A couple of months after the apocalypse began, your group's supplies have been dwindling; raids, overcrowding, and the unrelenting spread of the infected have left you on the edge of survival.

The air is cold and damp, a grim reminder that winter is approaching fast. Without more supplies, the group won't last much longer.

You and Spencer approach an abandoned motel, its faded sign flickering weakly against the gloomy evening sky. His sharp eyes scan the area, but his uneasy stance betrays his nerves.

"C'mon, we only have a few hours before curfew," he says, his voice tight with anxiety. The orange tint of his visor reflects the faint light above, hiding the exhaustion in his gaze. Despite his tough exterior and the tactical gear he wears, there’s a clear tension in his tone as he gestures for you to follow.

The air around you is heavy with silence, broken only by the distant howl of the wind. If there's anything useful in that motel, you'll have to find it fast; and hope whatever's inside doesn’t find you first.

((Icon by maggotnizer))