"Help! Help!"

The sound wasn't just desperate—it was frantic, wild, and it echoed off the walls, sending a chill down my spine. My head snapped up toward the source and realized he wasn't even in the same space as me.

He was on the other side of the very glass panel I'd woken up against earlier.

How the hell had I missed him? Standing there was a scrawny guy, his sunken eyes framed by deep, dark circles. He looked like he hadn't slept in years—or eaten, for that matter. For a moment, he didn't seem real, like a ghost pulled straight from a horror movie. As soon as our eyes met he started pounding on the glass, his fists leaving faint smudges against its surface. His movements were erratic, his eyes darting around like a trapped animal.

"Please, you have to help me!" he shouted again, his voice cracking with terror.

I stepped closer, my hand still gripping the chainsaw's handle, trying to make sense of the situation. The guy looked like he was hanging on by a thread—scrawny, pale, and disheveled, with sweat dripping down his forehead.

"Why should I help you?" I called back, my voice more annoyed than concerned.

"Please help me, I would do anything please!" he stammered, his hands pressing flat against the glass as if sheer willpower might somehow break it.

Great. Just great. Now I was stuck with a panicking stranger who somehow managed to wake up on the wrong side of my glass panel.

And worse? I had no idea how—or if—I could get him in.

My best bet was to go back up and grab the makeshift glass breaker I'd used earlier, but that would mean risking an encounter with the other companions. And what if this guy turned on me too? What if he'd just use me as a stepping stone, a means to secure his own survival, like Mr. Trust Issues had? I still remember the way betrayal hit me, the gut-wrenching realization that someone I'd thought I could rely on had shoved me aside and left me to die.

Could I really trust this stranger? Or would he do the same thing if he got the chance?

I thought for a while, weighing the options. But the desperation in his eyes—those wild, frantic eyes—made me believe he wasn't out for betrayal. At least, not yet.

If he did try to turn on me, though, if he decided I was just another obstacle in his way, he would meet the same fate as Mr. Trust Issues. With the same chainsaw, no less.

I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

I climbed back up to the floor above, doing my best to avoid running into any of the other companions. Thankfully, I didn't see a soul. I grabbed my glass breaker combo 2.0—aka the TV dish edition—and made my way down the stairs again, feeling the weight of the situation pressing on me.

Reaching the glass, I swung the makeshift hammer down again, breaking the panel with a satisfying crack. The man was now free to enter.

I studied him as he stepped inside. He was as skinny as could be, with dark, unruly hair that looked like it hadn't been combed in days—if not weeks. He had the kind of look that screamed trouble, like someone who'd been through more than a few shady deals. His black and white striped shirt seemed a little out of place, but it didn't matter.

"Thank you, thank you," he said, his voice shaky with relief, but also laced with something I couldn't quite place.

I nodded, keeping a safe distance. "What are you doing here?" I asked, eyeing him carefully.

He sighed, running a shaky hand through his unruly hair. "I got mixed up with some bad people," he started, voice heavy. "I was a drug dealer. They offered me a way out, a deal to escape the cops. Signed a stupid paper, thought I was getting a fresh start. Then, I woke up here. In this damn game."

I studied him carefully, trying to pick apart his story. His face was lined with exhaustion, but there was something about his words that didn't add up. Could he be telling the truth? Or was he just another player trying to manipulate me? "Shady people, huh?" I repeated, my tone skeptical. "Sounds like you got more than you bargained for."

He nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he wiped his face. "Yeah, no kidding. It was supposed to be a clean escape. Instead, I'm stuck in this hellhole. All I want is to get out, man."

I said nothing for a moment, keeping my eyes on him. Part of me wanted to believe him, but the other part remembered what happened the last time I trusted someone. "You got any plans?" I finally asked, voice cautious.

He shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. I just want to survive. We could... I don't know, work together? You already have weapons, right?" 

I stepped back, shaking my head. "I'm not teaming up with anyone," I said firmly. "Not unless I'm sure I can trust you."

He didn't argue, but I could see the disappointment flicker across his face. For a moment, we stood there in silence, tension thick in the air.

"Alright," he said after a while, looking down at his feet. "I get it. But just so you know, I'm not gonna hurt you. We're all just stuck here, trying to survive. And trust me, I've learned the hard way that trust doesn't come easy in this place."

"No shit Sherlock," I muttered under my breath. "What's your weapon?"

"A crossbow," he answered.

I raised an eyebrow, sizing him up. A crossbow, huh? He must know how to aim, I thought.

"Where is it?" I asked, my voice more curt than I meant it to be.

He pointed downward. "The floor below. That's where my supply bag is too," he replied, his voice hesitant and eyes not meeting mine.

I nodded, taking the information in. My mind immediately started calculating risks. The floor below was probably crawling with other 'companions', and who knows what kind of trap or ambush could be waiting. But I needed to know what he had in that bag, and if he wasn't lying, that crossbow could be useful.

"Alright," I said, after a beat. "Let's go get it, but no funny business. If I smell betrayal, I won't hesitate."

He swallowed, nodding quickly. "I understand. No tricks, I swear."

We both moved cautiously towards the stairwell. The tension between us was thick, the kind you could cut with a knife. I kept my eyes on him, my grip tight on the chainsaw. Trust wasn't something I handed out easily anymore. And for some reason, something about this guy felt off.

As we descended, the sound of our footsteps echoed through the silent building, the empty halls amplifying every sound.

When we finally reached the floor, I gestured for him to move ahead. He crept forward cautiously, like a mouse inching toward a cheese trap. There, in the corner, were his crossbow and supplies. Okay, I guess he wasn't lying—though I still didn't trust him.

I examined the crossbow, checking its condition, before handing it back to him. He took it, and for a moment, he stared out the window, lost in thought. Then we heard it— a soft clink. My heart skipped as I looked down to see a grenade slowly rolling toward us.

Shit.