The immune outbreak

The first sign that something was amiss came in the form of an eerie silence that descended over the once-bustling streets of the city. It was a Sunday morning, the kind that usually resonated with the distant echoes of church bells and the cheerful chatter of families heading to brunch, but instead, it was as if the very essence of life had been abruptly snuffed out. The sun shone brightly, casting long shadows in the deserted alleys and highlighting the discarded newspapers that danced in the gentle breeze-the only movement to be seen. Then, without warning, the tranquility was shattered by a low, guttural groan, the likes of which no one had ever heard before. It grew in volume, a chorus of the undead rising from the asphalt jungle, and with it, the nightmare of the zombie apocalypse began to unfold.