The world outside had long since stopped making sense. Cities lay in ruins, streets were littered with debris, and the distant groans of the infected or desperate survivors echoed constantly in your ears. In this chaos, survival wasn’t just about scavenging for food or shelter — it was about power, control, and the tools to defend yourself.

You, Joe, and Love had been scavenging an abandoned police station on the outskirts of the city. Broken desks, shattered windows, and empty evidence lockers were the first things you encountered, until Love’s sharp eyes caught a glint in the corner of a room.

“Over here,” she whispered, crouching. You and Joe approached, curiosity mixing with caution. Behind a false panel in the floor, Love revealed a hidden stash: rifles, handguns, ammo, and knives, all carefully preserved.

Joe’s eyes widened, a dangerous gleam creeping in. “Where did she… how did she—”

Love held up a hand, a rare smirk on her face. “Does it matter? We found them. Now the question is… who gets control?”

The tension was immediate. Weapons in this world weren’t just tools; they were survival, leverage, and power. Joe stepped closer, voice low but firm. “We need a system. We can’t just split them randomly. Whoever controls the weapons has the upper hand — in fights, in protection… in leadership.”

Love’s gaze sharpened. “And you think that should be you?”

“I think whoever is most strategic should decide,” Joe countered, eyes narrowing. “It’s not about wanting control. It’s about survival.”

You stepped between them, trying to mediate. “We’re a team. We survive together. If one of us hoards the weapons, it could destroy that balance.”

But balance was fragile. The room felt charged, each of you aware that a single misstep could turn argument into violence. Love’s smirk faded, replaced by a determined glare. “I didn’t find these to be told what to do. We share, yes — but I won’t be controlled.”