“Name!” cried Johan, infinite sadness resonated in his voice – the mournful toll of a requiem. Deafening silence followed with shrieks of pain; with decent resignation, you decide to look towards your friend: Johan. Appalled you notice that your friend lay on the ground; surrounded by a pool of red-velvet blood, stream of it flowed through the large piece of bitten flesh around his neck; thick enough to abate the raging of the sea, however, there was no sign of the zombie that had bitten him. Brooding frantically with direful uniformity, you begin being eminently cautious of your surroundings. Trudging footsteps resonated with the rustling of leaves – slowly and silently. Following the trail of the cacophonous sound, you catch a glimpse of your friend’s body – still as a rock, observing it brings vindictive images to your mind; overwhelmed with evocative memories. What do you do? A. Runaway B. Fight with the pocketknife in your hand If (a): Wise choice – You tactfully retreated If (b): You strike the zombie with the pocketknife, but the wound isn’t deep enough – you get bitten. “One must learn to distinguish what should be done in order to avoid the consequences of what is done”. Inevitably, you die.