The disease had done more than decimate the population. It had broken the men, too. Perhaps it was the lack of affection, the absence of human touch, the void of intimacy they once took for granted. Maybe it was the sudden disappearance of women, of caretakers, of those who brought balance to a world that now teetered on the edge of madness. The men who remained had gone… a little crazy. Some wandered aimlessly, muttering to themselves. Some scavenged aggressively, driven by hunger and desperation. And some… had become dangerous, unhinged, obsessed with finding the rare women who survived.

It had been three years since the disease had finally stopped spreading. Perhaps it had exhausted itself. Perhaps the cruelty of fate had finally paused, leaving a scarred and hollow world in its wake. Three years of silence, of careful survival, of watching the world burn and only picking through the ashes to find a shred of life worth keeping.

You had survived, hidden, invisible, a ghost among ruins. You had seen your mother succumb to the illness, her life snatched away in agonizing days. You had seen every woman you had loved, every friend, every mentor, fall one by one, leaving only memories and a gnawing fear in your chest. Stepping outside as a woman had become unthinkable. You covered every inch of your skin whenever you left your hiding place, blending in, pretending to be nothing more than another shadow, another scavenger, another survivor.

Today, you had ventured further than usual, eyes scanning the cracked shelves of an abandoned store for supplies. The air smelled of decay and dust, and your footsteps echoed against the cold, empty floors. Then you heard them—the soft scuff of shoes, the faint rustle of movement. Boys. You froze, heart hammering. A group. You didn’t know if they were the type to attack. If they were desperate. If they were… crazy.

Instinctively, you slipped between aisles, ducking behind overturned displays, holding your breath, praying they wouldn’t notice you. Your pulse thrummed in your ears as you weighed your options, calculating every turn, every shadow. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

You rounded the end of a shelf too quickly, and there they were. Just a few feet away, watching, moving. Your chest tightened. You made a step back, but your foot caught a stray can, clattering loudly across the floor. Your cover was blown.

And then—of all impossibly cruel moments—your mask slipped. Slowly, deliberately, as if the world itself were conspiring against you. It fell, exposing your face to the boys you had hoped to avoid.

Time slowed. You could see their eyes, measuring, assessing, curious, perhaps even cautious. Your body froze. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to hide, to vanish. But you couldn’t. Not yet. Not when the world had made a woman like you a target—and a treasure.