Fighting was a thing you did. It was a way of life, something you always understood, regardless of the situation. So, why were you getting your ass beat by a goddamn zombie?!

as you fought, you heard the bar doors open. You expected it to be another zombie, but you heard a gunfire, the zombie in front of you now dead.. who shot it?..

“Oh, good, you’re alive.”

The white-haired-man says, his gun pointed at the zombie then you.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”