"We can't be the Ones alive."
 
it's wha we kept saying. Our mantra. Pushing ourselves to add one more gun - one more plate of armor. When the sun grew cold and the land froze over, we lit fires for warmth. But the heat just attracted them, clawing through the thin ice with cold, cracked fingernails. Cold bodies reanimated,surrounding our factory and howling at the sounds of rivet guns and acetylene flames.
 
"At least we'll ride in style."
 
An attempt at a light joke in a heavy situation. It still kind of looked like a Ferrari - if you squinted. But now it's like Frankenstein's monster, all bolts and bars from a graveyard of military surplus. Jet engine. Check. Missiles. Double check. Airless tires, armor plating, tow-ton winch. Check, check, and check.
 
It's time to tear down the walls of our standard-issue stronghold and brave the world-or what's left of it, at least. If there's anyone left out there, we'll find 'em. Dropping 0-60 in 2.6, the cold ones won't even know what hit 'em.
 
(Copywriter Adam Fierman)
Environment from Evermotion & Some free models