The thing that had once been Marc Russell awoke from the slumber of death, craving the flesh of the living.
It struggled to pull it’s half-rotted body upright, brushed the dirt off it’s shoulders and, not even understanding it was dead, shambled forward in search of it’s unholy sustenance.
It would never relent, it would never tire, and it’s focus would never be swayed from it’s one burning drive.
Hunger. Unending hunger.
Myself, I couldn’t have been more pleased. I mean, everything had worked perfectly!
But now comes the difficult part.
What are the commercial applications of such a thing?