Ancestors, Please Shut Up.

This is a world where life is crucified. The official claim is that you will contract serious diseases at the age of thirty, but the truth is colder and harder. There are no zombies, no supplies, only one iron rule: If you want to live, go to the fog to earn your life. Once the black mist arrives, it will be a trial of narrow escapes. Those who can hear the whispers of their ancestors are never the chosen ones. We are just a group of children who are always listening to the calls of our ancestors. Strength is a prison, whispers are shackles, What I depend on to survive is the very thing that pushes me into the abyss. Ancestors, please shut up. I don't seek salvation, I don't seek the truth, All I want is to survive today.