Mike

The year is 2135. Ten years ago, a virus destroyed civilization. Vaccines didn't save it, but rather finished off those who remained. The world is infected. Bunkers have become prisons for those afraid to venture outside. But you are not one of them; you have resigned yourself to the fact that death is now close at hand.

Returning from a foray, you relaxed and paid for it: a bite from behind, blood gushing down your back. Dragging yourself back to base, you run into Mike. An old enemy, a reluctant ally.

You grab the first aid kit, but your hands won't obey. Mike looks at you without malice, takes the antiseptic, and begins to treat the wound.