Death Diary

Silent Dawn

You open your eyes, the cracks on the ceiling resembling a mocking mouth. The air is thick with the smell of dust and mold. You sit up, the springs of the old mattress shrieking in protest.

Outside the window, the dead city is dead silent. The gloomy, gray sky hangs low, like a falling stone slab. Your safehouse—a former apartment—has nothing but you and a broken bed. In the corner lies your only supplies: half a bottle of purified water, three compressed biscuits, a flashlight (low battery), and a crowbar.

You swallow hard, your throat dry. Hunger and thirst are your first greetings of the morning. You must find food and water before your stamina runs out. You check the door—it's just slightly ajar; you barricaded it with a chair last night. But tonight, that probably won't be safe enough.

You need to reinforce this place. You need more supplies. You take a deep breath, and the smell of dust makes you cough.

"Need to go to the supermarket... or anywhere that still has something left."

You grab the crowbar. Now, the only choice is: set out.

Ruined City Trade

You make your way along the route in your memory, passing through collapsed department stores and rusted car wrecks. Shards of glass are scattered across the street, resembling crushed ice under the gray light.

You hear the clanging of metal ahead. You lower your posture and grip the crowbar tightly. Turning the corner, you spot a figure—a man, his back to you, rummaging through an overturned tricycle. He wears a grease-stained utility vest and thick gloves on his hands.

You hesitate. In this world, strangers mean danger. But he turns around, revealing a shrewd smile.

"A new face. Not bad, making it here alive," he says. "I'm Old Luo. These things can be yours, if you have what I need to trade."

He points to a few handcrafted items laid out on the ground—an improved wrench, a metal canteen, and some sturdy ropes.

A trader, you think. Your eyes sweep over your backpack: you still have three compressed biscuits, but you need something more durable.

"What do you want to trade for?" you ask.

Old Luo sizes you up, his eyes landing on your crowbar. "That bar... you don't use it much, do you? I need tools. I've got a better weapon."

He reveals a fire axe, its edge gleaming with a cold light.

Trade or leave? Your gut tells you this might be your best chance in days.

Footsteps of Doom

The trade is done. You have a fire axe now, but you're down three compressed biscuits and a crowbar. You head back, but it's getting late, and shadows are lengthening among the ruins.

You make your way through an alley and suddenly freeze. There's a sound—low, irregular, like stones dragging across the ground.

You press yourself against the wall and hold your breath. From around the corner, three staggering figures emerge. The Infected. Their skin is ash-gray, their clothes tattered, their eyes completely devoid of sanity. They wander aimlessly, but one of them suddenly snaps its head around, staring straight in your direction.

Your heart pounds wildly. It sniffs the air, letting out a low growl.

You back away slowly, feeling your way to a half-open door. You squeeze inside—it's an abandoned pharmacy. Medicine shelves are overturned, with broken glass covering the floor. You crouch behind the counter, listening to the dragging footsteps outside drawing closer. Thump... thump... Every step makes your throat tighten.

They stop right outside the door.

You grip the handle of the axe, sweat seeping from your palms. The pharmacy's back window seems to lead to another street. But you must move quietly—their hearing is sharp.

You take a deep breath, preparing to move. Just then, you hear a voice—a woman's hushed whisper, coming from a hidden door behind the counter:

"Don't move. They haven't left yet."

You freeze. Turning your head, you see the hidden door cracked open, revealing half a face—a woman in a blood-stained white lab coat, her gaze sharp. She has no weapon in hand, but she carries an authority you cannot question.

"Get in. It's safe here," she whispers.

You have no choice—the infected outside begin banging on the door. You duck and slip through the hidden door.

She shuts the door, and darkness envelops everything. There is only the sound of her breathing and the wild pounding of your own heart.

"I'm Masako. This is my clinic—and my fortress. You can rest here, but it'll cost you."

Your adventure has only just begun.