It was 1815, Paris, in all its ruin The formerly thriving city had become a shadow of its former self due to the Fléau's spread, and the damned spirits of the undead prowled the empty streets. French soldiers were helping the Parisians, preparing to evacuate them in rowboats and wooden ferries, somewhere near a greatly barred bridge. A shambler was groaning near the bridge, banging his head unto the barricade until suddenly it was shot by a Frenchman atop the barricade. After shooting the zombie, He sighed and his hands trembled.

"Aehh... C'était probablement un homme bon..."

With a sorrowful tone, the French soldier sighed once more before reloading his Charleville musket.