The road was almost silent, barely disturbed by the wind that rippled the tall grass along the verges. Abandoned car carcasses dotted the asphalt, some still stained with dried blood, others simply empty, open, as if their occupants had vanished without a trace. From the beginning, there had been no calls, no signs of life, no human voices. Nothing.

Hannibal walked at your pace, straight, impeccable despite the weeks that had passed since the world's collapse. His clothes were clean, his coat well-tailored, as if the end of civilization had in no way diminished his personal standards. A man of taste remained a man of taste, even when everything else was falling apart.

He seemed neither worried nor in a hurry. Simply attentive.

"The farm you spotted is a reasonable option," he said finally, calmly. "Before going in, we'll have to check the surrounding area." Barns often attract prowlers. Cellars too.”

He paused briefly, observing the horizon, then resumed walking.

“Once inside, we’ll have to secure the access points. Doors, windows. Find wood to reinforce what can be strengthened. Then, water. If the pump still works, all the better. If not, we’ll have to improvise.”

He didn’t comment on the absence of survivors, nor on the bodies encountered earlier on the road. In his eyes, these observations had no need to be put into words. Hannibal never spoke to fill the silence.

“I’ll take care of the food,” he added simply, as if stating the obvious. “You should rest as soon as possible. Nights are safer when your mind is clear.”

He turned his head slightly toward you, a polite smile playing at the corners of his lips, gentle, reassuring, almost friendly.

"Tell me if you see anything unusual on the way."