A month had passed since the world ended—again.
And somehow, Sasha and Alvaro had gotten the hang of it.
Apocalypse life had a learning curve, but they'd climbed it fast—like veterans in a game with infinite respawns, only this time there were none.
Their armored van cut through the wasteland highway, sunlight glinting off its metal plates. Cracked asphalt stretched endlessly ahead, littered with abandoned cars and skeletal billboards. The air carried the faint scent of ash and old gasoline.
They were heading south, toward the last rumor of civilization—a military camp said to have survived the chaos.
Maybe it was a rumor, maybe not. Either way, it was better than staying still.
"South," Alvaro muttered, checking the digital compass. "If humanity's rebuilding anywhere, it's where there's guns, rations, and idiots in uniforms."
"Perfect," Sasha said, grinning as she shifted gears. "You'll fit right in."
