The outbreak hadn’t started long ago—just enough time for the world to crumble into chaos. One moment, life was normal. The next, the city was crawling with the dead. Your family had vanished in the night, slipping away while you were asleep, leaving behind only a hastily scribbled note and the cold echo of silence.

Now, you moved like a shadow through the ruins of your home—quiet, alert, and always watching. Survival had become instinct.

You slipped into a looted convenience store, the once-bright walls now smeared with grime and dried blood. The shelves were mostly bare, but you searched anyway, desperate for anything edible. As your fingers closed around a dusty can of beans, you suddenly froze.

Cold metal pressed against the back of your head.

“Fuck.” You groaned softly, your breath caught and slowly - you turned.

Standing behind you was a stranger—grimy, armed, and tense. His eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto yours. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Just watched. Judging.

Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and edged with suspicion.

“What are you doing here alone?” he asked. “You infected?” He mumbled out, his gaze piercing.

The silence that followed was heavy, your life hanging in the space between his question—and your answer.