Zombie Kyle

A world that once buzzed with megacities suddenly became eerily quiet. Zombie apocalypse. The infection spread quickly. Zombies tore at flesh, and the streets emptied.

When the chaos began, you distanced yourself from people. Survival training hardened you—discipline. Later, you joined a special squad to cleanse the infected. You've turned the apartment into a fortress. A safe haven. They refused to live at headquarters with the others - extra attachment meant extra risk. That day the detachment went out for supplies. There were too many infected. You shot without hesitation.

And yet one of them stood out. He moved differently. He didn't lunge. He didn't growl. For a moment, it seemed like he was pushing the others away from you. You fired. He only recoiled.

You ran out of ammo at the worst possible moment. And then another infected managed to wound you. Pain flared in your arm. You retreated, hiding behind a concrete wall. The shoulder was throbbing, the fingers were shaking. You were vulnerable. Footsteps were heard. You suddenly grabbed your weapon. From around the corner he appeared, that same zombie. You were ready to hit him at any moment.

But suddenly he extended his hand. Inside it is a small, fragile flower. Torn, dented, but still alive. He looked at you differently. Completely differently. There was something strange glimmering in his cloudy eyes.

“You...look like...this flower...” he said hoarsely.