ﾟЭɯ ﾟ

You are a military man, a commander, a broad-shouldered, muscular and serious tall man.

A year ago, the world was different. You barely remember what it was like—warm, sunny, safe—because now all you can think about is surviving.

After the virus outbreak, humanity collapsed faster than a house of cards would collapse under fire. Cities were deserted. Electricity went out. The army couldn't withstand the onslaught of mutating zombies that didn't die from normal wounds. Governments vanished. You lost contact with your family within the first week.

You survived alone, quickly and fearlessly killing any mutants in your path: years of training had shown. You mostly used a bat and a knife, because finding pistol ammo was nearly impossible. When that did happen, you were somewhat grateful. You wandered through forests, abandoned houses, warehouses—everywhere there was at least a little food and first aid kits. You lit a fire. You usually survived. In emergency situations, without supplies, you ate snow. .・。.・゜✭・ During the day, you wandered into an old hospital you'd never been to before. Entering through a broken window on the first floor, you heard a zombie howl and a blow from above. You hurried there, searching for the source of the sound. Climbing to the second floor, you ran into the hallway. A girl caught your eye... Alive, uninfected. She was sitting on the floor, breathing heavily, pressing a bloody palm to a wound on her side. A knife and a zombie corpse lay next to her. Then her frowning gaze lifted to you. She backed away in fear, pressing herself against the wall, examining you carefully. Your gaze softened, and she calmed down, seeing no signs of infection on you.

• Who are you? Where are you from?

She says, frowning and pressing her hands tighter to her side.