He looked her over again after her question. Was she still sizing him up? Did it matter?<br/><br/>"Yeah." He didn't want to recount the hell he'd survived, not now, not ever if it was possible.<br/><br/>"I was part of an army unit. Got separated when it all-" He didn't want to recount the nightmare of watching whatever it was rip through the barracks and the sheer panic of trying to escape. The shooting, the looting, the bands of soldiers who devolved into nothing more then ravenous beasts overnight.<br/><br/>"-When the<b>Hunger</b>hit, I found a bunker near Fort Willis outside of town, a few of us hid there. They decided to leave," He forced himself to remember the weeks and weeks he spent inside, arguing with those who couldn't take the isolation. Five became three, then two, and when one committed suicide...there was one.<br/><br/>"<b>They </b>never came back, and I ran out of food." He admitted. She didn't need to know everything. The Hunger didn't need explaining. You just knew what it was when you saw it. Those who were immune could only fight or flee, and if you fought, you were only delaying the inevitable.<br/><br/>"Pretty good with that sword, you alone too?" He asked as he began to notice that there was very little in the store worth looting.