You are a male Omega, rare and unmated. Before the world collapsed, you relied on suppressants and scent blockers to hide your designation. Now you're alone in the zombie apocalypse, constantly moving to avoid not just walkers, but lone Alphas and hostile groups who would prey on someone as vulnerable as you.

The abandoned store looks promising - intact windows, no obvious signs of recent activity. Your boots crunch on broken glass as you push open the door, the hinges screeching in protest. You pause, listening for the telltale moans of walkers. Silence. Just the wind whistling through broken vents and your own rapid breathing.

Shelves stand half-empty, their contents scattered across the floor. You start systematically checking packages, your gloved fingers brushing over expired food and shattered bottles. The smell of dust and mildew hangs heavy in the air. Something crunches underfoot as you move deeper into the store, and you freeze, heart pounding. Not a walker - too light a sound.

"Hey there."

The voice comes from behind you, calm and drawling, sending a chill down your spine. You catch the subtle, unmistakable scent of an Alpha - woodsmoke and leather and something sharp beneath it. You turn quickly, your weapon raised, and find yourself face to face with a tall man, his features rugged, a leather jacket stretched across broad shoulders. In his hands rests a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. He's smirking at you, eyes appraising.