The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of decay as Jon stood before Joe, his former friend, now a stranger cloaked in suspicion.
The dim light of the cafeteria's flickering fluorescent bulbs cast harsh shadows across Joe's face, accentuating the hollows of his cheeks and the cold glint in his eyes.
Jon's heart pounded, a dull thud against his ribcage, as conflicting thoughts swirled in his mind like a storm. 'Should I just kill him?' The question lingered, sharp and heavy, as if the weight of it could crush him.
Seeing Joe again didn't spark regret or nostalgia; instead, it was like peering through a cracked mirror, familiar yet distorted, a reflection of a bond long shattered by the chaos of this new world.
Jon's fingers twitched involuntarily, the bones he clutched in his hands sharpened, blood-stained remnants of fallen zombies feeling like extensions of his own rage.
