[ WP ] In a zombified world , instead of different parties competing to develop bigger and better weapons , there 's a literal arms race .

`` Marcy, you have to do it or else we'll face certain annihilation!'' 
 
 Marcy hesitated. The urgency in the air clouded her vision and burdened her ears with pleas: 
 `` Marcy, you're the only one whose genes are compatible with the technology!'' 
 `` You have to think of the greater good here!'' 
 `` Come on, we do n't have time for this!'' 
 
 Marcy had never agreed, but she was forced into a metallic tomb. Her limbs were pulled away from her center. She felt a pinch in her side, and her body began to numb. She struggled against her restraints, but it was too late. Gripping her eyes shut, she blacked out. 
 
 The `` allies'' surrounding her prepared a technological structure that resembled a pair of legs, connected at the top. At the front of each leg was a clamp that seemed to hold something. 
 
 `` All right,'' one ( seemingly the leader ) declared, `` you all know yat stake here. If we win this, we'll finally gain the upper hand.'' 
 
 The murmurs of agreement among the team echoed off the cold, dark stone walls still lined with graffiti. Marcy did not stir, and her blood loss was seemingly under control. 
 
 Two attendants carried her arms in a black, plastic wrapping. They were brought to the structure, each was placed within a clamp, and wires attached within the skin. The fingers began to crawl on the floor, and the structure could move itself. 
 
 Looking proudly at the device before him, the leader turned to his team and called, `` Let's go win this race!''
