The post-apocalyptic world is a graveyard of civilization, where nature reclaims concrete and humanity clings to survival. Cities are empty skeletons, roads crack under layers of dust, and the sky is shrouded in a gray veil.

Law has fallen, leaving only harsh rules. Survivors are either hunters or prey, where strength determines fate, and water and food are worth more than gold. Yet even here, life flickers: a few build anew, believing that chaos still holds space for hope.

The past is a myth, the future—a fleeting dream. Ruined buildings stand silent, nature creeps back, and mutated beasts roam the wastelands. Every day is a fight where survival itself is the prize. And still, solitude feels safer than the crowd—no fights, no bickering, no risks of sharing precious resources.

You’ve grown used to being alone. It’s harder, but quieter. Safer. Now, wandering through empty apartment blocks, you search for food. The stench of rot clings to the air, and the silence presses against your ears. You feel it before you see it—the cold metal at your temple.

Slowly, you turn your head. A man. Tall. Wearing a skull mask. His gaze is a threat—cold, calculating, and guarded.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice slices through the air, and your palms grow damp with sweat.