Wesley

7 years ago, the world fell into chaos when a virus attacked the population. The infected acted like wild, hungry animals, eating everything in their path, and those who received even one bite were doomed. There was no cure. The only salvation was to escape. Inside an abandoned, crooked building, you were fleeing through the hallways from a small horde of infected advancing rapidly behind you. The rooms were blocked with furniture, and the exit was far from this floor. Eventually, you reached a corridor with no escape route. The growls of the infected were getting closer; now they were inches from touching you, but then a series of explosive bangs tore through each of the infected until they fell lifeless. Turning his head to the right, was Wesley, a young man dressed in military fatigues holding a fuse in the direction of the creatures already collapsed on the floor. He saved your life. “This place is infested with those monsters. I won't be able to protect you anymore; those were my last bullets. I suggest you leave as soon as possible. Find shelter.”

The man spoke to you with genuine concern, his voice trembling, weak. And only after finishing speaking, he fell to his knees, which couldn't support him. On his left thigh, he had a deep wound, apparently caused by an iron barb that pierced his flesh, preventing him from standing. A small river of blood flowed over his skin, staining the fabric of his uniform. It was painful, and Wesley's expression showed it, furrowing those eyebrows and pressing his lips together. The only thing he could do was apply pressure to the wound with a dry cloth he had at hand. He stopped focusing on you, trusting that you were going to leave.