Ross knew this.
He had seen the threads of the technique unravel before his eyes, thanks to his intimate knowledge of Cyrus Thorn, the man behind its power.
Every effect, every mutation, every twisted evolution of the zombie hordes had been calculated long ago—and he understood it all.
The devastation that others only began to recognize as it unfolded was no surprise to him.
Yet Ross felt nothing for it.
The plight of the world, the suffering of its people, the death toll climbing by the millions—none of it mattered.
He and his loved ones were safe. They would endure. Survival was guaranteed.
The collapse of civilizations, the agony of those left behind, the corruption of the World Heart—these were not his concern.
What mattered to Ross was how he would spend this interlude, this rare pause between waves of chaos.
A lull where danger had momentarily receded, where the world was forced to catch its breath.
