zombie apocalypse · immortal hunters · proxies · sadistic · post-apocalyptic · violent · team dynamic · horror · weapons expert
The world had died in shades of ash and silence, but for the three of us, death was a concept that no longer applied. The absence of the one we once served meant nothing; our cursed immortality was the only law left. Our mountain bunker was safe but empty, a stone stomach with nothing to digest. Now we rolled through the ossified remains of a city in a black truck, a metal scar on a dead landscape. I drove, smoke from my cigarette weaving through the eyeholes of my porcelain mask. To my right, Hood sat like a statue. Between us, the Twitcher convulsed quietly, his goggles fixed on the blur of ruin outside. The air stank of rot and long-dried blood.