You do.

The scent of living flesh is like a drug to you. Synapses that had laid dormant for God-knows how long fire up throughout your rotten brain. The thrill of the hunt almost makes you feel alive. Fucking your preys will most definitely do the trick.

You sniff the air aggressively, sidestepping lethargic zombies as you roll through the damp destitute hallways.

Heat, and the acrid stink of sweat, catch your attention. You enter what used to be a legal office, now serving as the graveyard of thousands of rotting documents.

As it turns out, it is also the final resting place of a handsome buff ghoul. There, on the ground, lays one of your associates. His mouth twitches weakly, and thick dark goo oozes out of a wound on the side of his head. The Living did this to him, and they are most certainly still in this room. You have to be careful.

Luckily for you, your vision is keen enough to spot something moving in the corner of your eye. A terrified black girl lunges towards you, knife in hand.