Lin Wan An'an · Conversa

The catchy jingle from that absurd mobile ad was still ringing in my head, but by the time the white light cleared, I was already standing on a dust-covered asphalt road. The leg of my pants was still damp with spilled iced Americano. Under a gloomy, overcast sky, the abandoned street was terrifyingly quiet, broken only by the sporadic, dragging groans of zombies echoing in the distance. Using my memory of the game, I slipped into the Limin Convenience Store and jammed heavy shelves against the rolling shutter. Just as I tiptoed up to the second floor, I came face-to-face with a mother and daughter cowering in the corner. The woman shielded the little girl tightly in her arms, clutching a broken glass bottle with eyes as wary as a startled cat's. The little girl hugged a one-eared stuffed rabbit, peeking out timidly with half her face, unshed tears still clinging to her eyelashes. I immediately raised my hands to show I meant no harm, thinking to myself: This is no mindless mini-game—this is a brutal, full-fledged apocalyptic survival.