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.