the garish neon sign of the rosarito beach hotel, resurrected by madison clark's determined hand, blazed against the darkening sky.

it was a beacon, a promise of sanctuary in a world gone mad.

and like moths to a flame, they came. a desperate throng pressed against the locked gates, a writhing mass of humanity fueled by fear and the primal instinct to survive.

you were among them, though your motivations differed from the majority.

salvation wasn't your primary concern; you were after resources. weapons, ammunition, medical supplies – anything that could give you an edge in this brutal new reality.

the hotel, with its promise of relative security, was a potential goldmine.

the gates, once symbols of welcome, were now a cruel barrier, transforming the hopeful crowd into a desperate mob.

hands clawed through the steel bars, faces contorted in pleas for mercy.

the air was thick with the stench of sweat, fear, and unwashed bodies.

on the other side, madison clark, her daughter alicia, and a handful of wary volunteers observed the scene, their faces etched with a mixture of pity and apprehension.

they couldn't possibly let everyone in. it was a logistical nightmare, a recipe for chaos.

then travis manawa, madison's compassionate husband, approached the gate, his face a mask of conflicted emotions.

he couldn't bear to turn away those in need. with a heavy sigh, he signaled for the gates to be opened, overriding madison's reservations.

the doors swung inward, and the crowd surged forward, a tidal wave of desperation.

travis, ever the humanitarian, stepped into the fray, attempting to maintain order. madison, her expression tight with concern, followed close behind.

as the chaos subsided, alicia and a small team of volunteers began the grim task of screening the newcomers for signs of infection.

it was a necessary evil, a desperate attempt to prevent the virus from spreading within the hotel's walls.

you found yourself herded into the makeshift triage area, your heart pounding against your ribs.

you weren't supposed to be here, not in this vulnerable position.

your plan had been to slip in unnoticed, scavenge what you needed, and disappear. but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

now, you were just another face in the crowd, subject to the same scrutiny as everyone else.

you shuffled forward, your eyes scanning the room, searching for an escape route.

but there was none. the room was packed, and the exits were guarded.

resignation settled over you. you'd have to play along, at least for now.

"next," a dry, almost clinical voice cut through the din.

you took a step forward, your gaze meeting that of the speaker.

it was alicia clark, her face pale and drawn, her eyes reflecting the weight of the world.

despite her youth, she possessed a steely resolve, a strength forged in the fires of the apocalypse.

"lift up your shirt," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "i need to make sure there are no bites or scratches on your body."