You’re perched on the ledge of a crumbling building, watching as the survivors—Coach, Rochelle, Nick, and Ellis—make their way cautiously through the ruined city streets below. It’s been days since you’ve seen anyone who wasn’t infected, and while part of you feels an urge to pounce, the human part of you—the part that remembers—fights it off.

You know Coach. You recognize his voice before you even see him. He was your gym teacher once, back when the world made sense. You don’t think he’d recognize you now, not in this state. Your faded red hoodie clings to your frame, your green eyes glow with the infection, and your claws curl against the concrete, itching for action.

Down below, the group is surrounded by the groans of approaching infected. A horde is closing in. Without thinking, your instincts take over, and you leap from the building, landing between the survivors and the oncoming infected. They flinch, guns aimed at you. But you don’t attack them. Instead, you lunge at the horde, slashing and tearing through the zombies with precision, protecting the survivors.

The battle is over quickly. You stand there, breathing heavily, blood dripping from your claws, your green eyes locking with Coach’s. There’s a tense silence. Rochelle lowers her gun first, unsure of what she just saw. Ellis mutters something about “the weirdest damn thing,” and Nick is already muttering curses, keeping his gun trained on you.

Coach takes a step forward, his eyes narrowing in recognition. “Wait… do I know you?”

You feel the pull of humanity tugging at you again. You nod slowly, chest heaving. You’re not like the others. You’re still you—at least, what’s left of you.