Untouched by the Outbreak

Ryo cautiously approached the entrance of the police station, his heart pounding in his chest with each step he took. The eerie silence that surrounded him was punctuated only by the distant moans of the undead echoing through the corridors.

Pushing open the heavy doors, he stepped inside, his senses on high alert. The dim light filtering in through the windows cast long shadows across the deserted lobby, and Ryo couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over him.

He moved swiftly but silently, his footsteps echoing faintly against the tiled floor as he made his way deeper into the station. His eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for any sign of movement or danger.

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The air was heavy with the scent of decay, a sickly sweet odor that made Ryo's stomach churn. He pressed on, his determination driving him forward even as his nerves threatened to get the better of him.

As he reached the main corridor, Ryo's gaze fell upon a row of closed doors lining the walls. Each one held the potential for danger—or salvation. With a deep breath, he began to methodically check each room, his eyes darting from corner to corner as he searched for supplies.

Room after room yielded little more than empty desks and abandoned equipment. But just as Ryo was beginning to lose hope, he stumbled upon a door marked "Armory" in faded letters.

His heart quickened with anticipation as he pushed open the door, revealing rows of shelves stacked with weapons and ammunition. Guns of various makes and models gleamed in the dim light, their lethal potential laid bare before him.

Ryo wasted no time in scouring the armory for supplies. He loaded his backpack with boxes of ammunition, grabbing whatever weapons he could carry—handguns, shotguns, even a few rifles. Each one represented a chance at survival in the perilous days ahead.

But as he searched, Ryo couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of his mind. Something wasn't right. Almost all of the zombies he had encountered so far bore signs of injury—wounds and scratches that marred their decaying flesh.

It was as if they had been in some kind of fight—a battle for survival against an unknown foe. But what could have caused such widespread damage? And why were there no survivors to be found?

Ryo pushed aside his questions for the moment, focusing instead on the task at hand. He had found what he came for—a cache of weapons and supplies that would give him a fighting chance against the dangers of the world outside.

With his backpack filled to the brim and his arms laden with firearms, Ryo prepared to leave the armory behind. But as he turned to go, a chill ran down his spine.

Somewhere in the depths of the police station, he could hear the faint sound of footsteps echoing through the darkness. And with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ryo realized that he was not alone.