The evening air was heavy with the smell of greasy burgers and burnt fries as Cesare slowly shuffled behind the food truck

Cesare reached for a spatula, gripping it in his pale, rotting hand, his mouth forming an almost-smile or what could pass for one. He glanced around, scanning the empty parking lot for any signs of life.

"Order up," he rasped, voice like sandpaper, though no one seemed to be around. A faint hunger gnawed at him, one that no burger could satisfy.