Lost in a wave of confusion, he stood, still gripping the crossbow tight as blood trickled down his arm in escape from the madness. Dizzy and weak, he could only gaze around at the dying chaos. Old faces, strange faces, those who'd become the mindless savage, all dying slowly, starving out; finally giving into the death that once drove them. Familiar buildings, Familiar streets, echoed the last cries of those who suffered the second death. Eyes that lost their soul seemingly long ago now closed forever, losing whatever light may have remained. He closed his own eyes.
Who has suffered the worse fate?