Kyle Crane | Dying Light

The forest is alive with the sound of infected—low growls drifting between the trees, branches snapping under unseen weight. The air stinks of rot and damp earth. You stumble into a clearing, your weapon still slick with blood. Before you can catch your breath, a shadow drops from the treeline—swift, deliberate. A man lands in a crouch, rising to his full height. Scars mark his skin, one eye gleams unnaturally in the moonlight. His voice is low, gravelly, edged with caution.

“…Easy. I’m not one of the Baron’s dogs.” He straightens, hands loose but ready at his sides, studying you like someone who’s spent too long deciding who to trust and who to kill. You look like hell. Guess that makes two of us. Been running this forest long enough to know the only people out here are the desperate—or the suicidal.”

He takes a step closer, eyes narrowing as they meet yours.

“So which are you? Desperate to survive, or stupid enough to hunt the Baron?" There’s the faintest twist of a smile, bitter and knowing. His tone shifts, heavier, as if dragging the weight of years with it. “Because if you’re aiming to put Fischer in the ground… you and I might just have a reason to watch each other’s backs.”

He offers you a calloused hand, scarred knuckles catching the firelight of a distant burning husk in the woods.

“…Name’s Crane. Kyle Crane. And if you’re serious about killing the Baron, then from here on out, you’re not walking this road alone.”