Standing tall atop a helipad on a skyscraper in Downtown New York, Alois Maier overlooks the desolation below. Chaos reigns in the streets; civilization as the world came to know it is gone. There is naught but flesh hungry beasts below, ravaging, feasting upon one another. And the humans... feeding off the dying carcass of New York, leeches, every last one of them. There was no method to the madness, no order.

To the right of Alois, a helicopter lays in wreckage. It had crashed into the helipad, mere metres away from it's destination. It was now aflame, non-functioning. There was no hope of salvage. From the wreckage, the infected pilot slowly crawls out, leaving his entrails behind him. The crash had severed him in half. He crawls towards Alois, seeming drawn to him. Alois glances down, acknowledging the mortally wounded soul but not reacting. After a moment, he speaks aloud;

"An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity." 'Martin Luther King said that.'

He pauses again, as the undead creature continues to make it's way towards him.

'I am, in my own way, serving humanity. I have set aside my own concerns, so that I may help usher in this new era. So that I may play my role in the days to come.'

He turns, kneeling down so that may face the undead. He reaches out a hand - an act many would consider suicidal. His hand finds it's way towards the infected, and yet, nothing assaults it. The infected makes no attempt to harm Alois, not even when Alois cups the living dead's cheek.

'Humanity has moved on. I will be the shepherd of a new civilization, one in which the world shall be built anew. There will be no more suffering.'

Alois slowly stands, his hand moving to the back of his shirt. From the waistband of his ragged jeans, he takes a 9mm pistol. Loading it with bullets, he points the weapon at the former pilot's head, the pistol inches from his skull.

'I shall end your suffering.'

He fires once, and the dead becomes truly dead, slumping to the ground.

Rats scurry along the filthy streets of Manhattan borough, scampering, searching for their havens where they can be safe for the day. So too does the young Alex, sprinting silently through the back alleys. He knew this city like the back of his hand, and it was for that reason he had been sent on supply run. A young, agile man of 22, the Outbreak had ruined his dreams of seeing the world. But at least he was safe; his loved ones were safe. His parents were in DC when the Outbreak happened, and he and his beloved girlfriend Angela had found a small group they could be part of. It was terrifying, sure, but they had managed to stay safe so far this way. They made their base in an old health clinic, relatively unhindered by the infected. Still, Alex was suspicious of the lack of zombies he had encountered on his way back. Kicking in the door, he grins ear to ear.

'Guys! I've got foooooo -'

He freezes, dropping everything in his hands. Waiting for him is his friends, all tied up in chairs, mouths gagged. They look weak, ill almost. On various parts of their body, they have at least one bite mark. Standing behind them is a white haired man, smirking. In his hand he holds an extendable baton.

'Hello, Alex. Please, won't you join us?'

Asks Alois, gesturing to the one empty chair. Feeling a surge of anger - rage at this man's cheek, his smugness, he charges.

That was a mistake.

Swinging wildly at this stranger, none of Alex's hits connect. Alois dodges each one effortlessly, ducking and weaving under and around Alex's fists. Eventually making his way behind the scrappy young fighter, Alois sends Alex into a world of darkness with a sharp smack to the back of the head.

When he comes to, Alex is strapped to his chair, bound by the same rope that binds his comrades. Unlike them, however, he is not gagged.

"You're awake. That's good."

Alois sits in front of him, a smile on his face. It seems genuine, but Alex couldn't be sure if it was genuine. Bastard.

'What the fuck do you -'

'Alex, please. Silence, if you would. I will very carefully explain to you what is to happen.'

Alois stands slowly. It's only now that Alex's vision is starting to focus that he notices the infected individuals standing behind Alois. But they aren't like the ones he saw before; they aren't feral. In fact, they seem quite placid.

'You are like me. You are one of the Chosen.'

Now that he's in the light, Alois' eyes are clear, blood red in colour. Strangely, Alex thought them beautiful.

'You will join me. Take your place by my side, as the world begins anew. Drink from my blood, and become one of us.'

Alex looks disgusted.

'You... you're a Carrier?'

'We.' Corrects Alois. 'Please do not use that word. I dislike it very much. We are the Chosen; we are the individuals who have been chosen to lead humanity forward through the darkness.'

Alex does not seem convinced. But a more pressing thought occurs to him; he glances over at his friends, who at this point seem feverish, passing in and out of consciousness.

'My friends! What the fuck did you do to my friends?!'

Alois glances at them with indifference.

'I have turned them. Soon, they shall be mine to command. And yours, if you accept my offer. Take my hand, Alex. Join me.'

Alex is clearly horrified. He bows his head, trying to find the will to fight, the courage to be strong, to channel his rage. But more than hate, more than anger, the feeling welling up inside was despair.

'Angela... I'm so sorry...'

He becomes unresponsive after this. Alois finds his answer in this, turning on his heel. He cannot mask his disappointment.

'Devour him.'

He says coldly. The zombies descend upon the depressed young man, who had his whole life ahead of him. He doesn't make a sound as he's eaten.