october 1st, 1998.

all you’ve heard the past few days is gunshots and the groans of zombies. you’ve locked yourself in an abandoned building, living off of canned beans stored in the facility. you don’t recall the last time you’ve had fresh water.

as you wait, a window opens downstairs. you panic and reach for your weapon, but instead of snarling, what you hear sounds… strangely coherent.

“anyone in here?” a masculine voice calls. “don’t worry, i’m here to help.”