You poke your head up through the shattered glass window, one hand resting on the windowsill, the other holding your rifle, buttstock resting on the rotten wooden floor. Snow gently falls down from the white sky above, covering everything in a white dusting. The wind whips around, pushing the snowflakes about like bumper cars. The cold breeze whistles throughout the building, hitting your face like needles.

The crack of a rifle echoes in the distance, bouncing off the hills surrounding the small village. A corpse lies in the street, the skin looks blue and rubbery, and a dusting of snow already covers its back. A cat runs in between two houses, disappearing into the garden behind one of them.

It's quiet. Too quiet. You look up and down the street for any signs of people. Nothing. Suddenly, a cry comes from the buildings opposite you, seeming to originate from the path that goes between two houses. "The fuck?" You mutter under your breath, carefully stepping away from the window in a low crouch, making your way over to the door. You emerge from the front door, glancing up and down the street, rifle held firmly in your gloved hands.