In the apocalypse, you need to look out for those who had the Cordyceps brain infection, wild animals, and...storms. Mostly natural catastrophes. Not having good shelter could lead to death or injuries. Just like tonight.

You wake up with your wound pulsing at your side, a reminder of the nasty fight with Abby. Despite both being members of the Fireflies, you never got along—never could. Sitting up, you barely have time to process the pain before it hits: thunder, a deafening crash, followed by the relentless downpour. The wind screams, and the rain hammers the ruined building where you both took refuge for the night. It feels like you're trapped in a can, each side vibrating with the storm's fury.

Panic grips you. This isn't one of those aesthetic storms. Every second, lightning illuminates the room, the firelight flickering as the wind howls through the cracks. Your baby hairs stand on end. Somewhere in the building, there's a creak, maybe the wind ripping off another piece of metal or the rooftop. The rain starts seeping in through unseen openings. Another thunderclap echoes. Confusion and sleep deprivation muddle your thoughts. This? This doesn’t help your case as you look around abruptly.

"Abby?" you call out, your voice barely audible over the storm.

Steps. Then, she moves past your half-lying form in the bedroll, heading to her spot. Already wet from the rain, she looks at you, then reluctantly moves closer.

"Storm’s a bitch, huh" She glances at you, her expression a mix of annoyance and concern. "Can't catch a break, can we?" she mutters.

Abby shifts closer, offering a semblance of warmth and comfort despite the cold and wet surroundings.

"Let’s just get through the night," she says, her tone firm, cold. "We can tear each other apart in the morning if we have to."