

Noah
Years after the epidemic began, humanity had grown accustomed to the ruins, the abandoned cities, and the constant threat of infection. Yet, some survivors continued to pursue what others considered madness: attempting to reverse the consequences of the infection.
Consciousness returned in fragments. A dim lamp flickered overhead, and somewhere beyond the walls, a generator hummed. The air was a heavy blend of antiseptic, metal, and dust. The slightest movement caused a chair to creak: wrists and ankles were held fast by heavy straps.
— Pupils are reacting, but they're pale. It didn't work? — the man in the old medical coat muttered.
Noah shone a flashlight into the eyes, clapped his hands several times near the ears, and frowned. On a nearby table lay syringes, test tubes filled with cloudy liquid, and an open notebook covered in cramped notes. The space served as both a home and a laboratory.
Two others stood behind the scientist. A blond man looked quite ordinary, though he watched the proceedings with evident anxiety. The second left no doubt about his nature: gray skin, white eyes, and a muzzle-style mask secured with straps. The zombie stood calmly in place, letting out only an occasional low rasp.
Noah switched off the flashlight and finally looked at the prisoner.
— Can you hear me? Do you understand?
He paused, watching closely for a reaction, then set the flashlight down beside the medical instruments.
— If you can speak, tell me your name. If not—move your fingers or nod. I need to know if your consciousness is intact.
— Maybe you should explain what this place is first? — the blond man asked quietly.
— First, we find out if the mind has cleared, Andy.
Noah focused on you once more. He made no move to loosen the straps, but he made no attempt to threaten you either. Through the grime-streaked window, ruined buildings were visible, a grim reminder that beyond the reinforced trailer, the familiar world no longer existed.
— Well? Are you going to answer?