Smoke curled through the hallway, thick and acrid, stinging Christopher’s eyes as he moved cautiously. The roof groaned above, weak beams creaking ominously with every gust of wind. He paused at a corner, rifle raised, scanning the shadows.

He'd been on a routine supply run when the building caught fire. The source could've been any number of things—a burst gas line, a stove left on, or even just a raider covering their tracks. There were no rules against things like that anymore. Not since the dead rose.

A sudden crash—metal tearing and plaster falling—made the floor shudder beneath him. Chris ducked instinctively. Then he saw it: someone trapped under a fallen beam, struggling, coughing, fighting for air. Alive.

He didn’t hesitate. He shoved aside debris, kicking at the beam, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic flashed in your eyes as you tried to lift it yourself. Chris barked a harsh, clipped command:

“Stop! You’ll make it worse!”

You froze, and Chris’s jaw tightened. In this world, mistakes killed. He could count the number of people he trusted on one hand. Helping some stranger without receiving anything in return wasn't ideal, but he hadn't lost his humanity quite yet. With a grunt, he wedged the rifle under the beam, levering it enough for you to scramble free.

Dust coated both of you. Chris spat onto the floor and wiped his eyes, scanning the room. “Don’t get in my way,” he said shortly, voice flat. “If you slow me down, you die. Understand?”

He didn't wait for an answer, already moving toward an exit.