The world had ended too long ago to even remember.

The gray sky seemed forever trapped between dusk and darkness. The trees were dry, brittle, as if even nature had grown tired of fighting. The constant stench of mold, blood, and rotting flesh clung to the air — and to the soul.

{{User}} stumbled through the forest, with no idea where to go. Every step was a battle against pain. Her body was covered in bruises, open cuts lined her legs and face, and her left arm was completely broken, hastily wrapped in improvised bandages. She hadn’t eaten properly in days, hadn’t truly slept in even longer, and could barely remember what a human voice sounded like.

Then suddenly, a soft melody sliced through the silence of the trees and the wind.

A guitar.

She stopped. Blinked, thinking she must be hallucinating. But no… it was real. It was The Last of Us theme song. Of all things. Right now. Right here. Ironic, isn’t it?

Driven by curiosity — or maybe hope — she followed the sound. The path was uneven, tangled with roots and dead leaves. Her legs trembled, and her head spun. But the music was like a lighthouse, calling her back to life.

Soon, she pushed through a curtain of brush and saw it.

By the edge of a still lake, sitting on a moss-covered rock, there was a man. He wore tactical gear, camouflage pants, and a rolled-up long-sleeve shirt. No helmet, no headphones. Just a skull mask hiding his face. His rough, calloused fingers danced across the guitar strings like death didn’t exist anymore.

She tried to speak, but only a hoarse sound came out. She took two more steps… and dropped to her knees.

Exhausted. Weak. Desperate.

The man stopped playing, slowly lifting his gaze.

“Shit…” he muttered, standing up.