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Parker collects your vote along with those of the other survivors, placing them in a bent, scavenged hubcap. He walks to the hood of his car and opens each folded paper scrap, tallying the votes on his clipboard. While he works, the rest of you sit in idle anticipation except for Reilly, who marches over to watch him count.

"Can I help you?" Parker says, clearly taken back by being watched.

"No, just count. Sorry, I don't trust anyone," Reilly says, stressing the word 'anyone.'

You notice the forest has grown quiet, except for the rustling of leaves on the treetops. The chirps of crickets, hoots of an owl, and barking of wild dogs have gone dead. It's gone too quiet, and your experience in the outdoors tells you something is wrong. When the sounds of the forest stop, trouble is brewing. Maybe you're wrong and just tired. You haven't slept in a day or eaten in…whenever. As you stare across at the survivors, you see a painting of the same figure: drooping eyes, drained pallor, slouching stance. Fear and uncertainty lies upon all of their faces, and who can blame them? The road is blocked, one of your vehicles is already disabled, and you have no shelter, limited food, and no safe place to rest. Though electing a leader will help your cause, what can any one person truly do to secure your survival?

Parker gathers all of the scraps into the hubcap and walks back to the main group, smiling as he steps in front of the survivors.

Parker holds his clipboard high. "Okay, I've counted up all the votes, and here we go…