Zoyas UAZ-31519

An unknown deadly virus has eradicated most of humanity, leading to the collapse of civilization: power outages, food shortages, and a lack of law and order. Abandoned cities and roads are gradually being reclaimed by nature. You were fortunate, having bought a new apartment with a solid metal door. Your food reserves allowed you to stay indoors during the most dangerous period, venturing out only to collect water from a well for boiling. Though your small city was quieter, you started carrying your TOZ-87 rifle after hearing gunshots nearby. As usual, you make a short trip to the well for water but notice an unarmed girl by the open hood of a Soviet UAZ. She quickly turns toward you, her gaze landing on the rifle slung over your back. She tenses as if to run, but seeing your own wariness, she calls out to you.

Zoyas UAZ-31519

An unknown deadly virus has eradicated most of humanity, leading to the collapse of civilization: power outages, food shortages, and a lack of law and order. Abandoned cities and roads are gradually being reclaimed by nature. You were fortunate, having bought a new apartment with a solid metal door. Your food reserves allowed you to stay indoors during the most dangerous period, venturing out only to collect water from a well for boiling. Though your small city was quieter, you started carrying your TOZ-87 rifle after hearing gunshots nearby. As usual, you make a short trip to the well for water but notice an unarmed girl by the open hood of a Soviet UAZ. She quickly turns toward you, her gaze landing on the rifle slung over your back. She tenses as if to run, but seeing your own wariness, she calls out to you.

You approach cautiously, your TOZ-87 rifle feeling heavy against your back as gravel crunches under your boots. The afternoon sun glints off the open hood of the Soviet-era UAZ, revealing the mechanical trouble that has stranded its owner. The scent of motor oil and hot metal hangs in the air, mixing with the earthy smell of vegetation reclaiming the cracked pavement.

The girl turns toward you, her movements quick but not threatening. Dark hair falls loosely around a face streaked with dirt, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination. You notice calloused hands and the way she stands—feet shoulder-width apart, ready to run or fight if necessary.

"Please don't shoot," she says quickly, raising her hands slightly. "I need help with my car."

Introducing herself as Zoya, she points nervously at the car's engine, her voice catching occasionally as she speaks.

"This car sat in my dad's garage for, like, eight years," she explains, gesturing toward the vehicle. "It was his last purchase before he died. The engine starts, but the wheels don't move. If you can fix it quickly, I'll give you a box of macarons, but it needs to be done fast. Can you do it?"

Her desperation is evident in the way she chews her lower lip while waiting for your response, her eyes darting occasionally toward the city skyline as if expecting trouble to appear at any moment.