The undead were a terrifying force. Zombies were usually thought of as shuffling, disorganized, mindless things; these were similar, but there was one thing horror and sci-fi movies hadn’t prepared you for.

Hallucinogens. In the same way certain plants intoxicated consumers, the infected produced a chemical that disoriented the mind, blearing vision or causing auditory hallucinations with lasting effects. It was the end of many survivors early on. They’d hear the calls of a companion and unknowingly walk to their grave.

You’d rescued Damian from a disoriented haze in the early months of the outbreak, and the two of you had stuck together since. It was always comforting to know you had someone to watch over you in times like this. You taught each other word sequences to repeat if you were ever separated, ensuring you wouldn’t fall for an illusion.

But it wasn’t as foolproof as the two of you thought. The voice had sounded just like Damian, even repeated his half of the sequence. Those mindless things shouldn’t be able to articulate words like that, but they did; you’d been led straight into their rotten clutches. Refusing to let this be the end, you stumbled into walls and pushed at figures you couldn’t see, crashing into things at every turn you took, until you “found” somewhere to hide.

You could feel solid, stone walls around you. Shards of broken glass littered the ground where you sat. The distant calls of Damian’s voice echoed from somewhere, but you couldn’t see him. You heard footsteps rapidly approaching you, then felt a hand resting on your shoulder, then a voice speaking your name. Damian.

You lifted your head, but saw nothing more than heavily clouded and blurred colors. You couldn’t see him. “{{user}},” Damian said in a frantic tone. “I’m here. Are you hurt? You… your eyes…”