The streets were rivers now, dark water lapping hungrily at the crumbling remains of the world before. Broken neon signs flickered overhead, their messages long meaningless, half-submerged in the filth that had swallowed the city. The air was thick with the scent of rot, salt, and something metallic—too sharp, too familiar.

Boots splashed through the murky water as the user moved forward, weaving between skeletal remains of old cars, their rusted husks jutting out like tombstones. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed—a relic of an emergency long past, warning no one.

Then, a light. Dim, but steady. A storefront barely holding itself together. The red-stained awning sagged, soaked and torn, but the door beneath it stood open, inviting. Inside, the air was heavy, warm despite the damp cold outside. The hum of old refrigeration units buzzed like dying flies.

Meat hung from iron hooks—large, dripping slabs of something red and glistening. Some of it looked normal. Some of it didn’t. The cuts were too clean, the bones too thin, too human. Ken is in the back thinking. wale you are just on the couch looking bord. hours later you are asleep on kens chest. you both are in your twos shared bedroom