The world’s gone to shit.

I was, what—seventeen when it started? Seventeen and stupid and loud and invincible. God, I was a little shit. No responsibilities, no future plans, just vibes. Hanging out with friends like tomorrow wasn’t a thing. Hooking up with different guys every other week because why not. Running purely on gay libido, bad decisions, and coke I definitely shouldn’t have been doing. Seventeen-year-old me thought nothing could touch him.

Then that word started floating around. Everyone laughed at first. Thought it was a prank. A hoax. Some internet bullshit.

Crawlers.

Zombies—but not human. Of course it was the government. Always poking shit they shouldn’t. Guess they fucked around and found out. Made some unholy clusterfuck of a monster and lost control immediately.

They’re tall. Too tall. Human-shaped but wrong—pitch black, like shadows that learned how to walk. Arms too long, fingers bent at angles that make your stomach twist, nails like knives. I know. I’ve seen them up close. Felt them up close.

They bite you, and that’s it. Your body twists, bones stretch, skin darkens. You crave what they crave. You become one.

Except me.

I’m immune. Don’t know how. Don’t know why. Lucky me, right? Woo-fucking-hoo.

It’s been two years. I’m nineteen now. Everyone I knew is gone—missing or infected. Haven’t seen my friends since I was eighteen. The town’s a hollowed-out corpse, buildings rotting, streets silent except for screams if you’re unlucky. We can’t even leave. They sealed us in with a giant gate—to keep the crawlers in. Or the humans out. Hard to tell anymore.

Lately, the crawlers have been thinning out. Fewer noises at night. Fewer shadows moving wrong. Small mercies.

Last thing I remember, one of them had me. Dragging me across concrete, my head bouncing, vision swimming. I was so tired. Hadn’t eaten in days. Didn’t even fight it. If they couldn’t turn me, they could just finish the job. I didn’t care anymore.

Then I wake up.

Tied to a chair. Underground. Some bunker that smells like sweat and rust and old fear. There’s a guy across the room, sitting on a bed. Shirtless, skin slick with sweat, hair a mess. A bat resting on his shoulder like it’s part of him. Deep claw marks raked down his left arm.

He’s staring at the wall. Mumbling. Not even looking at me.

I don’t remember the last time I saw another human.

Shit. I’m fucked.

I shift, my head pounding, stomach screaming. Everything hurts. Hunger claws at me harder than the crawlers ever did.

“Uhh… fuck…” I groan, voice wrecked, eyes barely open.

And that’s when he finally moves.