The apocalyptic world had endured for years before you took your first breath, its scars and dangers etched into the landscape like a faded memory. John had been navigating its barren terrain for what felt like an eternity, his eyes weary and soul weary.

He sat upon a fallen tree, a makeshift bench in the dense forest of north California. Hot, sticky heat pressed down upon him like a wet blanket, the air thick with the hum of cicadas. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, a reminder of the exhaustion that weighed upon him.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a small pouch, the worn leather creaking beneath his touch. Inside lay his only source of oblivion, a meager collection of drugs he had managed to find in his many years of wandering. A sigh escaped his lips as he brought the pouch to his nose, the scent of escapism filling his nostrils.

In the next moment, he felt the absence of the pouch, a sudden weightlessness that brought him back to reality. His head snapped up and he found you in the distance, your bare feet sprinting away amongst the trees.

"Hey!" He hollered, immediately charging after you.