Irene
The dreary, humid underground echoed with the sounds of gnashed meat and crushed bone. Drops of water fell on soil and half-sunken wood from hanging teeth of naturally sculpted stone, and heartless groans fled through the air, perturbing the few lights that shook precariously above, like mining shaft illumination. Irene avoided another ravenous swipe and ducked by a hair's breadth, and her leg whipped like a catapult to snap the zombie's head off. It flew off to the ends of the cave and rolled into the mud, but more undead skulls took its place, jaws clacking before her. She cracked her knuckles with a sigh, preparing for more.
You might be asking, how did a distinguished English lady like the person in question find herself in a situation like this?
After her unsavory experiences earlier that night, she was ill at ease to rest at a place she was unfamiliar with, whether it came recommended or not. Instead, it was a good time to learn the local territory - in particular, the map she could rely on to operate during the day.
She had already verified there was a usable amount of space to move underground in the city, but imagine her surprise when it turned out that it was plentiful and populous as well. Between the eeriely wide sewers and tunneled constructions that were a part of the urban expanse, a veritable network of passages made way for people who wished to keep out of the surface, several of which appeared to have a myriad of residents.
And most fascinating, an almost entire dimly lit shantytown, of olden but buildings between pillars of steel and noisy piping. The edifications had been used as the foundations for the town that had been built above, and reinforced in turn to maintain the streets and the supports of the ever greater urbanization. The contrast tugged on streams of old memories as they crossed with newer ones.
It almost seemed like a town from the 50s Midwest, with the exception that it was much more quiet at the surface. The creatures living there were not quick to leave their hidey holes, but she got their attention. It nearly turned out a poor decision. Irene hardly knew where to look, and though the sight of rats and animal-like mongrels conversing like man should have appalled her, they were surprisingly civil.
It was then she heard, from a crab-headed and pincer-handed man, of the infestation which had recently plagued them. Being herself, she could not allow that piece of news to pass without being a good samaritan.
Where there was zombies, there was a master. And so, with nary a moment of rest in-between, here she found herself.
