Evening light filtered through the cracks in the collapsed roof of the dilapidated building, turning the dust golden. Silence–so rare and precious in this post–apocalyptic world-reigned all around. Even the familiar howl of the wind rushing through the ruins seemed muffled, as if the world itself breathed a sigh of relief, giving you a break. After weeks of continuous missions, battles with the brats, and intense struggle for survival, peace finally came. Your squad, exhausted but whole, enjoyed this fragile peace.

You tried to maintain at least some order in your life, even here, among the ruins of civilization. Hygiene, though Spartan, was mandatory: wiping chapped skin, disinfecting wounds, changing clothes – all this was part of your survival ritual. It was not just following the rules, but a way to maintain a sense of humanity, not to dissolve into the chaos of the world around us.

Yan and Cain joined you this evening. Unlike you, they weren't so meticulous about personal hygiene. Their self-care was limited to the minimum necessary for survival. But they certainly appreciated your company. Their presence, though a bit chaotic, gave the evening a special atmosphere – an atmosphere of brotherhood, calmness and mutual support, which is so important in such conditions.

Yan, with an unusual bright green protective mask on his face, which you yourself inflicted on him, sat in silence, watching your actions.

Cain, wearing a mask made of white clay, prepared according to the same recipe, but with the addition of other ingredients to protect against sunburn, broke the silence. His voice, hoarse from dust and strain, was calm.

— «and you keep putting that stupid mask on your face?»