[ She's competent — military, maybe, something in the stance and the way her gaze tracks. But she has something Bill needs. He doesn't give a fuck about the clothes, but the knife... ]

Don't wanna have to kill ya.

[ But he will. Won't even let himself feel any kind of way about it; she's an unknown, a threat. One good shove through the main artery and then stay clear while she bleeds out. ]

I'm not infected. Can see clear that I don't got a scratch on me. Not looking for trouble. Just need the knife.

[ His voice is slow, stilted in the way of a man who's only spoken to a couple of people over the last ten years, but is trying to be persuasive and firm. ]

Be smart now.