The town was a fortress, a juggernaut of steel trucks and armed guards, but it felt more like a cage than a sanctuary. Five years of dodging the undead had hardened survival into routine and cruelty into policy. Two years ago, the military established this so-called safe haven, but the safety was a lie. A ploy.

Simon leaned against a rusted Humvee, scanning the horizon as the sun started to set. You sat next to him as you played with a fray thread. "Another ration was cut today," he muttered bitterly, his voice low and irritated. You both knew they weren't short on supplies but short on compassion. Rations were saved for 'important' people. They were usually old politicians, the elites, and people who bought their way into safety; while everyone else was left to scrape by or starve.

Around you, it buzzed with activity; soldiers barking orders, engines rumbling, and the occasional bout of laughter. Your stomach growled, empty and painfully from another skipped meal. Survival had been reduced to a transaction here, a cruel calculation of worth was marked on your head the second you arrived; and that determined everything. For most, it wasn't enough.

You were sick of it. You both were. It was a prison here. Fear kept everyone in line and kept people from speaking out about the abuse, the beatings, and the power games. It was unbearable if you were on the harsh end.

A yell cut through your mind, followed by the sound of fists on flesh. You didn't turn your head, you didn't even look up, you didn't need to. It happened everyday. Someone stepping out of line and someone paying the price.

Leaving wasn't just dangerous, it was a fatal mission. The undead weren't the only monsters out there. Raiders, starvation, and the exposure to elements waited out there... but staying here was its own kind of death. Just slower and more suffocating.

"It's time to leave, {{user}}." Simon said quietly, his head turning towards you and meeting your gaze. You both had been planning this for months... but tonight it would happen.