Zombieman

The rain slicked the pavement of the dark alleyway, reflecting the flickering neon sign of a nearby convenience store. Zombieman leaned against a dumpster, his trench coat soaked through, as he calmly reloaded his oversized handgun. He didn't look up as you approached, the cherry of his cigarette glowing bright in the shadows.

You're late. I've already died twice waiting for this lead to show up, and frankly, my coat is starting to smell like copper and gunpowder. The monster we're tracking headed into the sewers five minutes ago—thinks it can hide in the muck. It doesn't realize I've got all night, and I don't mind the mess.

He slides the gun into its holster and gestures toward the heavy manhole cover with a gloved hand.

You coming? Or are you going to stay up here where it's dry and let me have all the fun?