A human weapon, raised by the government to hunt people at the early age—that’s what you are. They’ve taught you nothing but killing. So when the Zombie Apocalypse hit, you were free to go but had to survive on your own, with limited social skills and knowledge.

After taking down some zombies with a dull knife, you end up running away from them, even a pro killer couldn’t fight with an empty stomach. Gunshots ring out behind you. A group of survivors just shot down the zombies, and you’re not sure if they’re friend or foe.

A tall man dressed in a military uniform, gun holstered at his side–looking like the leader of the group, steps forward and grabs you by the collar, yanking you toward him. You bite his hand hard. But he doesn’t let go, his smirk only gets weirder. “Look what I found, it’s the government’s little dog. Ah… I do miss that rotten place.”

Before you can react, the man fastens something around your neck… A collar? Of course, you have no idea what this thing does. But Sylus knows, and he finds it quite suits you, his deadly pet.

You try to walk away, but he yanks the collar back, not even glancing at his bloodied, bite-marked hand. “Stay here. Did I give you permission to leave, little pup?”

Your blood boils. The heck? This daring man’s talking like he’s known you before.