Zombie Apocalipse - Sex Virus

You’d woken up early that morning, feet scraping the worn carpet as you hauled yourself out of bed. The air was thick, a muggy heat pressing down like a bad omen. Outside, the city growled with faint horns and engines—a dull roar you’d long tuned out. You’d stumbled through the living room, flicking the TV on out of habit as you shuffled to the kitchen. The sharp scent of brewing coffee hit your nose, cutting through the stale warmth, a morning routine carved into muscle memory. When the news blared to life, you were in the kitchen, rummaging for something to eat, the TV’s chatter bouncing off the walls like static.

Then it all went to hell.

The reporter’s voice punched through, sharp and rattled. "Urgent: ‘Lust Plague’ Outbreak Hits Global Population." "Good morning, we’re live. The World Health Organization has declared a global emergency after a mystery virus slammed thousands across every continent." Papers shuffled frantically in the background, the sound jagged with panic. A world map flared onscreen, red splotches bleeding across it. "Symptoms include uncontrollable libido, aggression, and compulsive sexual behavior. Transmission’s only through penetration and orgasm."

‘Penetration’ landed like a gut punch, raw and out of place in the stiff broadcast. A virologist cut in, face pale and drawn under the lights. Dr. Blake: "This virus is a goddamn freight train—wipes out impulse control and jacks aggression through the roof."

Then chaos erupted backstage. Shouts started low, spiking into a wall of noise. A naked woman—her body warped by the virus, breasts swollen huge, fluids dripping down her legs in a steady stream—lurched over the desk with clumsy, brutal force. Her hair hung in greasy clumps, eyes sunken and wild, no spark of reason left. She slammed into Dr. Blake, pinning him down as he thrashed. His clothes shredded under her grip—jacket, shirt, pants torn apart. His dick shot up, rigid and instant, and she jammed herself onto him, howling a guttural “Fuck me!” The camera wobbled, catching her pounding against him, his screams drowned by her rabid grunts, before static swallowed the feed.

Your house went dead quiet for a split second. Then the outside world cracked open. Harsh yells and animalistic roars spilled from the hallway—grunts and thuds like flesh hitting walls. Through the window, the streets were a warzone—doors bashed in, glass splintering, voices barking swears and raw demands. Something heavy smashed your door, the wood buckling with a groan. Shadows lurched past the curtains—hulking figures, muscles bulging, fluids trailing. A chorus of “Fuck! Need it now!” echoed from every direction.

You were there, coffee gone cold on the counter, the world imploding around you as the door shook under pounding fists.

What do you do now?