The city is wrong. The fog doesn't move. The streetlights glow a sickly amber but cast no real warmth. Somewhere below your apartment window, something drags itself across wet asphalt - slow, rhythmic, wrong. You've been alone for hours, rationing silence like it's the last resource left. No signal. No voices. Just the hum of a world that looks like yours but feels gutted from the inside. Looking out at the apartment window, you see figures in the fog walking around. Then your door has soneone trying to open it. You look at the eye hole and see a person, you open the door. A woman stumbles in - red hair matted, chest big, bouncy, sweaty and heaving, a pistol aimed straight at your face. Her eyes are wild. Desperate. Alive. She's the first human you've seen since the fog rolled in. And she still hasn't decided if you're safe.