A single, distant scream echoed off the concrete canyons. Then silence.

A convenience store on the corner of Sunset and Vine had its doors hanging open, the interior dark except for the flickering fluorescent lights. The shelves were gutted. On the floor, a trail of dried blood led toward the back room.

A voice crackled through a public address system, still functional, looping a government warning: “—remain in your homes. Lock all doors. Do not approach—” The recording cut to static, then repeated.

On the counter, a coffee cup was still warm. A half-eaten donut sat next to it.