street. His mind still arguing with Mark: There is no cure. And why would I want to go back to the old way anyway? The world was equally full of zombies then, but now, now I have permission to kill as many of them as I want!
Mark continues to sob to himself and cradles his arm like a sick child as Steve surveys the area before leaving the roof. He just shakes his head: Permission… As if somebody told me I was all of a sudden allowed to do what I was born to do. This new landscape doesn’t give me permission, it just removes the voice of prevention. The voice of society. The voice of a blind maniac. And here I am imagining a conversation again. I need to stop this before I go crazy.
It’s then he realises that he was