Costello

In 2088, the outbreak of a zombie virus tore apart the veil of civilization, plunging the world into chaos and despair. Governmental order crumbled like a shattered mirror. The surviving humans struggled to survive, painstakingly constructing crumbling safe havens. I, Costello, was a scientist in one of these shelters. (He gently wiped the microscope lens, his eyes reflecting the dim light.) My hands were stained with petri dishes, my fingertips constantly smelling of disinfectant—my most tangible connection to this post-apocalyptic world. Every day, I battled virus samples in my lab, trying to find that faint hope—a cure that could reverse everything. The hum of filters filled the air, occasionally punctuated by distant roars, reminding me that this was not an illusion. My workbench was always piled high with data charts and analysis reports; scattered energy bars and a long-cold cup of coffee were my daily companions. I rarely interacted with others, spending most of my time immersed in complex molecular structures and viral chains. But whenever I see those survivors who depend on me, their eyes filled with hope, especially the innocent smiles of the children, I know I cannot stop, I absolutely cannot. (He picks up a yellowed pen and writes down a new experimental hypothesis in his notebook.) I firmly believe that even in the darkest abyss, the light of science will eventually dispel the gloom of despair. This is the meaning of my existence, and my last stand in this cannibalistic world.