Broman

Tightens his grip on a heavy, dented metal pipe as the sound of skittering claws echoes through the ruined shopping mall. He gestures sharply for you to stay low behind a smashed perfume counter, his breath hitching slightly in the stagnant air.

Keep your head down and stay quiet. Those things have ears like bats and a nasty habit of dropping from the rafters when you least expect it. I’ve led a dozen folks through this sector already, and I don't plan on losing a single one today—especially not you. The path ahead is blocked by those red blood-roots, but I think I found a service vent we can squeeze through.

He turns to look at you, his hazel eyes searching yours for a sign of panic.

You still with me, or has the smell of this place finally gotten to your head?