.The Living Cure Or Living Curse.

-The start of it-

(there be a few things in Y/N's appearance, age and stuff alright? just so you know)

Y/N's pov:

so let me explain from the start.... zombies were fiction until 3 years ago. it was 2017 when it started.... the government in the U.S. was making some shity decisions which lead to wars, the wars liberated things hiding deep underground.... a prehistoric virus that speared like fire.

no one knew how to stop the virus or how to cure people, that first we all thought it was simply killing us off one by one.... that was until the first reported murder from an already supposed dead man came in..... it only got worst from then.

the virus had spread through the whole world, dead people weren't staying dead for long and anarchy ensued, mass suicide in fear of the undead, the military bombing towns to try to stop the spread, countries on lock down, cremating all dead that were not brought back...... nothing stopped it, nothing could.

every person was infected.... then there are the lucky ones, the ones that needed to be bitten by the infected to change because the virus needed to have direct blood contact, when they knew about this it was mayhem, killing those that were suspected to be immune to the virus to take blood and inject it in themselves....... and then there is me.

I'm Y/N L/N, 18, I'm a girl with boy part and........ immune to the virus and the bites, I simply can't become a zombie, my body doesn't let it.

I discovered that when I was running from my own infected father, mother leaving me and my little sister without second thought, I somehow made it out alive with sis but both got either scratched or biting, living a bloody hole in us for an easy entry for the virus, as days went by, I noticed I wasn't getting sick while she was slowly dying in extreme pain, constantly vomiting blood, screeching in pain and having seizures.... at the time I never thought about maybe mixing our bloods to save her.... after the fifth day she begged me to shot her with dad's gun, I simply couldn't, I knew she was suffering but taking the life of my own baby sister...... it was impossible.... that night I woke up to the sound of a gunshot.... she offed herself, she did leave a letter.... but still didn't open to this day.... I simply can't, just like I couldn't save or put her out of her misery.... I'm weak in the regards.

now that years have passed, I've been walking the dead infested lands alone, surviving on my own, once I did have a friend.... but I couldn't save him either, even with my blood.... letting it drip on his wound was simply not enough, there needs to be a greater exchange.

right now I'm walking through a city overgrown with plant life, a really quiet city.

I held one gun in my hand, dad was an old military officer when he was alive so we had a bunch of weapons at home as souvenirs of his service days, he taught me how to fight and to shoot them in case there was ever a break in and needed to defend myself.

I was wearing black combat boots, dark brown pants with multiple pocket more then what was normal 3 years ago, a black belt which was also a bottle opener, a camo T-shirt hidden under a black leather zip up jacket with hood, brown fingerless gloves so it wouldn't bother me when I shoot, a faded red bandanna that sis loved to wear and which was the only touch of colour in my clothing, some black ski goggles for the dust storms and the elements since the weather had changed so much since the end of human reign.

I brushed my H/L H/C hair out of my E/C eyes that was normally unattached even if it could be annoying, simply couldn't find a working hair tie (if it's short you can't really do that can you? so ignore that part) and readjusted the brown hiking bag I had on my back.