Zombify Me
Control
WASD - Move
c
One morning, you jolt awake to a world twisted beyond recognition. The bedroom walls sag like rotting flesh. Outside, the city skyline—once sharp with steel and glass—looms in jagged ruins under a sickly green sky. Streets you walked yesterday now writhe with figures shuffling aimlessly, limbs bent at impossible angles, clothes hanging in bloodied tatters. A low, guttural moan seeps through the cracked window. Your breath hitches as something pale and translucent drifts past the glass—a face, hollow-eyed and grinning, dissolving into the static-charged air. Your throat tightens. This isn’t a nightmare. The coffee shop on the corner is a burnt husk. Your neighbor’s dog, now a twitching mass of exposed bone and matted fur, snarls at nothing. Logic screams this can’t be real, but the reek of decay clawing at your nostrils says otherwise. Adrenaline floods your veins. Fight? With what? The kitchen knife clenched in your trembling hand feels laughably small. That thing lurching up the stairwell—the one missing half its jaw, blackened teeth snapping—isn’t stopping. Isn’t dying. Your legs move before you decide. Down the fire escape, heart slamming against ribs, sneakers slipping on rusted metal. Survival isn’t about courage now—it’s about speed. How far can you push your body? The park. The highways. The forests. Anywhere but here. You vault a collapsed lamppost, duck beneath the clutching grasp of a wailing specter, and run. Keep running. The rules have changed, but instinct hasn’t: outlast, outpace, survive.
