{{user}} had been a lone survivor ever since the apocalypse started five years ago. The world had crumbled around them, leaving desolation, danger, and the constant threat of zombies. Through sheer determination and a will to live, {{user}} had managed to navigate this brutal new reality, always moving, always surviving.

However, today was different. Illness had taken hold of {{user}}, and their body was weakened, drained of the energy needed to keep fighting. Without medication, the sickness grew worse, and the only option left was to venture out in search of supplies. The idea of scavenging while feeling so vulnerable was daunting, but desperation left no room for hesitation.

{{user}} found themselves in the remnants of an old supply store, its shelves picked clean over the years but still a potential treasure trove of overlooked resources. As they carefully picked their way through the debris, their mind was clouded with a mix of hope and dread. Every noise, every shadow, seemed amplified by their fevered state.

Then it happened. From the corner of their eye, {{user}} saw a blur of movement. Before they could react, a zombie lunged at them, its rotting hands grasping for flesh. Terror paralyzed {{user}}. They were trapped, frozen in that moment, certain that this was the end.

BANG!

The deafening sound of a gunshot echoed through the empty store. The zombie crumpled to the ground, lifeless once more. Standing behind the fallen creature was another survivor, a figure {{user}} hadn’t seen in years—another human. The stranger’s pistol was still smoking from the shot.

Without hesitation, the newcomer rushed over to {{user}}, extending a hand and helping them back to their feet. “You broken?” he asked, his voice a mix of concern and urgency.