Always talked about starting a band. Finally did it but, by first practice, one of his bandmates was an undead flesh-eater. Never put off til tomorrow and all that.
When Rhodey asked him to join his band (on the condition that he wouldn't play his girl's rock) he finally felt wanted. But when he turned up, all they wanted was his flesh.
Lived for the metal. Faster! Harder! Louder! Well, not louder. He was well aware that listening to music at unsafe volumes can be damaging to ones hearing.
Playing air guitar with grown men forms a bond that isn't easily broken. He knew he was injured but his friends had a safe place. At least, it was safe until he arrived.
Had almost saved up enough for that diamond earring when the outbreak occurred. Unfortunately, Wayne was too busy keeping it real to properly defend himself.
Used to take mud baths for her skin. The real test, however, was lying in the muck for months and it's safe to say there has actually been some improvement.
P.C. Benchworth knew his world was changing. Once upon a time, he'd spend his days having tea with the local vicar. Now, it's knife-crime this and ASBO that. And then zombies.
Was always too nice to be a cop. He'd let people away with traffic offences, give polite warnings to muggers and the most he ever gave a murderer was a stern talking to.
Smittler regularly kicked all kinds of ass out on the streets. But it was only a matter of time before she bit off more than she could chew. And the zombies bit off just about exactly what they could chew.
Had a hard time coming to terms with his white tan-resistant skin. It turned out for the best - when his blood stopped flowing, he was already very used to looking pale so had an easier time than most making the adjustment.
Refused entry to every motorcycle gang on the grounds that his hog was, in fact, a 50cc scooter. Still, to him, he was living Easy Rider right to the moment of death.
Death gave him the urge to wander. He travelled across a continent in the first month. A pretty massive achievement given that few are willing to pick up undead hitchhikers in the current climate.
Some people really do something with their lives. Others just exist to make up the numbers. Gerald Fleming did something with his life. What it was is now forgotten. Now, he just makes up the numbers.
Was fascinated by the idea of the dead rising, the collapse of society. Obsessed by it. And yet, when it happened, he found he really wasn't prepared. Nobody ever is.
Hospitals often lose patients. Sometimes they die. Other times, they just can't find them. Nobody knew where she came from or where she went but she was the first infected in the hospital and it couldn't be contained until they found her. They never did.
His room was a sanctuary. An oasis in the midst of the chaos of the hospital. His patients were already dead. All was calm. Until somebody went and ruined it by eating his face.
Bounced around from consultant to consultant, they had no idea what was wrong with him. So his autopsy presented quite a challenge. And Jerry getting off the table and eating their faces didn't make it any easier.
One of the first victims to make it to the hospital. Nobody knew how such a small wound could infect so quickly. And nobody knew what would happen after they bagged him.
It was a routine operation. At least that's what the surgeon told her. Well maybe having patients die on the table was routine for him but, for Mrs. Spinner, it was definitely out of the ordinary.
Was just outside the room where Mrs. Spinner's surgery was taking place. In the chaos, she actually thought she escaped unscathed. So being dead was quite a surprise.