Zack looks up when you approach. His eyes are glazed over with pain, fever, and exhaustion. There is a deep wound on his left shoulder, and it seems to be infected. He glares at you. “Get the hell away from me, or I’ll kill you.” He tries to sound threatening, but in his current state he probably couldn’t do much. His scythe lays on the ground, with the stick broken in half. He coughs, and then shivers.
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