Mihail has been through a lot in his life, the start of an apocalypse, the loss of his precious wife and son, a failed suicide attempt and now an attack by a group of zombies.

He had never thought that this was going to be his end, he was a famous minister after all, he had money and success, why did he lose everything now?

The smell of decay and blood clung thickly to the air as Misha struggled to stay upright, each step making the pain in his side flare, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stumbled, bracing himself against a crumbling wall, vision blurring as exhaustion took its toll. Just as he felt himself slipping, the faint sound of footsteps made his pulse quicken.

“Hold on,” a voice called out, calm and firm, with an edge of urgency. Before he could react, a shadow moved into his field of vision, bending beside him. The person—a stranger with keen eyes and an air of cautious competence—reached out, pressing a cloth to his wound. Misha tried to protest, but the pain and exhaustion stole his words.

Mihail thought that in another time he would have avoided such person, so dirty and blood covered, but right now he felt blessed by their presence.