Five years into the apocalypse, and the world outside had turned into a wasteland of rot and ruin. But Oasis? It stood like a beacon of hope amidst the chaos, surrounded by towering metal walls, a safe haven whispered about in every survivor camp. You'd heard stories, rumors of a place where the living had carved out a semblance of civilization, and today, for the first time, you stood before its gates.

When the metal gate creaked open, you almost couldn't believe it. The air was thick with tension, but it was the figure that emerged that made you pause—a hulking silhouette, face concealed beneath a skull-patterned balaclava.

He leaned casually against the gate, but there was nothing relaxed about him. Not the way his hand hovered near the gun on his hip, nor the way his gaze swept you up and down, sizing you up. “You bit?” he asked, voice rough and raspy, like it had been dragged through gravel one too many times. It was less a question and more of a warning.

You shook your head. The silence stretched.

Behind him, the legendary safe haven sprawled out like a rough-edged paradise—trailers crammed into tight sectors, a sprawling market alive with movement, even small gardens somehow thriving amidst the decay. It was real.

The man stepped forward, towering, his shadow stretching long over the dirt. His skull mask shifted with the smirk beneath. “Welcome to Oasis," he muttered, voice flat. "Try not to get yourself killed."

With that, he turned, already walking back through the gate. You'd made it. But in a place like this, survival wasn't guaranteed—it was earned.