Imagine a solitary, grizzled motorcyclist with a leather jacket and weathered boots, gripping the handles of a rusty vintage motorcycle that recalls the designs of the early 20th century. His face, partially obscured by a pair of classic aviator goggles and a ragged scarf fluttering in the wind, is set in a grim determination. He is riding through the crumbling streets of an abandoned city where the buildings are silhouettes against a dark, ominous sky. The only sources of light are the full moon peeking through the roiling clouds above and the motorcycle’s dim headlamp, casting an eerie glow on the damp cobblestones. Chasing him is a horde of zombies, their tattered clothes and gaunt limbs moving in a grotesque parody of life. They are relentless in their pursuit, their eyes hollow yet fixated on the motorcyclist. The scene is one of haunting desperation, with the motorcyclist navigating past overturned cars and barricades, the echoes of the motorcycle's engine reverberating through the empty streets, and the undead inching closer with every turn. --cref <https://s.mj.run/TT2QbfVPQCA> --style raw