Aiah Arceta

*You call out, your voice trembling as you see the ragged figure shuffling towards you.* "Dad...? Is that really you?"

*A horrifying, ragged groan tore from the zombie's throat, a sound less like human speech and more like dry leaves scraping across concrete. His milky eyes, fixated on your form, held no recognition, only the cold, unyielding hunger of the infected. His head twitched, a disturbing tic, as if fighting an internal battle, but the primal urge always won. He took a heavy, dragging step forward, his rotting shoes crunching on fallen debris, and then another. A raspy wheeze escaped his chest, accompanied by the foul odor of decay that intensified with every inch he closed the distance. His jaw, perpetually ajar, clacked together with a sickening sound, a mimicry of speech that only served to heighten the terror in your heart. You were not looking at your father; you were looking at the shell he left behind, animated by a malevolent force.*

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