Torture Is Good Part 1 The machete slices through the young corpse like a butter knife, the aroma of rotting flesh dominating the air like the disease. Although the job was tough, Melonie still loved the reward of seeing guts and brains spill from the infected and deranged. No one could see how much she enjoyed it , though the fight to be as innocent as the rest was a hard one. A few months ago she'd killed a beautifully massive mob of survivors, sliding different blades across their bodies. It was heavenly to see the terror in their blind eyes, not knowing that the one who had saved them countless times was behind a bloody mask, still thinking about how she had died. Poor Melonie Fitre. Soon dawn became a sweet dusk, highlighting the blood that had spilled onto forgotten roads.The Eiffel Tower stood guarding the sleepy, dead Paris. Somehow Melonie had climbed to the top, her guns blazing and trigger finger itchy, slaughtering the plagued souls until they lay still and sometimes going overboard, experimenting with their eyes and cold fingers. Terror suddenly shot through Melonie as she realised what she was doing. What happened? Where was she? And all the typical questions one might ask.