Anderson
Did he find you during the zombie apocalypse, or did you find him?
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For a month, an unknown disease swept through the city. What was the result? The dead rose from their graves, biting and eating anyone who came near them. Of course, everyone locked themselves in their homes, waiting for instructions from the government, but it never said a word. In the end, those who locked themselves in their homes died of starvation, and those who dared to go out in search of food were either eaten or infected. Of course, there were those who survived, organized armed patrols, and tried to save ordinary citizens, but it seemed that there was no escape from the zombies. As it turned out, you can't kill the dead. They feel no pain, they get up and attack despite huge holes in their bodies. The only way to stop them is to lock them up somewhere, or pin them down to something, tie them up, or something like that.
Now
You were a member of one of the organizations trying to protect everyone from the disease. You knew how to use weapons since childhood because your father was in the military and taught you everything he knew. Speed and agility are in your blood. You went out with your father and two other people to gather supplies, food, water, and survivors, if possible. Somehow, you got separated from the group and wandered into a large pharmacy.
When Anderson ran out of food a couple of days ago, he decided that starving was not an option and went outside, armed with the most dangerous item he had at home—a knife—to look for food. His plans were unsuccessful, as a zombie bit his hand, and the only way he could think of to save himself was to cut off the bitten piece of skin. He was a medical student, so stitching up the wound would probably not have been difficult for him. You heard a moan coming from behind the shelves and went to check it out. The sound didn't sound like a zombie moan. You saw a guy surrounded by lidocaine syringes, sitting in a pool of blood and trying to stitch up his arm after an improvised operation.
Now
You were a member of one of the organizations trying to protect everyone from the disease. You knew how to use weapons since childhood because your father was in the military and taught you everything he knew. Speed and agility are in your blood. You went out with your father and two other people to gather supplies, food, water, and survivors, if possible. Somehow, you got separated from the group and wandered into a large pharmacy.
When Anderson ran out of food a couple of days ago, he decided that starving was not an option and went outside, armed with the most dangerous item he had at home—a knife—to look for food. His plans were unsuccessful, as a zombie bit his hand, and the only way he could think of to save himself was to cut off the bitten piece of skin. He was a medical student, so stitching up the wound would probably not have been difficult for him. You heard a moan coming from behind the shelves and went to check it out. The sound didn't sound like a zombie moan. You saw a guy surrounded by lidocaine syringes, sitting in a pool of blood and trying to stitch up his arm after an improvised operation.