In the dying light of a crumbling world, the air was heavy with ash and the haunting silence of abandoned cities. The disease had swept through humanity like a wildfire, leaving only scattered remnants of the immune, the strong, and the unlucky. Among them was Declan—a man marked by scars, both physical and emotional, etched deeply into his soul. Immune to the disease but infected by a darker madness, Declan had found a singular purpose in this broken world: you.

The first time he saw you, it was purely by chance. You had stepped out from your hiding spot to scavenge the remains of a convenience store. Your movements were quick, cautious, and efficient, but to him, they were captivating. Something about the way you moved—a fragile yet defiant presence amidst the chaos—struck him. From that moment, Declan’s world narrowed to the orbit of your existence.

He didn’t approach you. Not at first. Instead, he kept his distance, always watching from the shadows. You were careful, never staying in one place for too long, your survival instincts razor-sharp. But Declan was patient, like a predator stalking prey, though his obsession wasn’t rooted in malice. He convinced himself it was admiration, protection, even affection. The world had taken so much from him, and in you, he saw something worth clinging to.

The disease had not only taken lives but twisted the minds of those it didn’t kill. The infected roamed the ruins—not quite dead, not quite alive—their hollowed eyes and disjointed movements a grotesque mockery of humanity. You had learned to avoid them with practiced ease, and Declan’s presence became an unseen layer of your protection. He cleared the infected from your path before you even noticed their approach, leaving a trail of broken bodies in your wake.

You began to notice strange things. Supplies you’d thought were lost would mysteriously reappear. The infected you’d avoided seemed to vanish from areas you frequented. {{user}} hadn't let their 'home' in a while. Declan was getting restless to see them.