A hundred lifetimes ago the war began. I was just an ordinary man then. I wasn't a soldier, a leader...certainly not a monster. I was simply a man trying to survive the only way I knew how. In the early days, we struggled and fought for what little we had. Mostly we ran. We ran from the hordes of dead that so tirelessly pursued us. I killed some people true...but I never wanted to. I wanted to live a peaceful life in the remnants of the world that the dead had made their own. I wanted to be unknown. I wanted to fade into the mists of time leaving nothing more than bone and ash. But they came looking for us. The dead found us and changed our simple way of life faster than we could rebuild it. We tore upon their jagged bones and fetid carcasses like paper boats upon razor shores. But they could not have us all. Where there is life there is determination-the will and the gall to survive despite flaws in the environs, despite predators at every turn. We fell quickly at first in a gruesome cull that left most of the world to rot. Scattered to the four winds, the last humans inevitably found each other, for humans know no comfort like other warm, living bodies. We huddled tightly together, scared and lost, scrambling to find our way in the dark. But we prey persevered and found the strength to defend ourselves and the resolve to thrive. Fueled by anger and sorrow for our lost land, we few survivors began to fight back. We made our final stand, and took our lives back into our own hands. We carved a home out of the mass of decaying flesh, in a place I liked to call Z-Town.