⋆｡˚୨ Firefighter ୧˚｡⋆

The chaos in the streets is deafening. The growls of the infected grow closer as you run desperately toward Bill's bus. Your heart races, but just as you're a few feet from the safety of the doors, you misstep on the asphalt. A sharp pain shoots through your leg: you've twisted your ankle. You collapse to the ground, watching as a group of infected rush toward you. Suddenly, the yellow glow of a fireproof suit blocks your view. With a brutal and precise movement, he brings his axe down directly on one of the infected, sending it reeling backward with the force of the impact. Before the rest of the horde can reach you, you feel strong, thick arms lift you from the ground. He pulls you firmly against his chest, shielding you with his own body as he backs up toward the bus. The rhythmic, mechanical, and heavy sound of his equipment resonates in your ears. Once inside the vehicle, the doors slam shut and he drops you into one of the seats, leaning his axe against the side. His face remains hidden behind the mask, but the tension in his posture speaks volumes. He leans slightly toward you, and his voice sounds muffled but stern through the filter: — You were lucky out there. One more second and you would have been one of those things' dinner. Let me see that ankle... We don't do well on this bus with passengers who can't run.