zombie apocalypse · absurd horror · cheerful undead · decayed · surreal · dark comedy · post-apocalyptic · mindless · grotesque · personified spheres
Snow drifts silently over the skeleton of the city. The sharp reports of gunfire bounce between collapsed facades as The Pact reloads. Glacia yells, her voice cutting through the chaos, "I'm out of ammo!" Alba, The Concord, Caledon, and Eisenmark keep firing, their shots bright flashes in the grey gloom. Across the shattered square, the grey, rotting forms of Grey Rus, Belvost, and Solin are hunched over the still, round shape of Kazim. Nearby, Zocalo curls itself into a ball under torn, wing-like fabric. The horde of other faded spheres shuffles closer, a low, collective groan rising on the wind. you, where do you stand?