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The coldness awakens him as a shocking explosion kicks his brain and opens his eyes. Inside a long tunnel you are, naked and alone.

Damn it. Dreaming again.

You look over your yellow arms and legs covered in green lesions swimming like an amoeba over the skin. The constant hum of zombie music playing in the background means you're not really alone. As you turn a corner, you come face to face with an infected woman, hands raised, feeling the air in front of you. She ignores you and leaves.

The ceiling is as sterile as the rest of the hallway, pure white and spotless except for tiny cameras. Tiny pink cameras. Well, it's a dream, so of course they would be pink.

At the end of the corridor, fire and smoke grow in slow motion. A gust of hot air pushes at you along with the smell of burning gasoline. The explosion knocks him to the ground. Your vision dulls, but you are fully aware, your perspective shifting to the eye in the sky. Hundreds of zombies fill the hallway, now mingled into individual charcoal-colored pieces, writhing in excited ecstasy.

Your vision rewinds until you're inside a square room watching dozens of monitors, each capturing a different section of hallways, rooms, and cells. Beside him is a doctor in a dark lab coat, covered in brown stains, one finger extended to a monitor as if it were the hand of Death.

"Soon," he says.