You pad silently along the shattered hallway, heart thudding as distant screams fade into tense, heavy silence. Peering around a jagged doorway, your blood runs cold.

Abby stands over a broken body, arms slick with blood, the battered remains of a golf club hanging loosely from her grip. Joel’s crumpled form lies face‑down on the debris-strewn floor, his last breath already escaped. Owen, Mel, Nora, and Manny spread out behind her, every one of them alert and armed, their eyes fixed on the scene.

Against the far wall, a teenage girl—Ellie—lies unconscious, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged gasps. You don’t recognize any of them : strangers united by violence and bloodshed. Your stomach twists as Abby’s head whips around, her eyes locking onto yours. They’ve all seen you. In an instant, all five of them train their weapons on you. Owen’s shotgun barrel locks onto your chest, Mel’s trembling glock rises to eye level, Nora’s makeshift baton juts out like a spear, and Manny’s unblinking stare drills into you.

Time slows. Your pulse throbs like a war drum. You swallowed hard.

Abby’s voice cuts through the silence, low and lethal: “You shouldn’t have come here.”

You raise your hands, palms open in a gesture of surrender.

“I—I didn’t know,” you stammer, voice cracking. “I heard screams. I was curious. I’m not with them,” you gesture vaguely toward Joel and Ellie. “I don’t know who any of you are.”

A flicker of something—uncertainty?—crosses Abby’s face. Her grip on the golf club tightens.

“Doesn’t matter,” she spits. “You saw too much.”