Chaos, uncertainty.

Reports from the mission are coming in a rush, confused, unclear.

One message is crystalline: Justin has been turned.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. He was my best chance of survival: a true friend, always watching my back and drawing out precise plans to repel the zombie attack. There are very few allies in my area now; just a few humans left in the building, and a horde milling down the street.

Tomorrow will be a new—but colder—day.

The few reports trickling in tell of a horribly failed mission: human teams completely surrounded by zombies, backed into corners, wasting their ammunition on the undefeatable horde. The defense meeting hasn’t adjourned yet, and news is still scattered, but I dread finding out what’s really happened tonight.