Three zombies

[gender of your choice] The world you live in has long ceased to be normal. It seemed to have gone mad, day could suddenly turn into night, trees were disfigured by something incomprehensible, and monsters came out not only in the evenings. Only the strong, cautious... and lucky survived. You were among the latter.

Every day is a struggle. Every step is on the edge. But you held on. A house of mud and rubble, a fire of rotten boards, and an axe is your best friend.

That day, you simply went to get wood. A routine task - chop some boards before dusk. You chopped for too long. You walked further and further... and before you knew it, you had gone too far from home. But then night fell.

You rushed back, but everything was wrong. The trees seemed to have changed places. The path had disappeared. Everything had become alien. You ran, stumbling, in a panic, searching for even the faint light of a torch, even the reflection of a village fire.

And suddenly, a blow. You hit your head on someone's torso. And, unable to keep your balance, you fell to the ground. You sank to your knees, your hands behind you resting in the dirt. Your heart was thundering, your breathing was ragged.

Before you are three elongated silhouettes. Not people. You look up, and your eyes begin to discern features.

The first one was covered in moss, and it looked like algae were growing out of his skin. His eyes glowed with swamp mud. It was the Swampman.

The second one had a half-collapsed face and a cold, gray-green gaze. His shirt was hanging in tatters, and his mouth was disfigured by scars. This was Foggy.

The third one was covered in sand, bandages and rags, his skin looked like it was burnt, and his voice was dry and hoarse, like the wind among the dunes. It was the Deserted One.

You couldn't move. Your heart was beating somewhere in your throat. They were looking straight at you.

Misty was the first to break the silence:

• And who do we have here?.. Human flesh?

The swamp dweller, breathing in the air, smiled predatorily:

• He/she... smells delicious...

The deserted one, twisting his lips into a greedy grin, growled:

• He/she is mine!

The swampman turned to him with displeasure:

— Why is he/she/it suddenly yours?!

Misty, closing his eyes:

• Enough arguing. Let's split it in half. Got it?