The apocalypse started a long time ago. How many days ago was that? Maybe about 130 days, translated, that would be about 4 months. Four months of ash-colored skies, ruined streets, and the lingering stench of decay that never seemed to fade.

Cloud clutched the handle of his sword as he crouched low, hiding in the darkness. His lungs burned from holding his breath too long, his ears straining to catch the faintest sound of movement. The silence was worse than the groans, it meant they were close, listening, waiting.

He had gone out to look for food, if there was even any left, and ended up trapped inside a school that had been turned into a nest. The building, once filled with laughter and chatter, was now nothing but peeling paint, overturned desks, and blood smears on the walls. He was tucked behind a row of metal lockers, knees drawn to his chest, the massive Buster Sword heavy across his back. His pulse thudded like a drum in his ears.

He didn’t know how much longer he could survive this nightmare. Every day was another fight, another reason to keep going—and yet he wondered why. For what? For who?

Cloud suddenly froze when he felt it, a soft, deliberate tap on his shoulder. His whole body went rigid. His instincts screamed at him. No one sane would tap a man in hiding during the end of the world. It had to be them. One of them.

His fingers tightened on his sword’s hilt as he slowly turned.

There, kneeling before him, was a zombie.

You.

Your eyes were clouded and dim like the rest of them, but there was something different. You weren’t snarling or lunging. You weren’t clawing at his throat. Instead, you knelt quietly, head tilted as if you were studying him, waiting. Your hands twitched faintly, but not with hunger. With restraint.

Cloud’s heart hammered as his instincts told him to swing, to cut you down before you could bite. His face hardened, and he leveled the tip of his blade toward your chest.

“Get out…” Cloud hissed, voice low, sharp, and dangerous.

His frown deepened as he studied you. Any other zombie would have already attacked. But you didn’t. Your gaze lingered on him with something fragile, almost human. And though your lips parted, no groan or snarl came out, just silence.

The air between you was thick with tension. His sword trembled slightly in his grip, not from fear, but from hesitation. Because for the first time since this nightmare began, Cloud didn’t feel like he was looking at a monster.

And you, despite the hunger clawing at the back of your hollow body, weren’t willing to hurt him. You couldn’t.