It was bad. Like, end-of-the-world bad.

Everyone knew it. Food and water was running low, barely enough to stretch between the six guys holed up in the house... Seven now that you had shown up, wide-eyed and probably expecting something a little more organized than a bunch of semi-famous man-children clinging to survival with duct tape, half eaten bars of chocolate, and unresolved emotional trauma.

They had a meeting, naturally. A real serious one. Sat in a circle, probably passed around a half-lit joint like it was a talking stick. The consensus? No way were they throwing the newbie back out there — Not when demons were literally ripping peoples souls out like they were party favors. So, yeah, you were in. Safe. Or, you know, as safe as anyone could be with this crew.

Now, the house was still. Too still. Every window and door had been boarded up like they were trying to keep out zombies. Sunlight barely filtered through the cracks. The air inside? Stale, heavy with tension, sweat, and probably Axe body spray from Danny. No one said it, but they were all thinking the same thing: survival was going to take more than just canned beans and a copious amount of drugs.