It all started when a meteor hit the surface of the Earth.
The meteor wasn't incredibly big, in fact, it was a wonder that it was even found at all. Barely five feet in diameter, some farmer from America found it one day when he was setting his cows out to pasture. He called a museum near him, who called specialists, who went to see this 'Space Rock'.
They weren't disappointed. It was grey, though it seemed to be tinged with a faint green light. Something about it seemed alive, though they couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Maybe it was the fact that the greenish light dimmed and brightened every second or so, making it appear like it was pulsing.
Like a heart. A sickly grey heart with an impossibly bright green glow.
They took it to be examined, and it ended up in some U.S. hidden facility where specialists were scrutinizing it and theorizing about what it could be made of.
It wasn't like anything that anyone had ever seen before, this Space Rock. The press had been allowed to snap a few pictures before it was stored away, and those few pictures had made their way around the world in a span of a few short days.
Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, South America, and of course, North America. Everywhere, it was the sole purpose of attention.
They waited for a while, anticipating some result, anything to get excited over. But nothing came.
A month passed, then a year, and things went back to normal. It still sometimes featured in the news as people speculated over what had happened to it, and why the U.S. was keeping it locked up and hidden.
Then the Purging happened.
The farmer who had found the rock found something else, this time on his own body. A pinprick of green had appeared on his wrist. That's odd, he thought, but didn't say anything.
Fast forward a week, and the green had spread. You could see it in his veins, and he seemed to almost glow in the darkness. The color was impossibly bright, and looked like the shade one would expect radioactive waste to be. Disgustingly, sickeningly green.
The farmer started to get worried, and went to the doctor. They didn't know anything, and experimented with a few medicines. Nothing worked. The green kept on spreading, and with it, various symptoms.
His brain started to shut down. He sputtered and wheezed, not being able to form coherent thoughts. He stumbled and staggered, and fell down with every other step he took. His skin grew drier and drier, and it started to blister and crack in some places.
This went on for about a month, one agonizing month where nothing that anyone could do helped him. If anything, they made the sickness worse and more determined to conquer his body.
Eventually, it did. His brain shut down entirely, and he kicked the bucket. His family gave him a funeral, a closed-casket one so that they didn't have to look at the disturbing shade of green his skin was, and how gruesome he looked.
Everything was going fine funeralwise until the casket burst open, and the farmer sat up. He looked, if possible, more horrifying dead than alive.
The undead famer massacred everyone who had attended the funeral, apart from one small girl. She'd run to the police station, and described what happened. They didn't believe her.
That was a mistake.
The undead people, zombies, were nothing like everyone had expected. They weren't slow, or dumb, or like animals.
They were fast as lightning, sprinting impossibly fast on scabby legs. The disease had shut down their brain, but it had awakened their body to its fullest potential, strengthening it to the max.
They weren't dumb. Sure, their brain was asleep. Maybe a better word would be taken over. Yeah, the disease had taken over their brain, and was running it on its own accord. It heightened every sense, and processed everything neatly and without fault. The zombies were just as smart as humans.
As for being like an animal? Forget it. One look at the mannerisms of a zombie, at the way it tilted its head softly when it heard a sound, at the way that it walked disjointedly yet with a subtle grace, at the way that it tore and bit and scratched and ripped, and you'd know immediately that the zombies were something more than animals, more than even humans.
Once bitten, it takes around thirty minutes for your brain to shut completely down. You'll kick the bucket in forty-five, and you'll be a fully fledged zombie in an hour.
No one is immune. Not even countries.
Welcome to the show.