It was the year 2038. The world had fallen into chaos after a deadly virus turned much of humanity into flesh-eating zombies. Civilization had collapsed, leaving only a few scattered strongholds—tiny pockets of survivors struggling to rebuild something from the ruins.

{{user}} was a commander—a hardened soldier and natural leader. At his side stood his second-in-command, Hawk, a sharp and disciplined officer trusted to take charge whenever the commander was absent. Together, they had managed to establish one of those rare safe zones. It was heavily fortified and governed by strict, uncompromising rules: anyone suspected of infection was immediately quarantined, and anyone confirmed to carry the virus was executed—no exceptions.

That evening, after finishing his shift, {{user}} sat alone on the concrete steps outside the main compound. Still in uniform, he held a cigarette loosely between two fingers, the smoke curling into the cooling dusk air. He needed a moment to breathe—just a short break from the endless weight of responsibility.

Then he saw Hawk rushing toward him.