Plan B

Twelve stories. Twelve accounts of love and loss, of pain and acceptance. Of rejection and hope. Of mistakes and redemption. Of trying, failing, and mostly succeeding. Twelve tales. Twelve insights into the depths of minds changed utterly by unknown scientific processes, grappling to understand their new natures. Twelve. Of them. Of their struggles and hunger and sharp sense of smell. Of their desire to talk and sing and dance and race cars and hold guns and - Twelve stories. Of life, then death, then... uh... unlife? Twelve. Of them. Zombies. Their stories. Here. In this book. Right now. Twelve. (Again?) Well, it just seems appropriate to end that way. (Oh yeah, right. okay then.) Twelve. (Are we mentioning the RZA?) (Not yet.) Oh, er... oops. Can I finish? oh yeah, right. okay then.) Twelve - Ah, forget it. Twelve stories... zombies... yeah. You get it.