turn out to be just that little bit different again. Can’t I fit in anywhere?
I get bit and can’t even be a good zombie. What the hell was wrong with me?
An old man stumbles out of a side street, drooling and barking an incoherent series of grunts. Steve rolls to one side slicing through him like he isn’t even there and continues on his run, as if he simply stopped to tidy a loose shoelace. He stops and returns to the now dead old man and looks down at him.
Did I have to kill him? Was he already dead? Maybe this is nature’s way of weeding out old genetic code
Maybe humanity was just another phase in the existence of this world and now we are no