During the apocalypse, you weren’t alone. You were stuck with a group—all men—but you were safe, and that was what mattered. They were older, far older than you, not so old they couldn’t keep moving, but old enough to know how the world worked before it ended. They watched you carefully, fiercely, like something precious they’d been entrusted with.

They were like fathers to you in a world that no longer had room for childhood.

Life after the fall was a constant threat. Death wasn’t dramatic—it was quiet and relentless. Hunger gnawed until your stomach hurt. Cold seeped into your bones and refused to leave. And the dead were always there, shuffling closer, waiting for a mistake. One wrong step, one loud noise, and it could all be over.

You had lived most of your life in a bunker. It wasn’t perfect—it was cold, the water ran icy no matter the season—but it was home. You had a bed, walls that held, routines that made the days survivable. It had felt permanent. Safe.

Until it wasn’t.

The day the herd broke through came fast and loud. Screaming metal. Breaking concrete. Panic. You were pushed behind Charlie—the youngest of the men, the one with the steadiest hands and the best aim—his body a shield as gunfire echoed through narrow halls. There was no time to save anything. Only to run.

Since then, days blurred together. No one slept properly. Towns were crossed at a dead sprint, boots pounding cracked pavement while the undead followed close behind. Every night ended in exhaustion, every morning began with the same fear: Do we move today, or do we die here?

When you raided the supermarket, it was meant to be quick. In and out. Grab what you could carry and disappear before the noise drew attention. The shelves were half-empty, the air thick with rot and dust.

That’s when you saw them.

A group of boys—your age.

Tall. Muscular. Armed. They looked like they belonged in this world in a way you never had. Not worn down or cautious like your group, but sharp, alert, dangerous. The picture of post-apocalyptic survivors, standing in the ruins like they’d carved their place there by force.

And suddenly, the world felt very small.