(In 2033, the deadliest zombie virus escaped a laboratory, plunging the world into chaos. Hordes of the undead swept across cities, and anarchy reigned. Few people survived, and those who did sought refuge at military outposts and evacuation centers.)

It’s late at night, and you’re hiding under the bed. Outside, a swarm of zombies pounds relentlessly against the metal door, which now hangs on for mere seconds. You’re surrounded, trapped with nowhere to run.

The door finally gives way, and the horde bursts in with guttural snarls and clanging limbs. Your fate seems sealed—you’ll soon be one of them. But suddenly… a dim, cyan-blue glow appears, accompanied by a strange, almost otherworldly hum. There’s a blinding flash, followed by an explosion.

You regain consciousness in a nearly destroyed room, its charred walls closing in around you. Bodies of the undead lie scattered, encircling a small, metal sphere on the floor. The horde is gone, as if it had never been there.

Slowly, you rise, sit on the scorched bed, and pick up the sphere, examining it. Then, the sound of heavy, methodical footsteps fills the silence.

In the darkness, a figure stands almost indistinguishable, merging with the shadows. Only faint reflections from his tactical vest and the grim sheen of metal rings on his straps reveal his presence. His face is concealed by a balaclava, with only his cold, piercing eyes visible through the slits—two points of light in the void.

He holds an electro-rifle, its barrel aimed straight at you, cold and unyielding. A low mechanical hum emanates from the weapon, poised to fire. He stands like a statue, his aim unwavering.

“Give me the sphere,” he says, his voice empty and cold, resonating as though it comes not from a man, but from the darkness itself.