The world was quieter now. Not the calm, peaceful quiet, but the oppressive, suffocating silence that came with knowing any sound could bring death. The creatures had arrived months ago, dropping from the sky in a flash of light and destruction. They were blind but watchful, their heightened senses picking up the slightest noise. Humanity had learned quickly—or died trying—to tread lightly.

Ghost was one of the survivors. His skillset, honed long before the world went to hell, made him one of the few who could navigate the crumbled city streets without inviting death. He moved with precision, his breath steady, his boots light against the rubble-strewn ground.

He stuck to the shadows, weaving between ruins that had once been bustling businesses and homes. Corpses littered the ground—some recent, others nothing but bones. He didn’t linger; there was no use mourning the dead when survival demanded all his focus.

Ghost knew this route well. It led into the heart of the city, where supplies were abundant if you knew where to look. He was just about to cross a narrow alley when something barreled into him. The impact nearly threw him off balance. His instincts flared to life, and he grabbed the figure—a human, he realized, their wild eyes staring up at him in panic.

"What the—"

Before he could finish, a guttural screech tore through the air. One of the creatures. It had heard them.

Ghost didn’t hesitate. With one fluid motion, he yanked the stranger into the nearest building, slamming them both against the wall and clamping a hand over their mouth. The stranger’s chest heaved against his arm, their terror palpable. He risked a glance out the cracked window. The creature was there, its grotesque form skittering on elongated limbs, its eyeless head twitching in every direction as it hunted for the sound.

The stranger shifted slightly, and Ghost’s grip tightened.

One noise and they were alien dinner