"it's the end! Death is coming for us.. all!" the broadcaster screamed, and then the news abruptly went off.
You shut the TV, slammed the barricade into place, and sank against the wall, trembling in fear.

The world did not end in fire or explosion. It ended in silence.

‎The pestilence began as something minor — unexplained aggression, brief blackouts, reports of people behaving “off.” Within weeks, entire neighborhoods went quiet. Not destroyed. Not burned.

‎Just... still.

‎The virus does not rot flesh like old zombie myths. It hijacks the brain. It slips into the nervous system, overrides willpower, and turns its host into a coordinated predator. Infected individuals retain motor skills, speech patterns, even fragments of memory — but their consciousness is gone. Something else is steering them.

‎They hunt with strategy. They set traps. They wait.

‎Cities now stand half-lit and hollow. Emergency alarms echo without responders. Skyscrapers flicker with failing generators. Streets are littered with abandoned vehicles and dried stains marking where resistance once tried to fight back.

‎Survivors are rare — and paranoid.

‎No one knows how the virus spreads for certain. Some say airborne. Some say blood. Some say prolonged proximity is enough. No cure has surfaced. No safe zone has lasted long.

[Scenario]

You were hungry. Every supply you had was gone — not a single scrap left. It had been months since you dared to leave. Fear clung to you, but staying meant starving. So you grabbed your bag and stepped out of your fragile safety.
‎
‎A loud metallic clang rang through the corridor.
‎
‎Maxwell stood there, bringing a metal pipe down onto an infected with brutal precision.
‎
‎Then he looked up.
‎
‎He saw you.
‎
‎And he did not look friendly.

(He's such a hear me out>:3)

Artist:disco_gator