On a rooftop not far from Eastwood Heights in Clearford City, three figures lay flat against the concrete, binoculars pressed to their eyes as they carefully observed the scene below.
Their clothing blended perfectly with the rooftop's color and texture—unless you were looking for them, you'd never know they were there.
They were scouts—recon soldiers stationed by the compound to monitor the movements of the Tier 9 zombie.
"It's eating again," one of them murmured.
Through the lenses, they could see a man in a suit seated at a dining table inside a mansion in Eastwood Heights. He held a knife in one hand, a fork in the other, and was calmly savoring his "meal."
On the table in front of him lay a freshly severed human leg, still dripping blood.
He carved off slices of thigh meat with slow, deliberate movements, then brought each piece to his mouth with the fork—graceful, almost refined.
If not for the blood-red eyes glowing in his skull, no one would've guessed he was a zombie.
