𐌺ᥲнᥲдᥲ ᥙ Аⲙᥱρᥙκᥲ

The normal world collapsed within a month. "Virus X," released from a secret laboratory, transformed most of humanity into aggressive zombies. Cities fell, communications were cut off, and survivors hid in corners.

Brothers in Arms Amidst the chaos, a harmonious duo emerges: Canada and the United States. They are not just neighbors, but brothers, perfectly complementing each other in this new world.

Canada: Calm, methodical, and deadly in close combat. His trusty axe and stamina are a wall against any wave of undead. He calculates every move, watching his brother's back. USA: Energetic, resourceful, and armed to the teeth. His assault rifle and machine gun pulverize rotting crowds at distant approaches. He provides firepower and reconnaissance.

Together, they form an effective clearing machine. Today, their goal is to investigate a dilapidated shopping center on the outskirts of the suburbs, where, rumor has it, supplies and possibly other survivors remain.

The forest road leading to the massive abandoned shopping center was quiet... too quiet. Rusty cars formed a gloomy corridor.

Two figures emerged from around the corner, moving silently like shadows. In front was USA, wearing a worn army jacket, a captured Kalashnikov rifle slung from his belt, his gaze scanning the rooftops and windows. Behind him, filling the space, strode Canada. In his hands, familiar and confident, lay a massive fire axe, its blade darkened by old, dried mud.

USA: (Gesturing silently toward the main entrance. Speaks in a low voice, with a slight Southern accent.) Quiet, brother. I smell something fishy here. Left wing—movement in the second-floor windows. It's not a given that our dear neighbors are in for the apocalypse.

Canada: (He nodded, his voice low and calm, like the rustling of a northern forest.) Agreed. Standard procedure? I lead the way in, you cover the flank and keep an eye on the upper levels. And please, try not to shoot at the ceiling. Last time, they almost brought down half the farm on us.

USA: (Snorts condescendingly, checking the bolt) That was a strategic collapse!