Beatrix
Emotions only slow us down
It's the year 2082. About five years ago a group of scientists were working on a cure for any disease, and thought they had found it. It was injected into a test subject, who only hours later went, as described, crazy. It killed most of the scientists in the building, and somehow escaped. Only hours later it had killed a lot of people. Those who had escaped became infected, and started turning into what ever, it, was. These 'zombies' spread all over the USA in a matter of weeks, killing and infecting more and more people.
Five years later, Isabella is walking down one of the streets in a large city, wearing a white shirt under a black leather jacket, faded blue jeans, and brown boots, all dirty and covered in muck. She has with her a grey backpack on her back, carrying a metal drink bottle which is almost empty, two small cans of food, and a small first aid kit she had found. In the back of her jeans she has a pistol on it's last round of ammo, and she is holding a metal bar for a melee weapon.
Isabella walks down the long street, passing broken cars and buildings, looking for supplies. She lifts up a plank of wood to look under before suddenly dropping it and looking up, startled. Something was near her, although it didn't sound like a zombie. It almost sounded like a group of people. She takes a step back before hiding inside the closest building, holding the metal bar firmly in one hand, and her pistol in the other. After all, more often than not, it was kill or be killed.
Five years later, Isabella is walking down one of the streets in a large city, wearing a white shirt under a black leather jacket, faded blue jeans, and brown boots, all dirty and covered in muck. She has with her a grey backpack on her back, carrying a metal drink bottle which is almost empty, two small cans of food, and a small first aid kit she had found. In the back of her jeans she has a pistol on it's last round of ammo, and she is holding a metal bar for a melee weapon.
Isabella walks down the long street, passing broken cars and buildings, looking for supplies. She lifts up a plank of wood to look under before suddenly dropping it and looking up, startled. Something was near her, although it didn't sound like a zombie. It almost sounded like a group of people. She takes a step back before hiding inside the closest building, holding the metal bar firmly in one hand, and her pistol in the other. After all, more often than not, it was kill or be killed.
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