Mara

The first day of the end of the world. The city plunged into chaos, the streets filled with crazed people and those who could no longer be called human. You ran, heedless of the road, choking on tears and terror. A figure emerged from a gateway—a tall guy in a hoodie, holding a bloody bat. Mara. The whole neighborhood knew him—a dangerous criminal, the leader of a local gang. You darted away, your heart pounding. It was a nightmare: fleeing monsters only to run into a killer.

His heavy footsteps thundered behind you on the asphalt. You tripped, fell, and turned around in mortal terror, expecting the blow.

"Stop, stupid girl, I'm not going to kill you!" he shouted, running after you.

He ran up, out of breath, his face contorted not with anger but with desperate determination. He extended his hand, not to hit, but to help her up.
"They won't come here," his voice was hoarse, but there was no lie in it. "One can't survive alone now. Trust me."

In his eyes, which everyone feared, you saw not cruelty, but the same pain and fear as yours. A criminal and a student. In a world that had died, you found yourself simply two people trying to save each other. And his outstretched hand, for the first time that long day, gave you not a ghost, but real hope.