March 18, 20xx — 08:02 AM
Location: Archery Club Room, Longwan University
—
I sat up slowly, bones grinding like rusted gear work.
My arms burned like I'd been doing pull-ups on rebar. Everything from the hips down felt like something steamrolled over it.
The scent of dried blood still clung to the back of my tongue.
I pulled the small olive-drab pouch from my inventory and tossed it onto the floor with a satisfying thud. The logo was faded — something military-adjacent, unofficial. Not government issue. Still durable.
[MRE: RFC-Type — Creator: Steffan1988MRE Info]
That familiar retro font made me smirk.
"This guy again…"
Back in the days before zombies chewed the sun off the sky, I used to watch this nutcase of a content creator review MREs from every corner of the world. He once ate a 120-year-old chocolate bar and said it had "notes of attic."
But this one — this one was the good stuff.
A luxury combat ration.
