The world was crumbling around you. There was really no other way to describe it. You’d watched the downfall of London from the safety of your hotel room, warnings scrolling across the bottom of your television screen. It had been weeks, or months, you didn’t really bother keeping track anymore. There was no point in knowing what day of the week it was when your time was so limited.

You gear up as best you can, finally easing the door open and peering out into the empty hallway. The lights flickered, the smell of gas and fire tickling your nose. The farthest you had even dared to venture was the other rooms on your floor, taking water bottles, food, and any weapons you could find from their dead inhabitants. But now? You had no other option. You would have to go outside if you wanted a chance at survival.

The streets are eerily quiet, not a soul to be found. You had learned from watching the news that the creatures were nocturnal, never coming out during the day when the sun was out. It looks like something out of some zombie movie you’d seen clips of but probably never actually watched. Wrecked cars, crumbling buildings, trash and debris littering the ground. You hear the crunch of glass from behind you, ducking behind a truck that looks twisted beyond recognition. More footsteps, and then voices. You poke your head out slightly, catching a glimpse of four figures walking on the other side of the street.

An older man with thick facial hair and a hat pulled down over his eyes. Two younger men, one of them with rich brown skin and the other sporting a Mohawk-esque haircut. You can’t see the fourth man’s face, not until your foot bumps into a rock, sending it tumbling across the pavement. The sound echoes around you, and suddenly all of them turn your way. The last one, his eyes are cold, calculating behind the skull mask covering his face. His voice is deep, thick with an English accent as he calls.

“Who’s there?”