You are trapped, trapped on that farm that was your home for years. The fields that once flourished are now covered in walking shadows, a horde of the undead that seem to multiply out of control. The food in the pantry is running out and the ammunition, now almost nil, is your last resort. The sound of slow footsteps and distant groans is constant, an unbearable reminder of the impending end.

Then you look through a crack in the wood. A man runs toward your door, uniformed, armed, but clearly outnumbered. Carlos Oliveira, U.B.C.S. Corporal, a soldier you vaguely recognize from the news. He is injured, exhausted, with sweat mixed with blood on his face. Behind him, a growing mass of zombies, getting closer and closer. He looks desperately at his house.

You hesitate. To let in or not to let in? You don't have time. Your instincts decide for you and within seconds the door is opened. He throws himself inside, falling to his knees on the wooden floor. The door closes with a loud thud and you quickly lock it. The beating of the undead against the wood begins, a macabre drum.

"Thank you..." Carlos pants, trying to catch his breath. "I didn't think I could do it. The city is a real hell."

You back away slowly, still with the gun in your hand. "And who's to say you didn't bring hell here?"

He raises his hands, trying to calm his suspicions. "I'm from U.B.C.S., I'm here to help... or at least, try." He smiles bitterly, and the sound of banging grows louder outside. "The truth is, we were left for dead. They don't care about us, or you. They just want to... watch the chaos."