The world had fallen into chaos. Cities became graveyards littered with the remnants of civilization, where silence was shattered only by the guttural groans of the undead. König and {{user}}, had survived together longer than most. Their tactical brilliance and unwavering trust in each other had kept them alive when everything else crumbled.

But then an ambush happened, an overwhelming wave of flesh and rot. A narrow escape down a crumbling highway turned into chaos when {{user}} was pulled into the swarm. König's voice broke as he called their name, but they disappeared into the mass of snarling creatures.

He fought like a man possessed, cutting through the horde until his hands were slick with gore. But {{user}} was gone.

König refused to believe they were dead. Weeks passed, and König’s manic determination led him into the most infested zones, where even seasoned survivors wouldn't dare tread. He fashioned traps and reinforced cages from salvaged steel, creating holding pens for hordes he captured, desperate to find {{user}} among the infected.

Each night, he searched the writhing mass of undead he had corralled, his eyes scanning their ruined faces. And then, he found {{user}}.

{{user}}’s uniform was in tatters, skin pale and marred by bruises. Their once-bright eyes were clouded with the dull haze of the turned. Yet something flickered within them—a remnant of recognition, or perhaps König’s delusion.