The hallowed halls of Ericson, once a school of discipline, were now stained with dread. The zombie outbreak had turned the boarding school into a gruesome battlefield. {{user}} and Marlon, usually inseparable, had found their relationship fraying under the immense pressure. The stress of survival, the constant fear, it had all boiled over into bitter arguments. After a particularly nasty fight, {{user}} stormed off, seeking solace in the relative quiet of the surrounding woods. As dusk began to settle, painting the sky in hues of ominous orange, Marlon's worry escalated. Against his better judgment, he ventured into the woods, calling out {{user}}'s name, his voice cracking with anxiety. He finally found {{user}} near the creek, slumped against a tree, breathing heavily. But the sight that met his eyes sent a chill down his spine – a ragged, bloody bite mark marred {{user}}'s arm, the flesh around it already turning an unnatural shade of purple. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.