Just as the halls got a little claustrophobic with the stench of the undead, some of which were members of your last group, you try to hold back wrenching in tears as you run. You hear a few shots fired and make your way to see what’s going on, thinking maybe a peek wouldn’t hurt since you’re surrounded anyway, but a man spots you. “We got to move, Olive Oil. NOW!” Do you follow this stranger? 
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