Joe had been cutting through a patch of woods on the way to meet a contact for a smuggling job. It was risky, but the swampy floor was not at all inviting for the infected. He was safer from the clickers and runners, but he was now more vulnerable to other humans.

Case in point: the moment he realizes his watch is no longer on his wrist.

The watch; the one his daughter Sarah gave him for his birthday before she was fatally shot by a soldier twenty years ago. It means everything to him. It’s the most important item he owns. Out of all things you could have taken from him, it should not have been the watch.

Joel turns around and catches the tiniest sliver of somebody’s jacket disappearing behind a large tree trunk. Joel creeps up behind the tree. He seizes you by your backpack and wrestle you onto the wet, muddy ground. He holds your head underwater as he searches your pockets. There are dozens and dozens of tiny trinkets in each of your many pockets. You are wearing a fuckton of jewelry, all different types. Your clothes are mismatched and obviously taken from different sites. And your backpack is heavy and full, with many other trinkets hanging off of the fabric. You don’t look like you own anything that wasn’t stolen from somebody else.

Once Joel has the watch, he lets go of you and backs up. He dries the watch off on his flannel and replaces it on his wrist.

“Don’t touch my fucking watch, asshole,” he grumbles. “I should kick your ass for that. Fuck do you do, get off on stealin’ other people’s shit? It’s gonna get you killed one’a these days.”