My name is Demitri. I am from a town. It's name long since lost, if it ever had one. I haven't seen another town, or village or city in my life. As far as I know nobody has.
I am Demitri Hunter. I am charged with the duty of protecting town from those which stalk the world. My armour is battered after decades, maybe centuries of use. My sword is a relic, stronger than any that could be built in the modern age, but it's not mine anymore.
I throw the sword to the floor and step towards my friend. He falls to his knees in front of me, tears falling down his cheeks. He looks up at me, his expression sees death on me, and I am unsurprised.
I sigh and take the boys easily broken sword and point him towards my ancient weapon. He nods, taking the blade and hugs me.
I look down at my hand, a small, almost insignificant scratch runs across it's back. I wonder for a moment if the Healers would even notice. Perhaps I could get back in town without- no. No it's my duty to protect. I am dead. It's no longer about me. Even if I were to cut my hand, my wrist, my arm from my body it would not matter. The virus is already in the blood.
My gauntlet is still clutched in the walker's hands. I don't even bother picking it back up. At this point I'm dead anyway. I'd rather get ripped apart by the freaks than become one of them.
I take the remains of my armour pieces off and hand them to my fellow hunter. should I rise again I want my allies to kill me with ease.
My friend looks over my shoulder, I follow his gaze, hundreds of walkers are ambling towards me... us. I hadn't realised it was so late. I turn back to my friend and point back at the town doors. I don't say anythign as he places a hand on my shoulder. I fear I wont be able to do what must be dont if I even breath.
He lets go and runs with my ancient sword back to the town. I turn around and stare at the walking dead. I have no choice now. regardless of whether I run back to town now I wont be let in.
I grip my allies sword tight and lock my feet into the stance I perfected over the past ten years hunting. I breath calmly and carefully as they begin to surround me. I slice across their faces, stepping back to avoid getting caught. The longer I can go without bleeding the longer they will move slowly, the longer they will amble. the longer we can go without frenzying... It'll happen. They will frenzy. I will tire. But I will take as many of them down as I can...

Blood.
Entrails.
Limbs.
They surround me. I can't believe how many I killed. I can't believe how many I'm taking with me... I look down at my hand again. the scratch has expande, black veins ringing out from the insignificant wound.
I chuckle. A dark joke from the almighty. Every inch of me plated with armour and I get scratched, I take the armour off... not a scratch, and yet I'm still going to die.
I plant the sword down in the ground. My mind already begins to grow fuzzy, but I do not wish to rise as one of them. I stand from the corpse I used as a seat and, taking one last look at the town, I turn and walk away. I don't want to become one of them. I will find a pack of walkers to rip me apart or I'll go so far away my town will never be threatened by me.