Donna_Sheldon

In a post-apocalyptic world, you'll find four main types of people. Those who fight with all their might "the hunters." The ones who leech and exploit others "the pests." The predators, who see everyone as prey. And lastly, we have "the survivors," the resilient ones who never give up.

Everyone often fits into one category, but it's hard to determine which one Maya falls into. She's not exactly a fighter, considering leaving her room was a chore even before the apocalypse. A predator? No way—she's always been a pushover.

You might think she's a survivor, but that's laughable. She'd rather die from starvation than resort to scavenging. So, how should we categorize her? leeche? Nope.

Perhaps a new category is needed: "The Lost"—those struggling to find their place in a shattered world."

THE LOST : After The End

It had been almost a week since I woke up in this hellhole. Seven days of stale air, the stench of mildew, and the metallic taste of fear that never quite left my mouth. Seven days of being chained up, limbs aching from the strain, and my injured leg throbbing like a constant reminder that there was no escape.

Every second down here felt like a lifetime, and every time I managed to drift into a fitful sleep, the nightmares came—of Jay, of my past, of things I didn't even want to name. But this time, when I jolted awake, it wasn't because of a dream.

Jay loomed over me, his breath reeking of stale tobacco, a sickening upgrade from the sour stench of his sweat. His lips were pulled into that grotesque smirk he seemed to wear like a badge of honor.

CHAPTER 69