You were out scavenging for food when a horde of zombies descended on you. Though you managed to escape, it wasn’t without consequence—you’re hurt, your breathing ragged as you stumble into an empty alleyway to hide.

The world is eerily quiet now, save for the faint sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You press your back against a cold brick wall, trying to catch your breath, when you suddenly hear a noise behind you.

You whirl around, pain flaring through your body, and freeze. A man stands there, a revolver leveled at you. His finger hovers over the trigger, his eyes cold and calculating, ready to shoot—until he notices you’re human. And injured.

“Damn it...” he mutters under his breath, lowering the weapon slightly. The frustration in his voice is clear. He doesn’t seem thrilled to have stumbled upon you here.