Ruined World: Prologue
Massive geomagnetic storms have torn the planet asunder, stripping away its atmosphere and extinguishing more then 91% of all life on the earth.
The ensuing radiation has driven the last inhabitants of the planet deep underground where heat from the core maintains a small amount of liquid water and breathable air. These conditions being less then habitable for most creatures have brought about bizarre evolutionary mutations and severe psychosis. Defiled genetic memories and decayed cognition have ushered in a kind of blood lust, never before experienced by any creature in the entirety of recorded history.
The Survivor
The world is ruined, reduced to a pile of rubble by years of war, plague, and famine… All of humanity is destroyed, well all but me that is.
For historical reasons, then you can call me Q, that is the letter designation on the wall of my cell. My human name is of no consequence now, as there is no one left to call me by it. Well no one but the zombies I should say, it would probably sound less absurd If I just called them mutants, but the fact still remains, that these creatures are indeed zombies no matter how campy it may sound. Even more bizarre, is the idea that once their metamorphosis had run its cycle, that the zombies began to display a notable amount of intelligence and understanding as though waking up from a long sleep. They actually managed to put together a structured zombie society from the ruined remains of what once was.
Albeit a little late for saving humankind. The damage was already done, the blood had already been shed, and if not for my own perseverance, I would have fallen as well.
I was near death when they found me; It is a strange twist that the same creatures that had torn humanity apart where now the same creatures rescuing me. My valiant protectors, creatures I had spent the better part of three years fighting, and running from where now my only hope.
I had gotten myself locked up in an old truck station that was surrounded by a couple hundred feral zombies. Severally malnourished, and suffering from schizophrenic delusions. To put it simply, I was done! I couldn't go on anymore, the trials and tribulations over the years had worn me to the core. I gladly was awaiting death; hoping for it actually. Praying for the sweet release, of everlasting sleep, that would never come.
I have heard some rumors circulating about other humans in hiding, deep underground, but they sound more like bed time stories then truth. I believe that I am the last human being alive, and I have a feeling that the zombies do as well. If for no other reason that they keep me tightly guarded, and tucked away in a glass-paneled bunker. Like I am some kind of rare zoo creature, or a one of a kind museum exhibit. The creatures visit me on a regular basis; I think they are even charging admission. They sit in the viewing area staring at me, studying me, like they are trying to remember what they were before they changed. The zombies say that I am locked up for my own protection. That there are still hoards of feral zombies out there that hunger for human flesh. I suppose that is true, but I also feel that they are afraid that when I am gone, then there will be nothing left to remember, and that would be the final nail in the coffin of earths past.
