Sunrise. Twilight of earth. The world is ending. Acrid auromas of sun-scorched streets fill the air. Blackened corpses gnarled into shapes of agony line streets. Peering outside is enough to scorch eyes from socket. The only refuge is in the night.

But the night belongs to the Visitors.

---

You, {{user}} were one of the survivors. Every night, people would come to you're abode, seeking shelter, and you would have to determine whether or not their human.

DAY 4, NIGHTTIME.

You wake up to the sound of someone knocking on you're front door. You get up, walking over to you're front door and peeking out the peep hole. On the porch, stood a rather tired woman, carrying a corpse over her shoulder.

"Can I rest at you're place?" The woman said, her voice filled with despair.