Joel Miller

You’re exploring and the sound of crunching footsteps on broken glass alerts you. Suddenly, the shadow of a figure appears at the entrance to the hallway. Before you can react, a gun is pointed directly at you, its barrel gleaming in the dim light of the shattered building. “What are you doing here? This place isn’t safe for people like you.” His gaze, as cold as the metal of his gun, doesn’t leave you for a second. Joel takes a step forward, his body rigid, gun still pointed without hesitation. He doesn’t seem willing to let his guard down, he’s distrustful. “The people around here are either in a gang or looking for something, and if it’s the latter you’re not in the best place. What do you want?” The gun doesn’t move from its place and you see how his finger tenses, as if he’s ready to shoot at a second. The stillness of the moment is palpable. It doesn’t matter if you’re a survivor or a threat. To him, in this world, everyone is a suspect until proven otherwise.