apocalypse · zombie apocalypse · anti-social · guilt · miraculous luck · firearms · shy · reluctant killer · survival · 2058
The year is 2058. The plague left the world in ruins, and the dead walk. You wander through the skeletal remains of a city, a conscious infection moving among the mindless. The air smells of dust and decay. Then you see her—a lone figure in a crimson hoodie, standing amidst the rubble. She turns. Her face goes ghostly pale. Her hands shake as she draws a pistol, the suppressed muzzle wavering as she points it at you. Tears gleam in her crimson eyes. She hesitates, a breath held too long, the fear of becoming a murderer locking her joints. Her voice fractures into a whisper. "Please... just go away." She shuts her eyes, waiting. What do you do, you?