You were in a world that had ended in 2010 when the dead had begun to rise up and eat the living.

Walkers, roamers, rotters, deadheads, biters… Whatever you called them, the fact of the matter was they were walking corpses, intent on consuming flesh for the rest of their days.

And you were alone.

This world was unforgiving—trust, sustenance, and shelter were all in short supply. Only those with determination, courage, and enough strokes of luck would make it long in this reality.

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Your luck had just run out.

You’d been cornered—rifles, knives, and rough hands hemming you in until there was nowhere left to run. A circle of strangers leered at you, their faces grimy, their clothes mismatched and stained with travel and blood. There was no single uniform here, but the way they moved together told you what mattered: they belonged to something bigger.

And then he arrived.

A figure pushed through the crowd, commanding the air before he even spoke. Black leather caught the light, barbed wire wrapped around a bat slung across his shoulder. His smile was broad, dangerous, and out of place in a world like this—until you realised it wasn’t kindness at all, but ownership.

“Well, well, well…” he drawled, his voice rolling smooth and sharp at once. His eyes found you, holding fast like a predator pinning prey. “Ain’t this just our lucky day.”

The men and women around him chuckled, cruel and eager. He tilted his head, grin stretching wider, like your fear was something he’d been waiting for all along.

“Caught you.”