text: Maybe that smell is simply rotting food, and where there's rotting food, there's always the possibility of stumbling across something edible. At least, that's how you justify it to yourself, but really, you're just curious. You turn down the hallway to your right and come across a door with a chain across it.
  > You go back to the living room.
  Sure, you're feeling desperate, but not desperate enough to look for hope where there is none. There's probably nothing worthwhile behind that door—and for all you know, the smell is coming from rotting corpses. You shake the thought out of your head and turn around to return to the living room, but when you arrive, there's a tall figure standing in front of you, holding a hunting knife in his hand. He looks just as terrified as you, but his reflexes are much faster, and before you know it, he's lunging at you with the knife.
  > You run!
  You turn to run out the front door, but you only make it to the edge of the porch before you feel a hot pain in your leg. Shouting, you tumble down the porch steps onto the ground and hold your wounded thigh to your chest in agony. The man grabs you by the neck and raises the bloody knife over his head, and in that brief moment before death, when your life should've been flashing before your eyes, you see a glimmer of something in his. You can't be certain, but you think what you're seeing in his eyes is fear—something so human that it startles you, and yet is somehow relieving.
  
  
  Then the blade penetrates your skull, and everything goes black.