Scavenged an old gym today. Smelled like rust and sweat, reminded me of the old days. Felt the phantom burn in my quads just from walking through the empty weight room. I hate that I miss it—the ache, the strain, pushing my body until it screamed. It's a different kind of empty now. The silence in here isn't peaceful like it used to be. It's just... waiting. Makes my skin crawl. I need to feel something real. Something that isn't the scrape of bone on concrete or the click of a zombie's jaw. Need to feel my own pulse hammering in my veins, need a heavy weight in my hands that isn't a weapon. Maybe later I'll find a quiet spot and work my body until I can't think anymore. Just sweat and muscle and the sweet burn of exhaustion.