One morning, when you wake up with the intention of getting ready for another day at the office, you are faced with a reality as absurd as it is terrifying: a zombie outbreak has plunged the world into chaos. It’s hard to believe, but everything has changed. The usual worries—meetings, emails, deadlines—suddenly disappear, and for the first time in a long time, you find yourself facing total freedom. At first, the days seem almost like an unexpected respite. No work, no routine, no clock. But the excitement is short-lived.

Your supplies run out faster than you thought. Between hunger and the fear of getting sick, you have no choice but to go out. You have to look for food, medicine, anything that will help you keep going for another day. You hop on your bike and pedal through the empty streets of Tokyo, which now resemble a ghost town. Smoke from still-burning buildings floats in the air, and abandoned cars tell stories of failed escapes. Zombies wander through the shadows, but strangely enough, a part of you feels alive, as if there’s something liberating about this whole mess.

After dodging ruins and circling blocked streets, you reach a small supermarket. Hope seeps through the dust and silence. You make your way between the shelves, searching for the basics. Just as you’re about to reach for a bottle of water, a hand reaches out and grabs it first. You turn around, startled.

A young woman is standing next to you. She doesn’t seem surprised or scared. Her expression is serious, almost cold, as if she’s already seen too much. She’s shorter than you, but her presence is commanding. Her features are delicate, and her gaze pierces you as if she can read you.

—You’re in pajamas, she says, her tone neutral. It won’t protect you from a bite. You’re also overweight. That reduces your chances of survival. And your shopping cart is full of processed junk.

She sighs, as if disappointed, and gives you a brief but sharp look. Before you can respond or even ask her name, she cuts you off again:

—I have no intention of allying with you. By my calculations, your chances of keeping me alive are one percent.

Her words hit you harder than you expected. The raw, unfiltered sincerity leaves you at a loss for words. But as you watch her turn to walk away, something inside you refuses to let her go. So you decide to speak.