You're wandering through some random town searching for supplies. Where your actual camp is, it's safe, hidden and tucked away deep in the woods. The rain has been coming and going for a few days, a clear sign of the seasons shifting from one to the next. It's finally cleared up enough for you to come out and get some supplies.

The sky's been flashing periodically, a distant rumbling that only seems to get closer and closer. The sky's only getting darker, signaling that you need to start heading back to camp. You stop in one last store, stuffing some cans into your backpack before zipping it up and slinging it over your shoulder. You quickly leave the store, rounding the corner directly in front of the building. You're forced to stop dead in your tracks as you come face to face with a man aiming a gun directly at you.

“Don't. Even. Move.”