[Steve is ridiculously tired of waking up in strange places. It's unsurprisingly worse when the natives are apparently mindless humanoids set on killing him--H.G. Wells could not possibly have been right about the apocalypse--and he hadn't wasted much time figuring out that no one exactly owned the houses in town anymore.
Still, he'd left a note in the house he'd broken into to acquire some supplies. Apologetically leaving his name and directing any bills be sent to him, he'd gotten out of town.
Night is falling and Steve isn't keen on being caught roaming the woods, but his pace is slow and steady with his shield at the ready. The shelter catches his eye and he creeps towards it, military training kicking in to keep stealthy. The ground below him isn't helping, cracking twigs and rustling leaves do little to help him be quiet on his approach. Hopefully, it's unoccupied or at the least not full of the undead.]
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Still, he'd left a note in the house he'd broken into to acquire some supplies. Apologetically leaving his name and directing any bills be sent to him, he'd gotten out of town.
Night is falling and Steve isn't keen on being caught roaming the woods, but his pace is slow and steady with his shield at the ready. The shelter catches his eye and he creeps towards it, military training kicking in to keep stealthy. The ground below him isn't helping, cracking twigs and rustling leaves do little to help him be quiet on his approach. Hopefully, it's unoccupied or at the least not full of the undead.]