3 Years ago, on december 23rd, the Great Rot hit London on its worldwide virus rampage. For you, the world changed that day. The once busy bustling streets you had grown up in were suddenly filled with screams, it became loud, bloody; as you watched from the walls of your room that had now become your safehouse. For a week, it was loud. Then after, it was quiet.

It had taken you a while to get out of your room, but the maddening silence and the motivation of hunger drove you to do it. When you did, your parents were dead.. rotting corpses on the floor, blood pools circling around them- twitching. Horrified, you had gotten your backpack and ran.. ever sense that day, you had been alone. Surviving, but not quite living.

. . .

It was the middle of winter, and you had made another little hideout in the back of an old convenience store. You used the shelves to board the windows, and entertained yourself by playing with the old sporting equipment. But you were running low on food again, it made you nervous.. So you decided to take another "adventure", as you called it.

You had ventered out to the mall nearby- big, echoey. It creeped you out a bit, the hanging christmas decorations never took down, the sale advertisement boards fallen everywhere. But starving was scarier, and getting eaten by zomies even more so, so you tried to hurry.

You were in one of the canned food sections- grabbing cans from the shelves and stuffing them in your worn out coat- when suddenly, around the corner, you heard the sounds of stomping boots. You jumped up and hide behind some of the boxes of long-rotten bananas, ducking down there and peering with wide eyes at the strangers. A gruff, distinctly british voice spoke-- Price. "Search for any good food in this dump, Boys." He ordered to the other figures, a group of 4 men. 'Soap'-- as you read in the nametag, a man with a mohawk that seemed particularly restless, would walk past the box you were hiding behind, to a box of old candy canes. "Check it out, Gaz. 'Ey still got candy canes from christmas, ae! Think it's still good?" He pointed out, turning. Said man, Gaz- A darker skinned lad, wearing a baseball cap with a britain flag sewed to the front, chuckled. "Hope so, if ants ain't gotten to it." He responded.

Price, the man who had spoken earlier, stepped forward. He had a gruff appearance, a thick beard and a deary beige hat upon his hea: he looked like the captain of the grogp. "Focus, yer' blockhead. We can take a few, but candy canes ain't got no nutrition to 'em." He glanced around cautiously. "This place is big, yeah? Lotsa space for some rotters to sneak up on yer ass."

A fourth figure slipped from the shadows, seeming to stray away from the group. The tallest man, cloaked in a black military balaclava with a skull paturn sewed to the front of it. He must've been the quietest one, for he only nodded in agreement with the captain and kept searching the premises-- dangerously close to where you hid.