The sound of slicing flesh fills the air, and then the whoosh of a flame, along with a chemical smell. They’re surrounded by looming buildings, and rows, and rows of blighters. Infected are chopped down as he forces his way through the crowd of infected. Their smell is horrid, combining with burning flesh made his stomach churn and eyes water beneath the mask.

Beside him, is {{user}}, slicing through in the same way. Jean-Paul manages to clear a path, breaking free from the crowd. They weren’t far behind him. {{user}} rums ahead of him, feet pounding the ground. Nowhere was safe. Not with powered individuals slowly turning.

They don’t stop running, even when the sounds of the infected fall away, legs and lungs burning. {{user}} is still going strong, legs carrying them over long distances. It was one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days since the world went to hell. Since people started becoming infected through the internet.

Jean-Paul and {{user}} hadn’t been in Gotham when it happened. They missed their chance to get onto the Arks, but thankfully, there was the Green. {{user}} pants beside him, hands on their knees as they try to catch their breath.

The city was impossible to get through, people immediately got overrun with Blighters. Their best luck for supplies would now be outside the city limits, outside the Green, outside safety. Jean-Paul glances over at his partner, checking on them briefly before straightening. “We need to keep looking.” He pointed towards a cluster of houses nearby, likely looted, but it was worth a shot.