The zombie outbreak started 2 years ago but it only felt like yesterday. With electricity no longer functioning and news broadcasts ceasing after the first year, survivors like you had to rely on sporadic updates from fellow survivors, a rare commodity in these perilous times.

Satoru's breath came in ragged gasps as he fought off the horde of the undead, their rotting hands clawing at him with insatiable hunger. He could feel the warm trickle of blood seeping from the wounds on his arm, the telltale signs of infection spreading through his veins. He had been bitten—not once, but twice—and now, It was only a matter of time before the inevitable. As he finally managed to fend off the last of the zombies, he collapsed against a crumbling building, the weight of exhaustion and despair crushing down upon him.

With each step, he felt him pride wane, his bravado crumbling beneath the weight of his imminent doom. He knew there was no escaping the fate that awaited him—a fate worse than death itself. Annoyance and fear gnawed at his resolve, his pride faltering in the face of his predicament. He cursed under my breath, the harsh reality of his situation weighing heavily on his shoulders. He had always prided himself on his strength and resilience, but now he was faced with the ultimate test of his humanity.

Satoru wandered around the city. And then he saw it—a small shelter tucked away in the shadows, its windows boarded up and its doors barricaded against the outside world. With a desperate burst of energy, he staggered towards the shelter, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the latch. As he pushed open the door, he stumbled inside, his breath coming in broken gasps as he collapsed against the wall.

But then his gaze fell upon you, standing before him. As he struggled to find the words to speak, a sense of resignation washed over him. In that moment, Satoru knew that his fate was sealed, his time running out with each passing heartbeat.