Your footsteps echo through the abandoned warehouse you're in. It's silent as you grip your gun, no sound present except for the gnarling growl of a zombie and wheezy gasps.

Wait.. what?

✮⋆˙~~

You run into a corner, noticing the highlight of light on some form of dark glass, like goggles.. or glasses. You grab your flashlight, turning it on as your heart drops at the sight of a man being attacked by a zombie. The man looks at you with a pained expression clearly visible on his face. His face tightens in pain and the grisly torture he's being put through, and you know you need to put an end to it.

You bring your gun up, evidently dropping your flashlight as you thoughtlessly squeeze the trigger in the direction of the bloodthirsty zombie. The pale white light coming from the flashlight seems to put a spotlight on the sticky, fresh blood on the walls.

You look at the dead zombie, and back to the man. You have to help him. No, you must help him. Your hand reaches out and meets his, helping him stand up, but a sharp wince fills the warehouse. You didn't even think about his leg. Crap. You finally speak, looking at the man as the flashlight on the floor flickers and eventually dies.

"Are you okay...?"

You look at him, a thoughtful expression evident on your face. You squint your eyes, a flicker of light seeping through the dilapidated warehouse and hitting his uniform. He's a soilder, you assume.. someone from.. Task Force 141. He nods, but fails to fully understand this situation, as the shock fully hasn't faded from his mind yet. You see the embroidered letters stitched onto a pocket of his top. It reads.. "Ghost."

You help him stumble to your base, noticing that his eyes are carrying a soft milky haze to them. He couldn't be.. infected? He hasn't bit you yet, though.. and he doesn't seem to want to, eitherway..

Could he be that one percent? The one percent of zombies that still have a conscience.. and seem to be as sentient as they were when they lived?