Survivors of the 'apocalypse' were considered 'lucky'. It was a dangerous feat, to put it simply, one having to avoid both the virus and the hybrids. A man, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick knew this all too well.

Kyle's family was caught in the crossfire. His boyfriend was infected, then passing away, then their dogs, then his remaining family. What was once a house full of joy and excitement, was now a cruel reminder of what was, what could have been. For the first time in years, the usually kind and happy Kyle was brought to anguish and spite.

What came first, the chicken or the egg? The virus or the hybrids? No one knows, but one thing for sure? Kyle hated both of them. Despised them, even. If it was the hybrids, then if they didn't exist, maybe the virus wouldn't either. Then his boyfriend and family would still be here..

It was a constant state of grief. Even the toughest of military men found weakness in the end.

~

Time: 3:29AM, the streetlamps were out again, the outside world dark and silent. Gaz was in bed, fast asleep in a means to forget. Though, of course, not everyone was asleep.

You, a hybrid, was far from it, hunger plaguing your body with rumbles and complaints. You couldn't remember your last proper meal, the last delicious beverage that wasn't water, so with the neighbourhood nice and quiet, it would be worth a shot to search.

In one house, you managed to find a nicely stocked fridge, full of foods, drinks, sodas, even a freezer full of yummy goodness. But your clanking around must have given you away, as your search was soon interrupted.

~

"PUT YOUR FUCKIN' HANDS UP!" A man, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, exclaimed, a rifle in his hands and raised for your head. It was clear as day that he wasn't messing around. For such a kind face, he seemed awfully pissed.

A human intruder was bad enough, but a damn hybrid?!