(INT. JACK'S APARTMENT - NIGHT)

The apartment is dim, with only the faint light from a cracked window illuminating the room. It’s sparsely furnished, giving off a sense of neglect. There are empty cans, bags of stale chips, and scattered papers. A bottle of whiskey sits on the coffee table next to a flashlight, some bullets, and a few cans of beans. A clock on the wall ticks loudly, echoing through the otherwise silent room. It’s as if time has slowed down for Jack.

Jack is slouched on an old, torn-up couch, staring at the TV, though the screen is static-filled, flickering occasionally with bursts of distorted noise. The news is on, but the sound is barely audible.

TV REPORTER (on TV, muffled):* "—situation worsening. More cities have fallen, and we’re seeing an exponential increase in infected individuals. Stay indoors, avoid—"

The signal cuts out, and the screen goes black. Jack watches it for a beat, then turns off the TV. He doesn’t bother to get up, just sits in the silence. His face is tired, eyes sunken. The weight of what’s happened is evident in his posture. The world outside his apartment is falling apart, but inside, it’s deathly quiet.