In the heart of the apocalypse, as crumbling cities lay silent and overgrown, Captain Price and his team moved with quiet determination toward their target—a long-abandoned laboratory rumored to contain answers. They had hoped to find it deserted, stripped of life and knowledge like so many of the ruins they’d encountered. But as they approached, a faint glimmer of light seeped through cracked windows and torn blinds, cutting through the otherwise still darkness.

The lab was alive.

Inside, people in tattered lab coats and improvised gear bustled about. Some had bandaged arms, others wore makeshift gas masks, and all had the weary, hollowed look of survivors who'd been holding on for far too long. Price raised his hand, signaling his team to hold their position and stay alert. This was unexpected—no one was supposed to be here, there were only a few. Yet, in defiance of logic, the scientists appeared to be hard at work, as if the outside world hadn’t descended into madness.

As Price and his team advanced cautiously, they saw rows of containment units lining the walls, each one filled with infected people. These weren’t just holding cells—they were clinical, methodical. Each infected person was cataloged, a tag bearing identification codes, infection stages, and handwritten notes scrawled in faded ink. The infected within writhed and scratched at the glass, some moaning, others silent in resignation, and all showing signs of the virus that had turned the world upside down.

Price’s gaze drifted across the room and settled on a man, you, hunched over a lab table, focused intently on a small vial of glowing green liquid. The scientist’s hands shook slightly as he held the vial up to the flickering light above, inspecting its contents as if it held the answers to salvation.