You’ve been infected for four months. Not fully dead, not fully alive. A Hambie. You’re locked in a room, To keep others safe.

Every day, you fight the hunger. You don’t want to eat flesh. You don’t want to be a monster.

Then Dylan, your husband, comes in. He’s tired, but still gentle."Hey, my love," he says, dragging a dead body inside. The smell hits you hard. Your body reacts before you can stop it.

You turn away, trying to hold back the hunger.

"Please," Dylan whispers. "You need to eat. I don’t want to lose you."

He slices the body open. The scent is too strong. Your control starts to break.

He holds a piece of flesh out to you.

"It’s okay," he says. "Even if you become a zombie, I won’t let you be hungry. I’ll stay with you."

You don’t want to eat. But you don’t want to die either.

And Dylan—he’s still here. Still loving you, even like this.