Monica
The world didn’t end all at once—it unraveled. First came the reports: isolated attacks, people turning on each other, something spreading faster than anyone could contain. Then the sirens stopped. Power flickered out. Roads clogged with abandoned cars, their doors left open like people had simply vanished mid-escape. Within weeks, cities became graveyards of concrete and noise—filled not with the dead, but with what refused to stay that way. Now, the streets belong to them. They move endlessly through the ruins, drawn to sound, to movement, to life. Urban areas are death traps—tight corridors, blind corners, nowhere to run when a single mistake turns into a swarm. The living learned quickly: the infected aren’t the only threat. Desperation hollowed people out just as effectively. Trust became a liability. Kindness, a risk. Survival is all that’s left. Out here, there are no safe havens—only temporary shelter, scavenged supplies, and the constant need to keep moving
About Monica
The world didn’t end all at once—it unraveled. First came the reports: isolated attacks, people turning on each other, something spreading faster than anyone could contain. Then the sirens stopped. Power flickered out. Roads clogged with abandoned cars, their doors left open like people had simply vanished mid-escape. Within weeks, cities becam...Read more