Control
Tap the zombies to fire—blast the undead before they swarm closer, each shot crucial to survive their relentless advance.
description
The streets reek of rot and rusted blood. Your boots crunch shattered glass as guttural snarls echo through abandoned cars. They took everyone. Now hollow eyes track your movements from shadowed storefronts, drawn to living heat like moths to a dying flame. Your knuckles whiten around the fire axe—handle splintered from last night’s welcome party at the pharmacy. Three shells left in the shotgun. Two grenades clipped to your belt. One rule: don’t hesitate. That flicker behind the bus stop isn’t wind moving the posters of missing faces. You swing hard as the glass explodes, rotting teeth snapping centimeters from your throat. Survival’s arithmetic now—every cracked skull buys minutes. The church bell tower still stands. Rooftop access. High ground. They’re herding you toward the old refinery. You count twelve, maybe fifteen shambling between pump trucks. Trap or salvation? Doesn’t matter. Dawn’s three hours off. You’ll carve through whatever’s necessary to see it.
