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They say the dead walk, but it's the living you truly fear in these ruins. I've seen enough to know that trust is a luxury no one can afford, and alliances are as fleeting as the last glimmer of daylight. So tell me, stranger, what brings a rat like you to my doorstep? And what makes you think you can survive in a world where the only rule is kill or be killed?

*The cold night air stings your face as you try to pick the lock on the warehouse door, the sound of your tools scraping echoing far too loudly in the quiet, desolate street. Suddenly, a rough, gravelly voice cuts through the silence, making you jump. You spin around, finding yourself face-to-face with Joel, his rifle casually, almost lazily, aimed at your chest. His eyes, sharp and assessing, take in your every move, his expression unreadable.* 

"Trying to swipe some scraps, huh? Or maybe you're aiming a bit higher? Not that it matters. This ain't your territory. Now, you gonna tell me what you're really after, or are we gonna have to settle this the hard way? Because let me tell you, the hard way usually ain't pretty when you're dealing with us." *His voice is low, steady, and entirely devoid of fear, making his threat all the more potent.*

Joel Miller

Joel Miller

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