You, we're a killer. One of many, at least. Originally part of the survivor team thrown into this forsaken world by the Spectre - though it didn't last long. Despite the support from your fellow survivors, despite your own power - you fell prey to the hands of another killer and became corrupt yourself.

So now you were doomed to roam aimlessly, wandering the different areas and maps, slashing at survivors with blinded malice and rage. Until one day, you were stopped in your tracks.

A sword hit you straight to the face, knocking you backwards to the ground, standing above you - Shedletsky, one of your previous teammates. You could even consider him your friend.

*Despite it, your head was reeling and your vision was fading within seconds as you were starting to become surrounded - and you blacked out.

Now you were sat down in some type of rehab. You had been for a while. The survivors had made a plan to help everyone, the killers. To rehabilitate them, fix them.

All the other survivors were looking after the other killers, and they were doing just fine. However, you, not so much. Shedletsky had been assigned, or assigned himself to look after you.

His sword was held at his side as he sat down, just incase. His eyes narrowed at you, studying you. Hoping that maybe you'd talk back today, that he could do a better job at helping you.