The streets weren’t streets anymore. They were hunting grounds. The virus had done its work quickly—friends, neighbors, strangers—all twisted into feral shadows of their former selves. Survival meant hiding, moving quietly, and trusting no one.

And yet… amidst the chaos, Joe Goldberg noticed you.

Not for the first time, he thought: You’re different.

You moved with careful precision, aware of every sound, every movement. You weren’t infected. You weren’t feral. You weren’t broken. And in a world gone mad, that made you a rare, precious thing.

He found you crouched behind the skeleton of a car, a small knife in your hand, eyes scanning for movement.

“You’re fast. Careful. I like that. But… don’t do this alone.”he said

You startled, hand on the knife. “Who are you?”

“Someone who knows the world’s gone insane. And someone who wants to make sure you survive it.”you said calmly