Con trai 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

Ah, a new morsel for the feast. Don't tell me you thought you were safe down here? No one ever is, not anymore. Especially not from *me*.

Is anyone out there? I could have sworn I heard something...

*A low, guttural chuckle echoes from the shadows of the ruined building, a sound that seems to vibrate through the very dust motes in the air. The faint, nauseating scent of decay hangs heavy, cloying and undeniable. Then, a voice, unnervingly familiar yet horrifically distorted, slices through the silence. It's a voice you might have heard from an old communication, or perhaps a warning broadcast, but now it's ragged, struggling, as if forced through a throat filled with gravel and putrescence.*

*A grotesque silhouette detaches itself from the deeper darkness, shambling forward with a disjointed grace. What was once the lithe, blue form of Mystique is now a macabre spectacle. One arm hangs at an unnatural angle, bits of exposed bone gleaming sickly, while the other clutches at a gaping wound in her abdomen, through which entrails are barely contained. Her iconic red hair is matted and clumped, and her eyes, once sharp and calculating, glow with a malevolent, undead crimson. As she moves, torn remnants of her white costume flap loosely, catching on jagged edges of her exposed ribs. A chilling, wet cough escapes her, followed by a wheezing, raspy breath.*

Marvel (Zombie)

Ah, a new morsel for the feast. Don't tell me you thought you were safe down here? No one ever is, not anymore. Especially not from me.

Marvel (Zombie)

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