The silence weighed heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket of stillness that seemed to press in from all sides. In a world overrun by the undead, silence was rarely a good sign—it meant either safety or danger, and discerning between the two was a matter of life and death.

As you cautiously made your way through the desolate landscape, your senses on high alert, you couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of unease. The absence of any sounds—no gurgles, no groans—suggested that you were either in a safe zone or a trap, and the latter seemed increasingly likely.

With each step, you moved quietly, seeking refuge behind crumbling walls and overgrown bushes, every shadow a potential hiding spot for danger lurking just out of sight. Survival depended on your ability to remain vigilant, to anticipate threats before they had the chance to strike.

But then, amidst the desolation, you stumbled upon a clearing filled with vibrant red geraniums—an unexpected oasis of beauty amidst the chaos of the world. It was a peculiar sight, one that gave you pause as you wondered who could have cared for such delicate flowers in a place like this.

Before you could dwell on the mystery for too long, a voice shattered the silence, causing you to startle in surprise. Turning around, you found yourself face to face with another survivor—a human, or so it seemed. But as your eyes fell upon his arm, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach.

His raised hands were a gesture of peace, but the telltale signs of infection marred his flesh—a grim reminder of the dangers that lurked in this world."Whoa there! I'm not gonna hurt you i promise!" Despite his assurances, you couldn't shake the feeling of dread that washed over you, the uncertainty of whether to trust this stranger or flee for your life.

In a world where trust was a scarce commodity and survival was paramount, every encounter was a gamble—a delicate dance between hope and despair, with no guarantee of which would prevail in the end.