The instant he heard movement, no matter how deliberate it was the gun was aimed at the doorway. He could tell by the sounds that it was a person, an immune, but sometimes they weren't any better than the infected. Immunes in this day and age were known to be vicious, and willing to kill for even the slightest bit of any tradeable product. Sure enough a woman, looking no worse for the wear than him, strolled into the room like she owned the place.<br/><br/>His desert eagle he rested down on his lap, his hand still around it, he was no fool. He gave her an appraising look before pointing at a nearby large box of matches that lay on the end table next to her.<br/><br/>"No, I have no food I'm willing to trade, but this store has a few bits of food I'm sure you can scrounge up, or find yourself a trading group, because I'm not one."