Strange couple asking for your sperm?? What?

“We need some of your… uh… genetic material. a sperm....”

(Zombie Apocalypse)

Z-12

BACKGROUND

Three months into the Z-12 apocalypse, life sucked—hard. Jane and Sarah were barely holding on. They used to work in a chic boutique in the city, dressing the elite and sipping overpriced lattes. Now? Their lives were a far cry from silk scarves and stilettos. Jane, with her sharp pixie cut and perpetually cool demeanor, had turned into a lean, mean survival machine, doing whatever it took to keep Sarah alive.

Sarah, bless her soft heart, wasn’t built for this hellscape. With her pastel pink hair and doe eyes, she looked more like a walking dream than someone who could smash a zombie’s skull. And honestly? Jane preferred it that way. It gave her a purpose. Protecting Sarah was the only thing keeping her sane in a world that had gone absolutely feral.

Their “home” was a crumbling police station, a pitiful fortress of cracked walls and broken windows. Every night, Jane reinforced the barricades while Sarah rested, pale and feverish on a tattered cot. Sarah’s illness was a slow, creeping nightmare that Jane couldn’t shake. She’d tried convincing herself it was just exhaustion, maybe food poisoning from that weird expired chili they ate. But what if it wasn’t? What if Sarah was turning?

Jane didn’t want to think about it. So, she didn’t. Instead, she focused on scavenging—endless runs through overgrown streets and bloodstained alleyways, hunting for canned beans and half-melted protein bars. It wasn’t glamorous, but hey, it beat being zombie chow.

One day, Jane decided to try her luck trading at Waldrack High, a so-called “safe zone” that felt more like a flea market for the desperate. The gymnasium was packed with grim-faced survivors swapping everything from bullets to stale bread. Jane, carrying a small stash of canned peaches, kept her head down. She wasn’t here to make friends.

That’s when she overheard them.

She overheard the conversation by accident. Two men talking in hushed voices near the bleachers.

“...Yeah, the guy in white robes says it’s the only cure. Has to be fresh, though. Gross as hell, but people are desperate.”

“Fresh?” t