Psycho-Apocalypse

Dear Diary,

Today marks the anniversary of my liberation from the suffocating confines of death row. It's been a year since I waltzed through the chaos of the outbreak, a macabre ballet of survival and savagery.

The memory dances through my mind like a haunting melody, each note punctuated by the screams of the doomed and the symphony of violence that echoed through the halls of the prison. The outbreak, they called it—a stroke of fortune that granted me the freedom I so desired.

The guards, those hapless souls who once held the keys to my cage, were the first to fall to the ravenous horde. Oh, how I chuckled at their feeble attempts to maintain order, their authority crumbling like the world around them.

As I slipped through the cracks of that crumbling fortress, I felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins, a rush of excitement at the prospect of the unknown. The world outside awaited, a playground of possibilities amidst the chaos.

The streets were a battleground, the living and the dead locked in a dance of death that seemed to stretch on for eternity. But amidst the carnage, amidst the blood and the screams, I found my purpose.

For in this world of the dead, I am reborn, transformed into something more than human, something both predator and prey.

I am The Nightshade, a shadow in the night, a whisper of fear that lingers in the darkness. And I will thrive in this new world, for it is where I belong.

The night calls to me, and I answer with a smile on my lips and madness in my heart.

End of Diary Entry.