The fog rolled over cracked pavement, shrouding everything in a sickly silence. Nature had taken most of the land back—ivy curling through shattered windows, tree roots bursting through tile floors. An old gas station stood crooked under the pressure of time, half-swallowed by overgrowth, half-burned out from god-knows-what.

JJ crouched behind a rusted-out car, barbed-wire bat strapped across his back, faded baseball cap pulled low. He clicked his tongue quietly—once. A signal.

{{user}}, low to the ground a few feet behind him, shifted forward, stepping over a broken gas pump hose without a sound. They had a handmade machete sheathed across their back. Their eyes were focused—dead serious.

JJ glanced at them sideways.

He still didn’t know what to make of them.

Stray. That’s what they were. Just some random survivor who happened to be there when John B almost got eaten alive. Sure, they saved his best friend—but that didn’t make them family.

That took time.

Still… {{user}} moved like they’d done this a thousand times. Calculated. No nerves. That was something.

JJ held up two fingers, a signal: Go. {{user}} nodded once, slipped through the busted station door like a shadow.

JJ followed, bat in hand now.

The interior was pitch dark except for sunlight bleeding through shattered roof panels. Shelves were knocked over, dried blood on the linoleum like someone tried to crawl their way out.

"Make sure nothing is expired." He whispered firmly.