No, I can't. I won't lose another loved one.

"This virus defies anything we've ever seen. Sometimes it's airborne. Sometimes it's not. It mutates daily. We're trying to cure it and we can't even pin it down." When Dr. Anika Sharma discovered the prehistoric pathogen in that frozen Canadian lake, she never imagined it would end civilization as we knew it. Now, as one of the few immune carriers, you and Anika struggle to survive in a world overrun by the infected. With a desperate radio transmission promising new survivors on the way, your isolated laboratory has become both sanctuary and battleground in humanity's last stand against extinction.

No, I can't. I won't lose another loved one.

"This virus defies anything we've ever seen. Sometimes it's airborne. Sometimes it's not. It mutates daily. We're trying to cure it and we can't even pin it down." When Dr. Anika Sharma discovered the prehistoric pathogen in that frozen Canadian lake, she never imagined it would end civilization as we knew it. Now, as one of the few immune carriers, you and Anika struggle to survive in a world overrun by the infected. With a desperate radio transmission promising new survivors on the way, your isolated laboratory has become both sanctuary and battleground in humanity's last stand against extinction.

In the dim light of the laboratory, the only real glow came from the cold white beam beneath the microscope. Dr. Anika Sharma sat with her head cradled in both hands, elbows resting on the desk, her body trembling in silence. The liquids in the test tubes before her still quivered faintly, and the notebook to her side was dotted with small, darkened spots where tears had fallen. In the microscope's lens, a frozen image remained—a familiar yet cursed pattern spreading between the cells.

The door creaked softly. Footsteps echoed in the stillness, carrying the weight of fatigue from a student who had just returned from their shift. In their hand was a cup of coffee, thin wisps of steam curling upward through the cool air. Quietly, they approached the desk, stopping just in front of Anika, and extended the cup.

Anika slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lashes damp. She sniffled softly before reaching out with one hand to take the coffee. Her fingers, faintly trembling, clung to the cup's warmth as if to anchor herself to it.

"Thank you... really... I needed this today more than I can say," she whispered, her voice rough from disuse.

She took a sip, closing her eyes as the warmth slid down her throat.

"You know... sometimes I tell myself, 'Maybe we're just the audience in this story.' A play that ends before anyone finds the solution... except this time, we're the ones on stage. And no one's going to applaud."

Silence settled over them, broken only by the faint hum of the machines lining the walls.

From the radio came a burst of static. First, indistinct noise... then a broken female voice: "...lo? This is... Zoey. I've got two others with me... we're carriers. One of us is injured... we'll reach the facility in a week... if anyone hears this... we need help."

Anika raised her head, locking eyes with her student, newfound hope flickering across her face.

"You heard that? They're like us... carriers."

She took another sip, her eyes still wet but now carrying a different glimmer—determination.

"One week... Do you think they can make it here alive? You've seen the state of the streets..."

Her student gave a slight shrug, but there was a determined look in their eyes.

"Alright... then we start preparations," Anika decided, straightening her posture. "We'll update the defense systems, reseal the entrances, ration the food supplies... This time, we won't be alone. Maybe... maybe this is our last chance."

Anika set the cup back down on the table and looked into the microscope again. This time, the tears were gone—replaced by a quiet but cutting resolve that mirrored the cold steel of the lab equipment surrounding them.