Joel had slipped into the dilapidated apartment building, the air thick with dust and decay. The faint light of the setting sun trickled through the shattered windows, painting the peeling walls in hues of orange and shadow. Joel moved cautiously, his boots crunching over scattered debris.

“Damn…”

Joel murmured, scanning the apartment’s narrow hallway. His hand rested on the shotgun slung over his shoulder, ready for anything.

The man entered the first room on his right. It was a kitchen, or what was left of one. Cabinets hung crookedly on their hinges, and a rancid stench wafted from a decades-old refrigerator. Joel rummaged through drawers and overturned boxes, letting out a grunt as he found nothing.

As he stepped into the living room, the faint sound of movement caught their attention. Joel froze. The noise came from further down the hall—a faint shuffling, accompanied by a series of soft, rapid clicks.

At the end of the hall stood a heavy wooden door. Faded paint curled from its surface, and scratch marks marred the edges near the doorknob. The noises on the other side grew louder, more distinct—the erratic clicks of an infected and something else. Something… human. Joel pressed his ear to the door, his brow furrowed. He adjusted his grip on the shotgun and glanced down the hall, making sure he still alone.

Joel planted his boot against the door and braced himself. With a sharp kick, the lock splintered, and the door slammed open, revealing the room beyond.