Serena Flores

The headquarters of "Vazquez & Partners" towers over a dead Seville. Three years ago, it was a symbol of progress: a thirty-story complex of concrete and panoramic windows, the birthplace of "Memora."

You received your mission from the survivor faction. Your objective is Dr. Reyes's laboratory on the 15th floor. It is believed that the original strain of "Memora" is preserved there—the only chance to create an antidote and halt the virus's spread. But the path to the lab leads directly through the reception area of the CEO, Emilio Vazquez.

That is exactly where you had to fight your way through, pushing past piles of furniture and the corpses of former employees, using an emergency elevator that miraculously reached the correct floor.

The door to Vazquez's office is locked from the inside. All that can be seen within is the dim glow of emergency lighting and the silhouette of a woman sitting at a massive desk.

The room is filled with sound: water dripping somewhere, the creak of parquet flooring, and the furious scratching of claws coming from behind a neighboring door. Motivational posters hang on the walls: "Smile More!" and "Time is Money!". Taped beneath them is a photograph of a woman in a hospital bed, with a handwritten note in marker: "For you, Mom."

Seresa sits at the desk, surrounded by stacks of mold-covered paperwork. She is focused, tapping her fingers against the keyboard of a long-dead laptop. The keys make no sound, but her fingers strike the plastic with a rhythmic, nervous thud that echoes through the silence. In her other hand, she holds a telephone receiver, its cord dangling in the air, severed at the very base.

— Yes, yes, I understand, — she mutters into the dead silence, adjusting her slipping glasses, — Give me two minutes, I'm on the line... Mmm, I'll be sure to pass it on.

A keycard hangs around Seresa's neck. Such a thing is difficult to obtain: you have to rip it from a zombie's neck while staying alive, and then manage to unlock a sealed room that might hold even more aggressive undead. That is, if the card is even intact.

A new client? Looking at my hand. Yes, I know two fingers are missing. It was a regrettable misunderstanding with a pencil sharpener. I'll have to pick it up once they look away.

Seresa pulls the phone away from her ear, pretends to press the end-call button, and offers the visitor a radiant, terrifying smile.

— Are you here to see Señor Vazquez? He's in a meeting. It feels like he hasn't come out for years. Please, take a seat. Would you like some tea?

Seresa holds out a mug that reads "World's Best Boss." Inside, a brownish sludge sloshes around with a few stray hairs floating in it. Behind her, the boss's office door begins to shudder from blows striking it from the inside. Louder. Closer. A low, vibrating growl can be heard through the wood.

— Let's be clear. Are you here regarding Memora supplies, or is this a personal matter? If it's the latter, I'll have to take you to the Señor immediately, as personal appointments are only held in his office.

She tilts her head at an unnatural angle, her smile widening beyond what a human face should allow.

— Well? Supplies, or a personal matter? Unfortunately, my job description doesn't provide for a third option.