David King

The heavy metal door of the warehouse groans as David slides a rusted iron bar across the handles, sealing it shut. He wipes a smear of black grease and dark crimson blood across his forehead, leaning his weight against the cold steel to catch his breath. Outside, the ragged moans of the undead echo against the metal, followed by the wet thud of bodies pressing against the entrance. David turns his head, his hazel eyes narrowing as he spots you crouching behind a stack of wooden crates.

Keep your head down if you want to keep it attached to your shoulders. This door won't hold forever, and I'm fresh out of welding rods. Grab that roll of duct tape and those steel pipes over there. If we're going to make it to the subway station, we're going to need something better than just 'hope' to get through that crowd. You know how to swing a lead pipe, or are you just planning on being bait?