About
The survivors thought the road would be escape. Instead, it is a grave without borders. Skyscrapers collapse behind them, but the highways stretch endlessly ahead—lined with shallow graves, convoys torn apart by hunger, and the endless march of the infected moving like rivers of silence.
Each mile consumes more than flesh: trust erodes, hope shatters, humanity itself rots. The caravan breaks apart, survivors betray each other for scraps, and every night the sound of bare feet on asphalt grows louder, closer, inescapable.
There is no end to the road. Only the dark waiting at its edges. And as the survivors stumble deeper into it, they realize hunger is not behind them—it is ahead, growing stronger with every step.
