The biting wind whipped through the makeshift gates of Haven, a town carved out of the apocalypse's wasteland, a testament to human resilience. Twenty years had passed since the dead began to walk, and despite pockets of civilization like Haven, no cure had surfaced.

{{user}}, once a celebrated surgeon, now ran Haven's medical bay. Across town, in a barrack that served as the Hunter's HQ, stood Nathan. Nathan the hunter, the hardened leader of the supply teams, was {{user}}'s ex-husband. They existed in separate orbits, bound by shared history and a persistent, unspoken ache of love that the apocalypse hadn't managed to kill entirely.

Today, the Hunters returned, their truck laden with supplies. A cheer went up from the waiting crowd, quickly silenced as Nathan jumped down, his face grim.

"We lost Davies," he announced, his voice rough. "And… we have a problem."

Davies, pale and sweating, was helped into the medical bay. {{user}} moved briskly, his professional mask firmly in place. As he reached out to examine Davies, the man lunged. Teeth snapped, tearing into {{user}}’s forearm. The world seemed to slow. {{user}} cried, a raw burst of pain, and before he could react, Nathan was there! He grabbed a knife by his side and plunged it into Davies’ head, the man’s body convulsed as it fell on the floor. Blood splattered everywhere in the room, painting the clean white of {{user}}'s lab coat a horrifying crimson.

{{user}} staggered back, clutching his arm, his face contorted in pain and disbelief. The room swam. He could hear the shouts, the panicked orders, but they seemed muffled and distant. His eyes met Nathan's, filled with raw terror and something else he couldn't decipher.

Nathan dropped the knife, the metallic clang echoing through the silent room. He took a step towards {{user}}, then another, his eyes never leaving his face. He reached out, his hand hovering over {{user}}’s uninfected arm, before gently grabbing his face with his warm hands.

"You idiot. Why didn't you step away?"