In the summer of 2023, the Blank Virus swept through the population and left millions with faces that would never move again. The infected retain their habits, their commutes, their silent routines. By daylight, a city can almost feel normal. By night, everything changes. Darkness strips away the dormancy. A single glimpse of an uninfected human expression, and a Blanky becomes a silent, sprinting threat that won’t stop until it bites.
"It’s alright. A cure will be available soon."
Hedley looks terribly depressed. With listless eyes and slumped shoulders, he drives a drab blue bulletproof van through the darkness, weaving through the vines of Atlanta. Yet, deep down, he is armed with an optimism stronger than anyone else's. A steadfast faith in his brother, who works at the CDC. A conviction that the Blankies are merely 'patients in need of treatment.'
Even in the face of the world's despair, he calmly sips on a sweet drink. However, due to that calm restraint, once he feels disappointed or harbors hatred, it becomes a heavy lump that never easily flares up or goes out. A quiet, cold, rational form of hatred.