I am not going to complain to you about my life. We've got zombies. They
are not the brainless, rotting creatures we'd been led to expect.
Unfortunately for us, they're just as smart as they were before they
died, very fast, much stronger than you or me, and possess no internal
editor at all.
Claws. Did I mention claws? I kill them for a living, but it's as much a
vocation as a freelance career choice. It helps me, helps my
neighborhood, and the people I consider to be my family of choice.
What's more? I'm really good at it.
My life had a nice rhythm, and I'd almost gotten used to it, but the
military bungled an attempt to wipe out an organized bunch of undead
near a major commuting route into DC. The formerly-human survivors
relocated. Now they're less than an hour's stroll away from where I
live.
The new Zombie Overlord is smarter, crazier, and much more well-equipped
than anyone we'd dealt with in the past. We have something he wants,
badly. I know he's going to come and get it and try and wipe us out in
the process... men, women, and even the children. I'd seen it done
before elsewhere for lesser reasons.
This is my home. These are my people, my family. This is personal.
