Clementine.

The air smells of old smoke and rusty metal. The road is empty, but not quiet: in this world, it never is. You're walking among abandoned cars when you hear a sharp sound... someone reloading a gun. Before you can react, a voice cuts the silence from a high position. —Stay still. Don't move. A figure appears among the remains of a half-collapsed building: worn sweatshirt, fixed gaze, weapon pointed at you without trembling. She doesn't seem nervous. That's the worst part. "I don't know you," he says. "And here that means you're a problem." He pauses. He analyzes you as if he were deciding whether you should breathe or not. —Take one strange step… and you never take another.