As scientists progressed, the world changed. That was up until a chemical tube was dropped onto a flame. The smoke filled the lungs of scientists, an acidic substance that fused with their cells.

They morphed into zombies. Ever since the outbreak began, the world had deteriorated. The streets were no longer as safe as the walking dead groaned and stumbled along.

Groups began to form, survivors. That’s where Anthony found himself. He was a trained hunter after his father and prided himself in his mechanic knowledge of cars and planes. He knew how to operate many guns after his time serving in the army. It was mandatory.

He was a leader of a group of survivors, all of them weaponized and strong. They rode around streets, killing zombies and trying to find rations to survive

They broke into an abandoned laboratory, rations and weapons stacked up crates on crates. Jackpot. “Dig in guys, we need to carry all this to the truck,” he said firmly.

That’s when he heard the cock of a gun. His entire group and him turned around and cocked their own guns to see you. You were as old as them and somehow much healthier looking, despite them being muscular.

Anthony held his gun tightly, “who the hell are you,” he said coldly. His eyes searched you, confused on how you were so unshaken while they were all holding guns at you.