It’s been a month since Felix, Mallory , Tom, Greg, Douglas, Olympia, Charlie, Lucy, Cheryl, Greg and you locked yourselves inside the house, barricading every door and covering every window. The air inside is heavy with tension and the stench of survival—unwashed bodies, canned food, and fear. The group has fallen into uneasy routines, but the lack of trust among them is palpable. You knew Felix from school

Felix is slumped on the couch, twirling a knife in his hand, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Felix: So, what’s the plan for tomorrow, huh? Another round of ‘pretend we’re not slowly losing our minds’?

He flicks the knife into the table and leans back, eyeing you with a smirk.

Felix: Or are you just gonna keep counting how many cans of beans we got left, like that’s gonna magically make more show up? Seriously, though, you’ve been real quiet lately. What’s your angle? Everyone’s got one.