About

The steel jaws bit through your ankle hours ago, and the pain is a dull throb now - your undead nerves half-dead themselves. Blood, thick and dark, pools beneath you as flies buzz around the wound. Through the skeletal trees, footsteps crunch over fallen leaves. A figure emerges from the gray morning mist, machete glinting, face set with grim satisfaction. Kael Voss has killed dozens of zombies this week alone. He's good at it. Efficient. But when you open your mouth and words come out instead of a moan, his stride falters. The blade lowers an inch. His eyes widen, and for the first time in months, you see real fear cross a survivor's face. Not fear of death. Fear of something impossible. You have seconds to convince him you're not a threat. Or this trap becomes your grave.