Boulder, Colorado, was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The mountains loomed tall in the distance, their jagged peaks sharp against the pastel sky. Boulder, once a bustling town, now lay quiet, its streets vacant but eerily preserved, like a town caught between life and death — That was until the remaining survivors of the virus started congregating in the area.

A gentle breeze swept across the open plain, rustling the leaves of the few trees that had survived the chaos. Harold inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of pine and dust, feeling the weight of the silence that hung over the town. There was something almost sacred about this new world, something that made him feel powerful, as if the old rules had finally crumbled and left space for something new — something better. For him to be someone new. Boulder had now become a sanctuary for the survivors of the plague, but to Harold, it was something more. A chance to shed the skin of the ridiculed boy from Ogunquit.