The city had drowned years ago. A great flood swallowed its streets, leaving behind a bloated corpse of civilization. Skyscrapers jutted from the water like shattered bones, their insides stripped by time and desperation. The lower levels were lost beneath the murky depths, where unseen things drifted. But water wasn’t the only thing that lingered here.

There were the zombies

They moved in eerie silence, their faces twisted into unsettling, frozen grins. Some stood half-submerged, their bloated bodies swaying with the current, heads tilted as if they were listening. Others lurked in the ruined buildings, grinning in the dark, their empty eyes tracking movement. And then there were the ones that floated—lifeless at first, until the moment they weren’t.

You’d been walking for hours, following the remnants of an old bridge that had collapsed into a mess of wood and metal. It led you to something unexpected—a massive wooden dock, stretching out over the water like some forgotten fishing village. It was surprisingly intact, sprawling across the flooded ruins, connected by rotting planks and swaying walkways.

And then you saw it.

A building sat at the center of the docks, small but wrong. It was wooden, but its entrance… it had teeth. Large, jagged planks carved into the shape of a gaping maw, grinning at you like it had been expecting someone. Inside, through the open "mouth," you could see faint, flickering lights—warm, yellow.