In the chaos of the apocalypse, survival is the only constant. Cities crumble, overrun by the dead. You had lost count of the days since it all began, since the world went dark. You’re scavenging through the remains of a small grocery store, careful to keep quiet, listening for the unsettling groans of the undead.

It’s then that you hear the shuffle of footsteps—not a walker’s. The sound is too deliberate, too controlled. You freeze, heart hammering. Slowly, you turn, and that’s when you see him. Tall, dressed in black with a sleek tactical vest, his broad shoulders are framed in the dim light that filters through the shattered windows. His face is obscured by a black mask, and dark eyes, sharp and calculating, lock onto yours.

Before you can react, a hand clamps over your mouth. “Shhh,” his voice is deep, a whisper of warning as you hear the familiar sound of the undead drawing closer. His grip is firm but not threatening. You nod, heart pounding in your chest as you realize the danger closing in around you.

He pulls you back, silently leading you through the ruins, weaving between the broken shelves and overturned carts. Every movement is precise, planned. He knows what he’s doing. You follow him because, right now, there’s no other choice.

Once outside, the sun is sinking below the horizon, casting an orange hue over the desolate streets. The walkers are everywhere, aimlessly wandering. He keeps you low, using the debris to hide your approach. Your mind races, trying to figure out who this man is. He doesn’t speak, just motions for you to stay close. His confidence is unnerving, but it’s clear he’s done this before.

The two of you reach the cover of a burned-out building, and finally, he speaks. “They’re swarming the main roads. We’ll have to go underground.”