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Your Status: Unknown (Possibly Infected)

Your Equipment: Nothing, Intertwined Backpacks

Your Inventory: Pistol (??/??), Flashlight

You remember the booby-trap that got you in this predicament in the first place, and decide to avoid that risk. Turning left, you dash into the tunnel. Dust hangs in the air, forming a haze which refracts your flashlight beam.

The floor turns to soft dirt beneath your feet, drastically quieting your footfalls. The tunnel is cramped, barely tall enough for you to fit through. It's pretty narrow, though there's enough room for two people to squeeze past each other if need be. Random turns surprise you several times, causing you to carom off the walls, only to continue to run. You continue this way for several more minutes, legs burning, before you're **** to stop. Chest heaving, heart thundering in your ears, you lean against the wall, flashlight and pistol in hand.

You look back down the tunnel, listening and watching for any sign of the Infected chasing you. Luckily, this tunnel leaves it with no way to ambush you, meaning you have a pretty good chance to shoot it before it can jump you. All your flashlight beam reveals is the hanging dust and the odd footprint you left on your mad dash through the tunnel.

Finally satisfied you've lost your pursuit, you drop your pack and sit, leaning against one wall. The cool dirt offers faint relief to your hot skin, and you can feel a faint, cool draft coming from the direction you were heading, causing your nipples to harden slightly. You must be fairly close to the exit.

For a brief moment, you feel like something is missing, before realizing you're naked. You had completely forgotten about that during your mad flight from Lab Coat's refuge. Grabbing your pack, you open it, hoping your belongings are still in it.

Looking into it, you find your pack to be quite a bit emptier than when you last opened it. There's one pair of jeans and a button-down shirt, your firecrackers and pocketknife, and two bottles of water in it. No shoes, no food, no spare ammo. You're going to have to find someplace to get supplies, and soon, because you have enough water for possibly two days if you ration it. Popping the magazine out of the pistol, you find it contains six rounds.

Pulling the jeans and shirt out, you give yourself a quick once-over for any signs of injury. You're filthy, and have a few bruises, but nothing serious. Wishing you could take a shower, you pull the jeans on, then start fumbling with the buttons on the shirt. Exhaustion and your receding adrenaline rush make it difficult to do them up, and you eventually end up leaving the top few buttons open, revealing a good portion of your cleavage.

Sitting there, exhausted, all you want to do is sleep, but another part of you says you should press on, put more distance between you and the Infected behind you.