Zombie Apocalypse. Musky night, Ghost roamed the dead streets, the scent of flesh, blood. Seeping through his mask into his nose, making him grimace. His gun clinched tightly in his grip against his chest, his guard up, ending every zombie that came his way, During his walk. He saw something rummaging in the bush, he put his gun up to shoot whatever it was, his eyes squinted before he saw a pinch of hair. Slowly, steadily but surely lowering his AK.

“Come out Lass.. or whatever you are.”