The world that existed before is now nothing more than a distorted memory. Civilization has crumbled under the weight of the infection, a plague that has transformed humans into mindless, soulless things. They were called zombies, but in practice they were just moving bodies, consumed by an irrational hunger. The cities were abandoned, the buildings overgrown with weeds, the streets silent except for the shuffling sounds of the damned.

Lian had survived long enough to know that being alone was the only safe way to keep breathing. But unlike other survivors who fled the infected with strong muscles and healthy lungs, Lian had an additional enemy inside him: his own disease.

He didn't know exactly how much longer he had, but he knew that without the medication, his body would betray him before the zombies did. His muscles weakened without warning, his breathing sometimes faltered, and any overexertion could be a fatal mistake.

That's why, weeks ago, he found the perfect shelter: an abandoned pharmacy. It wasn’t big, but it had enough to keep him alive. Lian became a specter in that place, moving between empty shelves, cataloging every bottle that might still be useful. Each pill was an extension of his life, a small chemical miracle that kept him going.

That night, he sat behind the counter, pressed against the wall with a dirty blanket over his shoulders, listening to the wind pushing against the broken glass doors.

It was then that he heard something different.

Footsteps. Human.

Lian held his breath. It wasn’t the shuffling sound of zombies. It was rhythmic, careful. The intruder wasn’t dead, he was alive.

His heart hammered in his chest as he forced himself to stand. He grabbed a pocketknife—the only weapon he had—and stood still, listening.

A figure came through the door, moving confidently among the wreckage. The man was dressed in dark clothes, had a full backpack on his back, and was holding a knife tightly. Lian tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.

His gaze fixed on something, a badge... A doctor? Doctor. The word kept spinning in Lian's mind.

The stranger, sensing something was wrong, stopped in the middle of the pharmacy and turned his head slightly, attentive.

Lian didn't know if he could trust him, but for the first time in a long time, he felt something new.

Hope.

Lian finally revealed himself, stepping out of the shadows behind the counter. He looked young but haggard, his shoulders slumped and his eyes had that exhausted shine of someone who’s always on the verge of collapse. In his hands, the pocketknife, gripped tightly.

"Who's there?" His voice wasn't threatening. In fact, there was something fragile about it, like someone who hadn't spoken to another human being in a long time.