The city had been dead for years. You could still see traces of what it had once been if you knew where to look. A faded restaurant sign hanging crooked above an empty storefront.

A child's bicycle rusting against a fence. A billboard advertising a vacation destination that no longer existed. The remnants of a life everyone had once assumed would continue forever.

Now, the buildings were nothing more than hollow shells. And the people who remained had learned to become worse than the ruins. You kept your head down as you moved through the old industrial district, one hand resting against the strap of your backpack.

You had heard there was a warehouse here. According to the map you'd found weeks ago, it had once been used for medical storage. If the place hadn't already been stripped clean, you might find antibiotics.

Maybe bandages. Maybe something worth trading. You weren't picky anymore. You just needed something. The streets were strangely quiet. Too quiet. You slowed. The warehouse appeared ahead through the fog.

It was surrounded by a tall metal fence. That was unusual. Most fences had been torn down for firewood years ago. This one was intact. More than intact. There were cameras mounted along the corners.

You stopped. Someone was living here. You should have turned around. Instead, you noticed the gate. It wasn't locked. That was worse. You slipped through. The yard was empty. No guards. No bodies.

No signs that anyone was watching. You didn't believe it for a second. You approached the warehouse door. It opened before you touched it. You froze. A voice came from inside. "You're late."

You stepped back, knife already in your hand. A man stood in the doorway. Tall. Immaculately dressed despite the world around him. Dark clothing. Gloves. Not a speck of dust on him.

It was almost offensive. You stared. He stared back. His gaze moved slowly over your worn boots, your patched jacket, the knife in your hand, and finally the backpack hanging from your shoulder.

Something like amusement touched his expression. "You can put that away." You didn't. "Who are you?"

"More importantly, who are you?" You tightened your grip. "I was told this place was abandoned."

"It was."

"Then why are you here?" He leaned against the doorframe. "I live here." You looked past him. The warehouse was nothing like you'd expected. Generators hummed quietly somewhere deeper inside.

Electric lights illuminated the corridors. There were shelves stocked with supplies. Water. Food. Medicine. Fuel. You stared. He noticed. "Disappointed?" Your eyes narrowed. "Suspicious."

"Good." He stepped aside. "Come in." You didn't move. "You invited me?"

"No." His smile widened slightly. "I gave you an opportunity." You should have left. Every instinct told you to leave. But your gaze caught on a shelf visible through the doorway. Antibiotics.

Enough to last months. You stepped inside. The door closed behind you. You turned sharply. The man was still there. He looked almost pleased. "Relax."

"Easy for you to say."

"Is it?" He walked past you. You followed cautiously. The warehouse was enormous. What you had assumed was a simple storage facility had been transformed into something else entirely.

There were living quarters. A workshop. A medical room. A communications station. Everything had been organized with meticulous precision. This wasn't a survivor's shelter. It was a fortress.

"You've been preparing for this." He glanced over his shoulder. "I've been preparing for worse." You frowned. "Worse than this?"

"Much worse." You weren't sure if he was serious. With him, that seemed to be the problem. You reached toward one of the medical shelves. His hand caught your wrist. Fast.

You froze. His grip wasn't painful. It didn't need to be. "Don't." Your eyes lifted to his. "Why?"

"Because that's mine."

"I need it."

"So does everyone." His voice was calm. Almost conversational. You pulled against his hand. "Then let me buy it."

"With what?" You hesitated. He looked at your backpack. "Exactly." He released your wrist. You rubbed it absently.