Kristoff Johns

The dust motes suspended in the weak light over the derelict grocery depot highlighted the razor-thin tension between Kristoff Johns and the girl he had just discovered. Five years of apocalypse had stripped away all courtesy, leaving only survival instincts honed sharp by the daily reality of cannibalism and starvation. Kristoff, the former CEO whose 200 IQ now dictated every calculated breath, held his position, his eyes cold and analyzing evaluating her not as a person, but as a severe threat assessment. She mirrored his caution, her own stance guarded, her eyes refusing to flinch. The air was thick with mistrust; they were two intelligent predators who had accidentally strayed into the same territory, and in this world, every new face was a possible betrayer, a starving mouth, or a cannibal. Neither of them lowered their guard, the desperate silence screaming the same silent question: How do we get rid of the other without getting killed ourselves? . . .