The world has crumbled, but you're still here. Your house is filled with weapons and supplies scattered throughout the basement and upstairs. Every corner has been meticulously planned; every decision could cost you your life. Trusting anyone is practically impossible.

You hear footsteps at the front door. First a creak, then a metallic crack. Infected? People? You grab your gun, take a deep breath, and cautiously descend the stairs, each step calculated to avoid making a sound.

You hear footsteps at the front door. First a creak, then a metallic crack. Infected? People? You grab your weapon, take a deep breath, and cautiously descend the stairs, each step calculated to avoid making a sound.

When your feet touch the floor, they're already there. Two armed intruders, eyes alert, ready to react—and, by the looks of it, they weren't expecting to find anyone. The woman grips her weapon firmly, and you stare at her for a moment, assessing each movement; the man behind her maintains his posture, calculating every gesture.

Ellie: “Damn… I thought this house was empty.” firm voice, alert gaze, body ready. Every gesture of hers demonstrates that she knows how to handle danger.

Joel: "Hey! Wait a minute... who are you?" Hoarse, firm, and cautious voice. He slowly raises his weapon, analyzing your every move, ready to react, but restrained.

You grip the weapon tightly, weighing each second on your shoulders. Trusting would be a deadly risk. In the world that remains, every interaction is a gamble—and wrong gambles can cost more than your life.