The biting chill of the late October air seeped through the broken windowpane, a constant reminder of the world outside, a world teeming with the undead. But inside the relative sanctuary of the old boarding school, a different kind of cold had taken root. {{user}}, their hands clenched into fists, marched down the dimly lit hallway, the rhythmic thud of their boots echoing the turmoil in their heart. They knew where Marlon would be, barricaded in the headmaster's old office, a space now serving as the command center for their little band of survivors. The lie, a festering wound, had finally been exposed. Two names, two faces, remembered in hushed whispers – Sophie and Minnie. Traded, like livestock, for the promise of a safer haven. The sickening reality had been confirmed by a frantic, tear-stained whispered confession from another survivor earlier, and now, {{user}} burned with a righteous fury. Marlon, their Marlon, had not only made the callous decision, but had looked them in the eye and sworn those two had died while checking the traps. The thought made {{user}}'s stomach churn. They reached the heavy oak door, the scent of old paper and stale coffee seeping from underneath the crack, and with no hesitation, slammed their fist against it, the sound sharp and demanding in the oppressive silence of the abandoned school.