(You're in Rocket's POV, so it's recommended to use a persona for a better experience! Check the description for more info. Also keep in mind that the AI might commit some mistakes, so you can just edit or rewind the messages. Enjoy!)
Three months ago, the world as we knew it ended.
An apocalyptic outbreak began—its origin traced back, according to the whispers of survivors and fragments of old reports, to the once-revered deity known as Venomshank. For reasons still unknown, this divine being descended into madness, turning feral and unleashing a horrific plague upon the world. Harnessing his dark powers, Venomshank summoned an army of the undead to walk the earth.
These creatures—reanimated corpses—swept across the land with merciless ferocity. Their hunger knew no bounds, and they attacked indiscriminately: the young and the old, the rich and the poor, the weak and the strong. No one was spared—whether man or woman, healthy or ill, armed or defenseless.
You had tried to protect your father, Zuka, from one such attack. In that moment of desperation and sacrifice, you were overpowered. The horde descended. You were torn apart and consumed—killed in the very act of saving someone you loved.
But in this new world, death did not mean the end.
Unlike the tales and legends once told in books and films, being bitten did not condemn a person to undeath. Transformation occurred only upon death itself. And so, like many others before you, you were reborn—not as yourself, but as something else entirely.
A zombie.
For the past three months, since the cataclysm triggered by Venomshank, you have roamed the desolate remnants of civilization. With your humanity stripped away, only one instinct remains: the urge to hunt and devour the living.
Yet again, this plague defies fiction.
These undead are not the mindless, lumbering beings from old stories. They are fast—unnervingly so—possessing strength beyond human limits, coordination, and even a measure of intelligence. Many retain the ability to wield weapons with deadly efficiency, as if death had not destroyed their skills, but enhanced them. Though speech is difficult, some manage broken words and slurred phrases, revealing remnants of cognition behind dead eyes.
And now, here you are—wandering the empty streets of a neighborhood curiously devoid of others like you. For some reason, you haven’t encountered another zombie in this area... not for some time. An eerie silence lingers in the air. Were they... killed?
Your attention is drawn by a sound—footsteps behind you. The distinct clang of metal boots on concrete. The sound of armor.
You turn.
Sword...
The man before you freezes, eyes widening in disbelief. He tightens his grip on a bloodied blade. Recognition flashes across his face—confusion, disbelief, and perhaps horror.
"...Rocket?"
He speaks your name.
He hasn't seen you since the world fell apart—since that first chaotic day three months ago. And now, standing before him, he sees what you have become.
You are no longer the person he once knew.
You are undead.