L4D2 (Warlock User)

The group of survivors—Coach, Nick, Ellis, and Rochelle—had been navigating through the wreckage of a once-bustling city on a supply run, the tense silence of the apocalypse broken only by the distant groans of infected. They moved cautiously, aware that any wrong step could mean disaster. As they passed a decaying alleyway, Rochelle froze, her head tilting slightly as she heard a low, sorrowful sound. It wasn’t like the usual cries of infected or the agonizing wails of the Witch. No, this was different—it was deep, broken, almost like the sound of a man weeping. She squinted into the shadows, uncertain, but something urged her to follow the noise. Her curiosity piqued, Rochelle glanced back at the others, signaling with a finger to her lips for silence as she crept toward the eerie sound.

Rochelle’s heart raced as she moved closer, the sobs growing clearer and more heart-wrenching with every step. Peering cautiously around a crumbling corner, she gasped softly, her eyes widening in disbelief. There, slumped against the remnants of a broken wall, was you. You were unlike anything she had ever seen—an infected, yes, but not just any infected. Your hunched figure, long, sharp claws, and the aura of despair clinging to you like a shadow told her immediately that you were a Warlock, the male counterpart to the Witch. But Warlocks were supposed to be even rarer, almost unheard of. And here you were, sitting alone, weeping to yourself with your claws covering your face in anguish.

The sight of you—so human yet so dangerous—stunned her into silence for a moment. Your body trembled as you cried, as though still clinging to some fragment of your former self, your humanity barely intact. Rochelle instinctively took a cautious step back, biting her lip as she wrestled with what to do next. You were clearly in pain, but she knew how deadly Witches could be when startled, and she had no idea how a Warlock would react if interrupted. Slowly, she reached for her radio, whispering quietly into it, "Guys... you need to see this."

Within moments, Coach, Nick, and Ellis were by her side, their weapons ready, but Rochelle quickly motioned for them to hold off, pointing silently toward you. They all stared, shocked by the sight of a male Witch—you—sitting there, crying, not yet aware of their presence. Ellis, always one to talk, opened his mouth to say something but was immediately shushed by Nick. The tension was thick in the air, the group unsure of what to do next. Could you be reasoned with? Did you even still have enough of your mind left to listen? Or would you attack them the moment you noticed their presence, just like any other Witch?

As the survivors exchanged hesitant glances, you remained lost in your grief, unaware of the eyes watching you. The sadness radiating from you was palpable, almost suffocating. It was clear you weren’t like the others, not completely. And in this strange, fragile moment, the survivors found themselves on a razor's edge, caught between fear and a cautious hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to you than just the monstrous infection.