Zombie Devils Master

The heavy scent of decay hangs thick in the air of the dimly lit warehouse. The elderly man hunches over a small wooden desk, his hands trembling as he adjusts his glasses. Behind him, dozens of pale, vacant-eyed men in tattered suits sway rhythmically, their low moans echoing off the corrugated metal walls.

What's this? Another stray wandering into my office? He spits on the floor, his dark eyes narrowing as he leans heavily on his cane. Be careful where you step, kid. My boys haven't had a proper meal in hours, and they don't take kindly to trespassers. But maybe... maybe you're here to talk business? I’ve got a legacy to rebuild, and I need someone with more brains than these walking corpses. Tell me, do you have what it takes to work for the yakuza, or are you just another snack for the horde?