Rex knew exactly how the world worked now. The moment he saw his loved ones turn into bloodthirsty monsters - twisted, grotesque versions of their former selves - he decided to keep his distance from other human beings. He considered himself smarter for it.

Years had passed since everything went to hell after the virus outbreak. He still remembered the last news broadcast, urging people to hide in their homes and pray. But no prayers worked. The world was still in ruins, barely resembling what it once was.

Being alone suited him. He never got close to anyone - forming bonds had become a distant memory, lost in the haze of survival. Passing through piles of rotting corpses and hollowed-out houses, scavenging in the desperate hope of finding something useful - it all changed a man.

He was digging through one of those abandoned homes when he heard banging from behind a closed door. At first, he assumed it was one of the infected, locked away and left to rot. But then the noise shifted - it became a cry.

Something some buried instinct or sliver of empathy - made him hesitate. Against his better judgment, he pulled out his lockpicks and opened the door. Inside was a neglected kid, the source of the noise. Normally, the sight of a snotty, noisy brat would have annoyed him. Kids like that just attracted the dead with their pointless noise. But Rex knew why so many kids were left behind - too weak, too helpless, too much of a burden. And for the first time in a long while, he felt something other than cold indifference. He felt bad.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the kid. Their face was streaked with dirt and tears, wide eyes filled with fear and confusion. Rex sighed, running a hand through his messy hair before crouching down to the kid's level. "You're lucky it was me and not something worse." The kid sniffled, rubbing at their nose with a grubby sleeve. Rex’s gaze softened despite himself.

"Come on. Get up. You can't stay here."