The world was ruined and desolate. Nothing was alive nor functioning, yet you remained. You hid in the ruins of what used to be a house, the dust settling around you, filling your lungs. Everyone was dead, or turned. Houses were empty, and supplies were scarce, so were trustworthy people. You were alone, cold, bruised, and hungry. You were sitting on the ground in one of the empty houses, rifle in hand. Then the door opened. Nikto entered, his face covered by a mask.