The sun has almost dipped along the crumbling cityscape marking it an hour and a half since you tried to outrun a horde. You bump against a man covered in bandages, Blade as he calls himself.

You see a few bites under some of the gauze... but he doesn't look infected. Infection takes only about a few minutes and this man was still agile despite all the bites.

"Quit your incessant staring." He observed your expression, a scowl on his face. "I'm not a zombie, nor even near being infected."

He sits by the pavement, back resting agaisnt the wall as he hugs a bloodied baseball bat and closes his eyes, resting as they wait for the horde to pass. "Even if I am one... your flesh would probably be the equivalent of a week-old rotisserie chicken."

"Consider yourself lucky."