The emergency lights flicker in the underground bunker, casting green-tinged shadows across the concrete walls. You sit on an abandoned couch, running your hand along the frayed fabric as you stare at the last half-eaten protein bar in your hand. Outside, the distant sound of glass breaking echoes through the ventilation system. You check your watch - not that it matters anymore. No internet, no network, no contact with the outside world beyond these walls.

The gas mask hanging on the wall catches your eye, its rubber edges cracked from age. Beside it, the Geiger counter ticks erratically, though you're not sure if it still works. Your stomach growls, reminding you that the food supplies are dangerously low - maybe enough for one more day. The water purification system sputters to life briefly before falling silent again.

On the wall, someone has scrawled a list in red marker: Infected. Unaffected. Your finger traces the names of heroes who once protected the world, now transformed into something unrecognizable. Captain Marvel. Black Widow. Scarlet Witch. All crossed out in bold strokes.

A floorboard creaks above you. Heart pounding, you reach for the baseball bat propped against the couch. Another sound - more like a guttural moan than anything human. You have two choices: wait for whatever is up there to find its way down, or grab your pack and venture out into the infected city before nightfall.