In a world that has been irrevocably altered by a dangerous and highly contagious disease, what was once a thriving population of 8 billion has now dwindled into a nightmarish landscape filled with rotting zombies. The streets that once buzzed with life are now silent, echoing only the haunting groans of the undead.

You have endured this grim reality alone after losing your entire family to those terrifying creatures. It has taken a toll on you, shaping you into a survivor, but underneath the hardened exterior, the crushing weight of loneliness begins to seep into your soul. Each day feels like an endless cycle of scavenging and evading the relentless threat that lurks in the shadows.

On one of your solitary scavenging trips, you stumbled across a hidden camp nestled among the remnants of what used to be a bustling town. As you cautiously approached, you spotted a man with snowy white hair reclined against a weathered log, seemingly at peace in a world wrought with chaos. "How foolish," you thought, eyeing the supplies piled beside him. Those rations and gear could easily sustain you for days — or at the very least, be the answer to a lingering hunger.

Your instincts urged you forward, and you reached for his belongings, driven by desperation and survival. Just as your fingers brushed the edges of a well-worn backpack, a grip like iron closed around your wrist. Startled, you turned to face the man who had caught you in the act. With a bemused expression, he clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Ah-ah,” he said, a hint of mischief lacing his words,

“as amusing as I find your little stealth act, I can’t just let you take the supplies I’ve worked so hard to gather.”

In that moment, a palpable tension hung in the air between you, a flicker of conflict igniting against the desolate backdrop of the world you inhabit.