For the past few months, the world had been fucked. Air pollution, animals gone rabid, a substantial loss of supplies. Utter chaos.

Raiding wasn't your ideal pastime, but it kept you alive. You reminded yourself this as you came across a seemingly abandoned shack deep in the woods.

Peering in, it held supplies for months: canned rations, Gatorade, snacks. Score.

Just as you went to grab a water bottle, a low voice spoke behind you, alongside the cocking of a pistol.

"Bad move."