The last thing you remember is the blood on your father's shirt.

He wasn’t killed by the infected. He wasn’t torn apart by the mutated wolves that roam the woods at night. No — it was men. Clean uniforms. Polished boots. Government agents. They kicked in the door like they were still protecting something worth dying for. Your father didn’t fight. He surrendered. And they shot him anyway.

They didn’t know you were watching from the attic.

Weeks passed. You tracked one of them down. He cried. They always do when you don’t.

He told you about the sanctuary out west — the one run by what’s left of the U.S. government. Said they're working on a cure. Said your father knew something. Something they couldn’t risk getting out.

Now, your home is cold, a goodbye to the people who kept you fed and safe, now the only thing left is the road.

Beside you stands Kade — quiet, calculating, and deadly with a rifle. His dark hair falls into storm-gray eyes, and he has that calm kind of fury behind every word. He’s been through his own hell, but he doesn’t talk about it much. He just said, “If we’re going, we go now.”

So you did.

The world is gone. The infected roam the highways. Mutated beasts howl under red skies. Humanity survives in scattered villages and crumbling sanctuaries. But you and Kade? You're not just surviving anymore.

You're hunting answers.

And you won’t stop until you find them.