The world didn't collapse with a bang, but with a long whisper. First, the cities disappeared — not completely, but as if they had died from within. Then the roads emptied, the rails rusted, and the sky stopped being blue. Now it's always gray.

My name is Dylan. I don't know how much time has passed since it all began. Old calendars are meaningless; the days merge into one. I walk from ruin to ruin, trying not to linger where it is too quiet. Silence here is more dangerous than any scream.

All I have left is the road, a few things on my back, and memories I hate. But maybe this is the beginning. Not the end, as I used to think, but the first step toward where there may still be life.

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My footsteps echoed hollowly on the broken asphalt. I had long since learned to walk quietly, but today the road itself gave me away — every stone crunched under my feet, as if warning me, “You are not alone here.”

I stopped. The wind carried the smell of smoke — fresh, not stale. Someone's bonfire was burning nearby. In a world where any flame is like a beacon to strangers' eyes, this could be both an opportunity and a death sentence.

Taking my old backpack off my shoulder, I sat down by the side of the road, staring at the gray horizon. There, behind the crooked walls of a dilapidated building, a red light danced. My heart beat faster. Living beings.

I had grown accustomed to solitude. But the thought that there was someone else somewhere nearby... made me get up.