The Art Of Dying
Dozens of them, sitting at outdoor cafés, walking through parks, laughing and talking like they were on vacation.
"What the hell?" Marcus breathed.
One of the deadies noticed us. A woman, of maybe thirty years, with a smile that looked genuine. "Oh! New arrivals! Welcome, welcome! You'll love it here!"
"What is this place?" I asked, my grip tight on my dagger.
"Paradise," she said simply. "The Living City. It takes care of us, gives us everything we need. No more running, no more fear, just peace."
"And you just... gave up?" Willow asked. "Stopped fighting?"
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