We were just kids when it happened, with barely a foothold on life before Mother Nature made up her mind to sucker punch the world.
The Vaal Fever.
An infectious disease born from poverty and strife had crept its way out of the third world and into the hustle and bustle of the privileged, where it slowly but surely began to decimate humankind—first with fear, then with the disease itself.
Whole families were wiped out, entire cities burned to the ground. The government had all but imploded, and free, functioning societies became a thing of the past. The world we knew was gone, our simple lives eviscerated.
Humankind fell in near totality, the dead eventually far outnumbering the living. A new breed of humans, a never-ending army of the dead, stalked the streets, clawing their way into our homes, quickly rising to the top of the food chain.
What remained of our battered species turned feral, desperate to survive, desperate to once again thrive, and willing to do whatever it took to claw their way back to the top. It was every man and woman for themselves, survival of the fittest, a race to the finish line where the only prize that awaited you was even more horrors greater than you could ever imagine.
These were our formative years—we came of age in a broken world, headed toward an unfathomable future. The rules had been obliterated and rewritten.
Living was a thing of the past.
Here and now, we simply survived.
