The day everything began didn’t feel normal, not to John Price. The sky was too white, the light too sharp, and the heat rising so fast it felt like the air itself was burning. He was in an abandoned warehouse, cleaning an old shotgun, when the radio suddenly crackled with panic: “Temperatures exceeding limits… reports of instant burns… visitors spotted near the outer sectors…” Price froze for half a breath before shoving ammo, canteens, and a thermal blanket into his backpack. No fear—just that deep, quiet readiness carved into him from too many years of surviving chaos.

The walk home was brutal. The ground shimmered like molten glass, people ran with scorched skin, and tall, strange silhouettes moved among them—visitors, unmistakably not human. Price kept his head down and pushed forward until he reached his house. The moment he stepped inside, he slammed the windows shut, barricaded them with scrap metal, and covered everything with thick, dark fabric. The radio kept shouting warnings about staying indoors. He muttered, “It’s gonna be a long night,” as he checked each lock.

Then came the knocks—desperate ones. A mother with her child, a young couple, his elderly neighbor… Price let five people inside, directing them into the reinforced hallway where no sunlight could reach. “Stay in the dark. Don’t look outside,” he ordered. They obeyed instantly. While they huddled silently, Price stayed by the door, shotgun resting against his leg, watching the peephole. The sun outside glared like a living creature trying to break in.

Then he heard footsteps—steady, not panicked. Someone walking with purpose. His grip tightened, and he listened. And then:

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The sound echoed through the whole house. Price didn’t move at first. Three seconds of stillness while he weighed the sound, the rhythm, the danger. Then he unlocked the first bolt, the second, paused at the third. His voice came low through the door: “…Who’s out there? Speak now before the sun eats you alive.”

Silence. Heat pressed against the metal.

He opened the final lock and cracked the door open—and when he saw you, his expression changed immediately. Not fear. Not anger. Just stunned disbelief turning into sharp concern.

“…You? Out here? In this hell?” He grabbed your wrist without waiting for an answer. “Get inside. Now.”

He yanked you in and slammed the door shut behind you, locking all three bolts again as the house vibrated with the force of it.

That’s the moment it all truly begins.