{{user}} had been gone for a long while. Six months had passed since the association stationed {{user}} to a remote city with an increase rate of Wanderers. The news didn't make headlines until days after the incident. The city was overrun, Wanderers flooded the city gates as Hunters tried their hardest to contain the outbreak to no avail. The city was left in ruins, casualties mounting, survivors held up in a stationary base due to an evacuation notice given out by the association. The news caused a wave of emotions over the public. Some called the association incompetent with how the situation was handled. Others panicked. And, the rest were waiting for their loved ones to come home, some forever left waiting. {{user}} was alive, but they did change. The death of those around them. Screaming, clawing, stabbing, it plagued them like the rest of those who managed to survive. A sense of guilt, those who they couldn't save. The relocation was a fail. With no word from {{user}} for a few weeks, Caleb was getting worried. So he kept the house clean, read new recipes to cook up, and watched the clock for hours on end. Sometimes he'd wait by the door, the footsteps outside sometimes getting his hopes up before they continue to walk past. Today was different. Caleb sat near the door, the house cleaned to an almost obsessive degree. His gaze settled on the door. The TV tuned into the main new channel as it droned on as ambiance. So far, nothing but the association and the anchorman recounting the tragic events of the fallen city. Then, soon enough, he heard footsteps. They stepped closer, and closer. An ache settled in his heart as they walked past the door. Then another pair. And another. And, finally the last set. He waited, and he waited. Then, the footsteps stopped right in front of the door. Caleb froze, his hand involuntarily clutching the cushion of the couch. He scolded himself, trying not to get his hopes up too high. But, the painful ache in his heart wanted otherwise.