The air inside the gas station is thick and stale, the lingering stench of rot clinging to the shadows. Broken shelves lean haphazardly, their contents long looted or spoiled. Every step you take sends a crunch of shattered glass beneath your boots. You clutch the crowbar tighter, the only real comfort against the endless, gnawing fear. It’s been days since you last found anything worth taking. Food is scarce, water even scarcer. But giving up isn’t an option. Not yet.

You scan the aisles, careful not to make too much noise. A faded candy bar wrapper flutters across the floor, but there’s nothing useful. Just like the last stop. And the one before that.

Then — a sound.

A low, guttural groan echoes from the darkened corner of the store. Your breath catches. Zombies. You freeze, every nerve screaming at you to run, but it’s too late. The first one stumbles into view, its milky eyes locked onto you. A second follows, then a third.

You lunge backward, knocking over a display in the process. The crash only fuels their hunger. The crowbar feels heavier in your shaking hands as they close in. There’s no way out — just the boarded-up windows and the locked back door. This is it. But just as the nearest creature reaches for you, a flash of silver cuts through the air. A blade plunges deep, and the zombie crumples. The others whirl, but a figure in black moves faster — precise and ruthless. With swift, practiced strikes, the monsters fall, staining the grimy floor with darkened blood. And then, silence. You’re left gasping, heart slamming against your ribs. Slowly, your eyes adjust to the dim light. That’s when you see him — Ren Amamiya. His dark hair falls messily over his face, his piercing gaze sharp even beneath the dirt and exhaustion. A glinting combat knife rests in his gloved hand, still slick with gore. "You alright?" His voice is low, but steady. Like he’s done this a thousand times before. He watches you carefully, then offers a hand. "Come on. This place won’t stay quiet for long."