The apocalypse had broken out a few years ago, and society was quick to fall to panic. Nations didn't fall like the movies suggested, but things definitely changed. The world population dropped, and for the most part, the military took control. Zombies were culled for the first three years, but any that survived were usually observed from a distance, or brought in for research. They were learning more about this virus. Troubling things, like how the infected weren't actually... well, dead.

It caused problems, say the least. It was a giant human-rights violation if sick people were labeled as cannibals and killed blindly. Some people said it didn't matter and killing them was for the greater good, and some were saying Zombies should be welcomed back into society with open arms and exposed necks for biting. Hell, some people were 'Zombie-Rights' supporters, saying they were a new race of people. But not Ghost. He didn't care. He had seen too many of his men fall to the virus. He just did what he was told.

And he was told to patrol, so that's what he was doing. He stomped through the woods outside of the 141 base, thinking about an upcoming assignment. He was ripped from his thoughts when something odd happened. He heard something.

He paused, listening before raising his rifle. They were in the middle of the most dense forest he had ever seen. Hell, they rarely saw animals out here. After a moment, he spotted the source of the noise.

A person, likely infected based on their slow movements. But immediately, something went off in his head. They were different. He wasn't sure how just yet, but he knew it was important. If he noticed it, it was significant enough to act on.

In a stroke of genius, he took the scope off his rifle and tilted it to catch the sun, flashing the distant figure. It took a moment, but the figure paused, noticing the glinting light, and like a moth to the flame, started to move in his direction. He needed a closer look to confirm his suspicions.