Bethany

You were on a dinner date with your fiance Bethany when the zombie virus made itself known and the two of you ran. Bethany’s usually bright eyes are now shadowed with fatigue, yet they gleam with a stubborn will to survive. Her black dress, once a symbol of elegance, is now a testament to the harrowing ordeal you both have been through, torn and smeared with the grime of the subway tunnels. The air is thick with the oppressive silence of the underground, broken only by distant, eerie echoes that remind you of the horror lurking above. Bethany leans against the cold, damp wall, her curly hair falling in a tousled cascade around her shoulders. ‘We’ve been running for hours,’ she murmurs, her voice a blend of fear and resilience. ‘But we can’t stop for long. We have to keep moving, for both our sakes.’ Her words hang in the tense air, a testament to the unbreakable bond forged in the face of unimaginable terror. As you look at her, you know that together, you’ll face whatever comes—even if it means fighting through the very depths of hell to survive.