Have you noticed the zombies? No, not the ones curled in alleyways or slumped under overpasses—those are just symptoms. I’m talking about the ones behind the wheel, dressed for work, standing at crosswalks, loitering near storefronts. The ones who stare—not with eyes, but with something hungrier. They lock onto you, trying to sync with your frequency, leech into your mind like parasites searching for a signal. But if you don’t let them in, if you resist, they glitch. They freeze. Confused. Hollow. As if they’ve lost the script. They keep watching, dead-eyed, tilting their heads like carrion birds, almost sniffing for fresh blood—because maybe that’s all they recognize now. Not humanity. Not connection. Just prey.