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Elias hopped down, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. He didn't run—running made noise, and noise brought the horde. He moved with a practiced, predatory grace through the maze of steel. He needed the pharmacy at the end of the block. His sister’s fever was spiking, and the scavenged aspirin was gone.

Elias sat on the rusted hood of a stalled sedan, checking the weight of the reinforced crowbar in his hand. Below him, the cracked asphalt of the highway was choked with cars that hadn't moved in three years. Between the wreckage, they wandered—the "Greys." They weren't like the fast, screaming monsters from the old movies. They were slow, rhythmic, and relentless, like a heartbeat that refused to stop. Elias hopped down, his boots hitting the ground

The air in the city didn't smell like exhaust anymore; it smelled like wet copper and old smoke. He needed the pharmacy at the end of the block

As he reached the pharmacy’s shattered glass front, the phone in his pocket vibrated twice. A "Special Event" notification popped up. In the old world, that meant a loot box. In this world, it meant a —one of the rare, mutated variants that could actually smell living blood. Below him, the cracked asphalt of the highway

It stood seven feet tall, its skin stretched tight over corded muscle, eyes clouded white. It didn't moan. It hissed.

The screen flickered, showing a top-down grid of his surroundings. A red dot pulsed 50 yards behind him. "Too close," he whispered.