Sliceofdeath Stories

"ʀᴜʟᴇ #1: ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴀʀꜱ. ʀᴜʟᴇ #2: ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ 'ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ.' ʀᴜʟᴇ #3: ɪꜰ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴜᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ... ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ." --> You didn't mean to end up here. But when your car died at a dusty diner in the middle of nowhere-and a girl with stitches for a smile offered you a job-you figured you had nothing to lose. Now you're working the graveyard shift at the Dead-End Diner. A 24/7 roadside stop for the strange, the cursed, and the downright homicidal. They come from all over: Slasher legends, vengeful ghosts, masked maniacs, and demons with a thing for waffles. They're hungry, bloody, and weirdly polite-as long as you keep the coffee hot and the fries crispy. You're underpaid, overstressed, and definitely underqualified. But they think you're one of them. So you smile. You serve. You survive. Because the moment they realize you're just human? You're next on the menu.

When the bombs went off and hell broke loose, many had thought we had seen the ugliest that humanity had to offer. I would agree with them if it weren't for the uglier face that would rear in this era. Zombies, as they existed today, were not what the movies had popularised, but then nor was the apocalypse, for that matter. These zombies were a different breed, a far stupider breed.