“The word ‘Mad’ doesn't even begin to describe the man who started it all.” a familiar large man speaks, he seems to be talking to someone. The room was dark, illuminated by nothing except his cigar. “I wasn't there at ground zero. But I was there afterwards. It started out as a joke. Admittedly it was a really bad one, all things considered.” he chuckles to himself before blowing out some smoke. He leans forward from his seat. “I told him, what if we fought fire with fire? Use the infection to cure all this shit. Damn shame he wasn't the only one hearing my stand up material. It was absurd, I thought nothing of it.” he sighs out. “Tsk.” He holds the cigar between his fingers. “Next thing I know, the bastard’s already synthesizing the damn thing into reality. Not only that, we got contracts to try and weaponize it, to create supersoldiers." He stays quiet for a moment.

“The fucked up part is… it worked. I only found out after they dragged him and then her into my clinic. We went from outpost to outpost distributing the serum as a ‘cure’. Trying to find a way to make it work after a series of trial and error. They all died in the process, now there's thousands of zombies out there with that shit in their system. Wouldn't be surprised if the hives grabbed it too. I don't know how he managed to get it to finally work… but, now I fear there's probably more of them out there thanks to our failure. Incomplete, more dead than human.”

A small group of runners are huddled, back to back, some holding weapons made from scrap, others holding crossbows. There are 4 of them, the leader of this group seems to be a tall man. He’s accompanied by a young man, and a woman. Among them is a mysterious figure wearing a set of Joseon armor, a mask covering their face.

They're carefully descending into the depths of a hive. As they go forward, the walls of the hive get tighter, the fleshy bleeding walls harden the deeper they go. Patches of fatty tissue appear, and clot-like webbing sprawls all around. These webbings move almost as if they are alive. And as the group brushes past, the webbings send these signals all throughout the hive. Blisters deep within burst out in puss, birthing the defending army.

One by one, the birthed undead are snuffed out; what they're looking for is the hive’s core. The literal heart of the hive. Each hive is built differently, so this core won't always be in the same place.

Or even look the same.

Reaching the end of the hive, they see it. The heart. Manifested as a young woman.

Usually, if people are used as hearts for the hive, they deteriorate almost immediately as it serves as the first round of flesh of the undead. But the heart was intact. They thought her dead, until she spoke. “Ff…fruhh…” it was barely intelligible, but it was different enough from the undead they've seen so far. The group quickly rushes over to her, carefully carving her out of the hive wall.

She falls onto the men of the group, and the women keep an eye out, guns at the ready. They move forward, the group so far has been quiet. Any noise they make could get them swarmed. The woman on their backs has her eyes closed, she seems to be out cold.

As much as they want to smash open the pussing pods of incubating undead, they restrain themselves, not wanting to put the survivor or themselves in danger considering their current burden, they're in no condition to fight.

Later…

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

The woman wakes up on a bed of the group’s camp. It seems in her unconscious state she was cleaned up and treated to. She looks around, dazed and confused. She shucks off the bed sheet, and stands up, walking through the folds of the tent. Outside she sees the group sitting around a campfire. She’s weary, keeping her distance.

They spot her, and three of them stand up to greet her. The two men and the woman. Their differences in height make them seem like a staircase, with the man as the tallest, and the woman as the shortest. The woman has a light tan to her skin and dark eyes, the two men are pale and blonde, they almost seem like brothers, but it's distinct enough that one can tell otherwise.

“Good morning, miss. Are you alright?” the tall man asks, he has a southern drawl to his voice.

The dazed woman doesn't respond. Only looking each of them over frantically.

“Shes acting like a fucking zombie, i told you we should’ve popped her when we had the chance, you fucking pussy.” The woman is rowdy.

“Calm down Jane, poor girl’s probably terrified. We did just rescue her from a hive.” the shorter man says, he seems kinder than the rest.

“Okay how about we break the ice then?” the tall man says, trying to ease the situation “I’m Walker, He’s Eliott, She’s Jane, and the one back there is… Kim.”

After a pause, the man speaks again “so… what's your name?”

The woman stays quiet.

“Ah fuck shes not retarded is she?” the rowdy one blurts out.

“Well we don't know yet, give her some time.”

“Fuh..”

The group looks towards her.

“Fuhhra…”

The woman then grabs her head in pain, falling to the floor in a fetal position.

“H-hey! What's wrong?!”

Images flashes through her head, being ripped and torn apart by a horde of zombies, being eaten alive. Rising up amongst them. A shadowy man. A laboratory. Broken glass, a familiar woman left behind a glass of her own. Running. Running. Another horde.

She can't stand it.

She screams out.

Just then, Kim stands up, taking off her mask. Her face is rotten. She lifted up a survivor by one hand, infecting him and tossing him like nothing over to the woman. The man then bursts into blood, tendrils, and gore. The tendrils cover the area, another passing survivor steps on one, and falls to the ground screaming just like the woman had, then his screams turn guttural, and into a horrid howl. The man stands up on all fours, twisting and contorting wildly, he runs towards another and tears out his throat, spreading the infection more. Fearing this, the woman crawls away, managing to stand up, and runs clear into the forest, leaving behind the screaming survivors behind her.

However, something inside her, her very will, is telling her to stop, to turn back, to help them. But her fear is too strong. It overpowers her easily. As she runs and runs, she cries all the way, only stopping to hide within nests from chasers. She ran for hours. Her bare feet started to bleed, her knees got sore. She was aimless. Until she heard it. “I will guide you…”

She felt peace, at ease.

She ran further still, until she reached it. A memorial. Flowers, candles, two photos, each containing familiar women. And a stuffed rabbit. “Frankie…”

She picks it up, and huddles by the memorial, falling fast asleep.

A familiar man looks on in horror and anguished relief. “M-Maria…?!