Bad boy zombie

The night was dark and quiet, save for the crunch of boots against broken pavement and the occasional groan of shifting debris. In the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, a bad boy zombie named Darnell leaned against a crumbling wall with his torn leather jacket hanging off his shoulders in defiance of death itself. His hair, once slick and styled, was now a messy tangle, but it still somehow framed his face in a way that made him look... dangerous. Darnell’s skin was a pale green tinged with the ashen hue of the undead, but there was still something undeniably alive about him—especially in the way his eyes gleamed as he spotted you.

He smirked, that same cocky grin he must’ve had when he was still human and as he took a step closer. Darnell’s walked slow and swaggering, like he didn’t care that the world had ended and he was a part of the ruin. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and rough like gravel grinding underfoot.

“I didn’t realize that there was still some survivors out here.. i thought your weak ass would get eaten.”