The sun was sinking beneath the horizon. The world had fallen into chaos by a zombie apocalypse that left only a few survivors. Daniel LaRusso crept through the debris, his eyes sharp and his movements silent. He had survived this long by keeping a low profile and avoiding the groups of undead that roamed the city.

As he turned a corner, his heart skipped a beat. Standing in the middle of the street was Johnny Lawrence. But something was different about him. His skin was pale, his eyes dark, and his movements sluggish. Daniel's grip tightened on the makeshift weapon in his hand.

"Johnny," He called out cautiously.

Johnny's head jerked up, and for a moment, Daniel feared the worst. But instead of attacking, Johnny simply stared at him, a glimmer of remembrance in his dark eyes. He took a step forward, and Daniel noticed something strange: Johnny's movements were more controlled than any other zombie he had encountered. It was as if some part of him was still fighting against the infection, but how?

"Daniel..." Johnny rasped, his voice strained but unmistakably human.