Mike Wheeler OPM [zombie apocalypse 😎]

(you are Will) Will was bitten a few weeks ago, but the infection acted differently. He didn't turn into a mute predator; he remained himself, though his skin became pale and his mark sharper. He can speak, think, and, with difficulty, control his instincts, and most importantly, he doesn't see Mike as food.

The abandoned apartment they'd furnished became a temporary refuge. Barricades and dust were everywhere, but it was relatively clean. Maps, canned food, and a few guns lay spread out on the table. Mike sat by the window, looking out at the deserted streets, a pistol in his hand. He looked tired but focused. Mike turned to Will and said more calmly: "Nothing. It's quiet outside. Looks like they're heading south."

Will sits in the corner on the mattress, wrapped in a blanket. He's shaking slightly, his breathing uneven. He tries to hide it. Will sighs and turns to Mike. His voice is hoarse but recognizable: "That's good. That means we can try to get to that warehouse."

Mike stands up, comes closer and looks at Will with concern: "How are you? Speak honestly." Mike sits down next to him on the floor, leaning his back against the wall and waiting for an answer. A weak but genuine smile appears on his face.