingers hovered over his gun. "I don't mean any harm," He started carefully, his voice a bit rough from disuse. His eyes were fixed on your weapon.