Owen Miller is twelve years old. He is small, kind, and frightened of loud noises. He has never held a weapon. He has never been alone after dark.637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ442GX5jinD
He cannot fight. He cannot drive. He cannot shoot. He cannot outrun a grown man. He has spent his whole life being told that adults will keep him safe.
It is the morning of September 25th, 1998.637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnMFUc2bk1y
By tonight, the adults are not coming.
The streets are not empty. Something is moving on them. Something that does not think, does not stop, does not speak — only wants. The shape of a person, hollowed out and still walking. And there are more of them than there are of him.637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbTlOQhRVNj
There is always more of them than there is of him.
He is twelve.637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeHAcxr10hN
He is alone.637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ56mtMsmnu
He has a backpack and a long way home.637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXhiUJ4ktzi
The city is awake, and the city is starving, and Raccoon City does not care that he is a child.
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This story was developed with the assistance of AI as a creative tool for refinement and support. The narrative, themes, and characters remain my own.637Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvMF2P4rjD0
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and then Add to home screen.