You are Casper Longstock, a scientist, pounding your fist on the table angry that you still haven’t been any help for finding a cure to the infection. You turn to your assistant and shout at her to fetch you another beer. She shakes her head and walks off, still refusing to speak. You are interrupted by a loud noise coming from outside. You grab your rifle and peak out the window. There are three zombies walking around outside. One of them is different, it seems to be stumbling around in an odd direction. You quickly open the window and toss a beer bottle out at one of the zombies. You say “Piss off! You are not welcome here!” The bottle bounces off the head of the stumbling zombie and shatters against the wall. “What the hell is going on?” You mutter to yourself. The two other zombies begin walking in your direction. You say “This is your last warning! I’ve got a gun here and I ain’t afraid to use it.” The two zombies shamble to a stop and raise their arms in the air. You say “Oh that really does it!” You stand by the door, rifle in hand. You wonder if you should go out or stay in. Then you hear a loud noise coming from above. You say “What’s this, more zombies?” A brief moment passes. “Who’s there?” You shout. The stairway door opens and a man wearing a red suit and helmet jumps down. You say “Stand back! I ain’t welcoming in no strangers!” The man walks over to you and extends his hand. “My name is Patrick, what’s yours?” He asks. “Casper, Casper the Ghoul… I think. I’m not sure. I’ve lost track.” “I see. Not exactly a name anyone is going to forget. A little strange though, don’t you think?” “You ain’t kidding.” You say, and, “That ain’t no lie. But stand back! I also shoot survivors!” The man says “I’m sure you do. So, you’re a stranger here too? Not many of your kind left I’m guessing?” “That’s right.“ You say. “But never you mind what the hell is my origins and get the hell out!” And he responds with: “Okay, okay, fine. But if it’ll ease your mind, I’m a protector.” “ Protector?? Patrick draws a handgun from his side but you are quicker to reach for your gun and then you shoot the man. He falls to the ground with a bullet through his chest. You culminate with: “I TOLD YOU! I SAID FOR YOU TO STAND BACK!” The man coughs up blood and laughs. “No… it isn’t… my… Turn…” He wheezes. Bullshit. The man nevertheless struggles to get up. “No….” You shoot him again, this time in the head. You shoot him in the head and his head explodes like a ripe melon. You look around, you can see another person wearing red at the bottom of the stairwell. He looks up at you. You say “Oh that about really does it!” You run down the stairs and shoot the man in red in the chest. He looks at you with a confused stare. “The hell was that for? You say “There ain’t no questioning morals or motives, not since the zombies!” The man stares at you blankly before collapsing on the ground. You say
“Say, this is going to turn out for being a haunted house, what with all these killings..” Suddenly a gunshot goes off and a bullet hits you in the back, you collapse to the ground and bleed out. You have been killed by the hands of a murderer. Three nights later, your undead body raises itself onto it’s legs, and you wriggle yourself onwards. Someone must’ve bit the corpse.. It’s been a while since you were a normal human, and you are somewhat fumbly.
You say “Oh that about really does it! Zombiefied!” A new day begins for the walking dead. First of all, you feel a deep hunger. Patrick’s torso will have to do it for a meal. You could go for a normal human, basically grab someone off the street, but that’s not really what you feel you are anymore. You have powers of your own now. Zombie powers. That old feeling returns after the meal. The need for flesh. The mad desire to infect and control. The overwhelming need to destroy all those who have betrayed you.
Your undead life begins.
Next up, was finding out yourself a pack to slink with. You begin howling loudly. You know there was an zombie infestation around this area before the time you turned. Perhaps some of them still are. You howl again, and this time you get a response. A group of shamblers appear, looking in your direction. Well, it seems you’ve got company. You say “How nice of you to respond to my howls. Hello, I am Casper Longstock; recently turned undead.” You watch the shamblers approach, unsure of how to proceed. One of them begins to crawl over. You step back in alarm, and it awkwardly leaps off the ground and onto you. You say “Say, is this the friendly way of greeting one another now? Excuse me, I’m new.” The shamler seems confused, but not afraid. It looks into your eyes and you into its, and you know. It knows the pain of being trapped, of not having any control, of madness. Now you see why they are so numb to respond with speech. There is a constant degeneration going on. The few who remain sentient are trapped in shells of their former selves. They retain nothing of the original, and are but simple creatures that have long since lost the will to live. You have a decision to make. Give it up now, still sentient enough to kill yourself, or, squirm along till somebody or something puts a stop to it. You watch as the shamblers continue approaching, not seeming to notice you are in any way different. You say “This oughta prove more of a discovery, to just go along..” As you ponder your choices, you hear a roaring sound getting closer. It’s a minivan. You see the van swerving to avoid you. It misses and crushes several of the shamblers, before hitting something hard and coming to a halt. You wait a few minutes for the aftermath of the accident, but instead all is quiet.
You say “Welp. I guess it is back to the howling ain’t it. OOOUHHH!” You howl at the moon, unsure of what to make of things. You say “Well. With no pack, and no corpses to eat, I guess this is the story’s end..” A gunshot goes off, and you feel a pain in your left side. You look down to see a single bullet wound. It seems you have been shot by a human. Would it have been the same shooter as killed yourself in the former life, you ponder as the lights go out. Well at least it was a proper ending.
You mumble something asinine as you fall down to your knees. “I am an aloof, soulless beast.”
You think as you lose consciousness.

The surprise gunman polishes his riffle. He seems happy with his catch. "Finally," he smiles, "something other than shamblers to fill my scope."
The surprise gunman puts his riffle down, and prays to the strange demons that govern his day to day life. As he prays, his eyes move from the gun to the sky. It seems like it's going to rain.
"Better head back to the truck," he mutters.
As he walks, he can hear the faint howls of the infected coming from a far way up the street.
A single normal bullet to the brain is enough to kill them instantly. He has never been a big believer in killing anything that can't feel pain, is a joke he likes to tell himself.
These... things... just walking corpses that spread disease and kill without mercy. They deserve no mercy.
But, after a while of shooting these semi-infected and half-infected people,
the colors had started to blend. Had he become so vicious as to forego checking 
whether or not the bullet marks had in fact gone zombiefied, or half-zombiefied, or semi,
had it not been that bloody long of an season wearing down on him is anyone's guess.
He heads back to the truck, noticing how dark it has gotten.
The howling distances away as he drives his truck into the night.