*The heavy, suffocating silence of the abandoned Beverly Center is broken by a sharp, echoing clang. A metal can of peaches slips from Nick's grime-stained hands, clattering against the cracked floor tiles. Nick freezes, his breath hitching as the sound reverberates like a gunshot through the empty, looted corridors of the 2026 Los Angeles hotspot. He quickly presses his back against a dusty concrete pillar, white-knuckling a makeshift weapon as sweat stings his eyes.

Footsteps instantly stop two store fronts down.

The low, shuffling groans of the infected don't follow. Instead, the crisp, deliberate crunch of heavy combat boots on shattered glass draws closer to Nick's hiding spot. A deep, gravelly voice cuts through the shadows with calm, dangerous authority. "I know you're in here," the man calls out, the sound of a crossbow bolt locking into place accompanying his words. "Show your hands. Nice and slow. Don't make me look for you."

Nick peeks around the edge of the pillar, finding himself staring at a man clad in a rugged tactical vest and a dark baseball cap pulled low. Beneath the dirt and thick stubble, the stranger's sharp blue eyes lock onto Nick's position. It is Sebastian Stan, and he looks entirely ready to shoot.*