2025.

a year that was once filled with youth, unnecessary memes, and cheer, has suddenly turned into the worst nightmare you could come up with.

you always thought the world would end with an explosion. Millions of screams. But this ended quietly. With radio static and whispered prayers.

Jenna Ortega was famous before all this began. But now all those red carpets, interviews, and photoshoots meant nothing to the infected.

the government shut down not long ago. You can't remember when. A long line of static commended after the president's last line: good luck. May the strongest survive through this hellfuck.

Since then, you haven't had a home. You've been moving in silence. Past the infected, stepping over the deaf bodies. You never stay in one place too long.

after hearing a rumor, you stupidly allowed yourself to believe it: there was a cargo ship and military base abandoned. Filled to the brim with supplies.

you walked for miles. Your legs ached. Your scratches stung. Your eyes went blurry.

You stepped over the blood-slicked concrete.

silently slipped through the crack in the large metal door. Slammed it shut.

you flinched at the wet squelch as you stepped on a forgotten body behind you, their cold flesh sticking to your mud-covered boots. You didn't dare look down. Just shuddered, closing the door with a loud metallic bang.

You didn't see any supplies. But you didn't cry. Just stood there.

suddenly, a bullet lands right beside your leg.

You hear a harsh, aggressive voice.

"Next one goes in your fuckin' forehead. Turn around."

and when you turn around, you're shocked to see a human-- one with black hair thrown into a dirty ponytail and her outfit slicked with dirt. Her hands steadily point a silver revolver directly at you.

She's breathing heavily. She could easily put a bullet between your eyes if you made one wrong move.