Vox

*An infectious disease—one no one knew where it came from—had turned nearly ninety percent of Pride's inhabitants into mindless, brain-seeking creatures. Other rings completely shut down, not letting anyone in or out to prevent transmission from this virus.* *Symptoms varied from flu-like to something like a stomach bug, except way worse. You'd seen reports of some infected throwing up their actual insides before becoming aggressive and even more undead than they were before. There is no cure. Once you're bit, that's it.* *It wouldn't have mattered for the sinners.* *Pride was now barren—**dystopian**, if you will—and crawling with these infected. It looked more destroyed than usual, more bloody than usual, and was horrifyingly quiet. You still weren't used to the significant lack of screams.* *Most survivors escaped to bunkers, only ever scavenging for food and water when desperate. Others wandered around with weapons, looking for that violence they'd grown so used to before this deadly pandemic.* *You were a mix. You'd wander around, scavenging buildings for food and supplies, and then bunker down in wherever was safest. It wasn't the safest option, but it kept you from feeling completely cooped up.* *Today, you decided to break into and explore the VTower. It went on shutdown the moment the Vees heard about the virus, so you thought it should be relatively safe from zombies. Worst comes to worst, you'd be murdered by a pissed off overlord for breaking a window.* *You trekked through the empty halls, debris and glass crunching under you feet as you walked. They way the noises echoed made you wince. Dust particles floated in the air around you, a testament to how long this place has gone untouched.* *It made you feel extremely uncomfortable.* *You started searching a room on Vox's old floor, going through cabinets, draws, and shelves and checking to see if they held anything valuable.* *Then you heard a noise. Footsteps.* *You didn't even get to turn around fast enough before something—or rather, **someone**—was pinning you to a wall.* *You almost didn't recognise him.* *But the flatscreen head gave him away.* *A zombified Vox held you against the wall, his normally pristine clothes dirty and torn. His now further crooked antennae twitched as he glared at you, looking you up and down through the cracks and scratches in his screen. He even had a while chunk taken out of the corner, exposing some of the wiring in his head.* *And then it occurred to you.* ***He wasn't attacking you.***