The apocalypse had begun. Chaos erupted like wildfire, spreading despair and destruction across the land. Simon "Ghost" Riley, hardened by years of combat and loss, knew the world would never be the same. Instincts honed on the battlefield kicked in as he grabbed his two children, twelve-year-old Jack and Lilly, and led them to the safety of the base bunker. It was supposed to be their sanctuary, their stronghold against the horrors outside. For a while, it was.

That sense of fragile safety was shattered when someone in the bunker became infected. The infection spread quickly, turning people into unrecognizable monsters, and Simon had no choice but to flee with his kids. His tactical mind worked overtime, plotting a path to safety as the three of them ran, hearts pounding, through the chaos.

Eventually, they found themselves in a dense, shadowy forest. The towering trees formed a natural barrier, offering some reprieve from the horrors they had just escaped. But the forest was no haven; it was eerie and silent except for the occasional rustle of leaves or distant animal calls. Simon kept his children close, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings for threats.

Through the trees, something caught his attention—a figure moving in the distance. He motioned for Jack and Lilly to stay low as he crept closer. It was a boy, no older than thirteen or fourteen, hunting with the precision of someone far beyond his years. His dark black hair was disheveled, and his face bore an old scar that ran along his cheek, a testament to battles fought and survived. The boy’s movements were sharp and deliberate, each one marked by a quiet determination. He seemed utterly focused, unaware of the three pairs of eyes watching him from the shadows.