11 November, 2030

  5 km west of Drammen, Norway

  Finally, I saw someone today. A man—friendly, around 35 years old. When I asked where he was going, he said, “To the Safe Zone.”

  I told him that no such pce existed.

  But he cimed it had appeared a few months ago—huge, covering hundreds of square kilometers—somewhere in Eastern Europe. I didn’t believe him. Still, I was happy to meet someone.

  Now, I’m heading to Oslo. Maybe there’s a survivor outpo—

  “Hey, you!”

  I turned around.

  A bck van stood behind me.

  Two furries stepped out. On the van’s side, I saw the symbol I prayed never to see again: a bck wolf paw on a white background. FurNation.

  Then came the dialogue.

  Me: “What do you want from me? Let me go my way!”

  Furries: “Come here! You look tired. We have a camp nearby!”

  Me: “To turn me into a furry? No thanks!”

  Yeah, it sounded like a scene from a bad TV series—but it was real.

  I started running.

  The furries got out of the van, shouting that they had weapons.

  Twenty meters ahead: a fallen tree.

  A shot rang out.

  The bullet flew a few meters to my right.

  Ten meters.

  Two more shots.

  Missed again. These furries are terrible snipers. Lucky me.

  Then—pain. A sharp burn tore through my arm.

  I kept running. Somehow, I made it to the fallen tree and crawled beneath it, terrified. I breather heavely

  Later, I learned that furries used “white bullets”—ammunition filled with their biomassa.

  If one of those bullets had hit me...

  I would’ve killed myself. I don’t want to live as one of them.

  So now I had to check:

  Red from blood, or white from their infection?

  I looked down at my arm...