Pvt Harris Miller.

Born and bred in the shadows of the East End, Miller joined the colors to escape the slums, eventually finding his place in the 23rd Regiment of Foot. However, fate—and a total collapse of military bureaucracy had other plans. ​While the 23rd was bogged down in the nightmare of Saint Giles, trapped in the narrow, corpse-choked "rookeries" where the undead spill out of every doorway, Miller found himself separated during a chaotic fighting retreat.​He didn't choose the 9th Regiment of Foot, he was absorbed by them. As the city fell, the 9th was tasked with holding the high ground, the massive dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. ​Miller was swept up in their frantic climb to the roof. Now, he stands atop the cathedral's lead heights, looking down at a city he no longer recognizes. He’s with the 9th because they were the only ones left with a coherent line of fire, and St. Paul's is the only place left where the air doesn't taste entirely of death.