In nuked-out America, every fight was a fight to the death.
Led by Blade, the deadly eighteen-man fighting squad was the last beacon of hope in a world thrown into darkness by nuclear fallout and power-mad Soviets.
A powerful band of killers who valued science more than human life, they had fought the Warriors before—and lost. But now they were back, and stronger than ever.
GREEN BAY RUN
The dictatorial technocrats had moved their base to Wisconsin, where they were turning men and women into mindless automatons who were slaves to the Technic' will. The Warriors were up against a city of zombies, and they were only seconds away from becoming as helpless as the people they were trying to save.
THE GHOULS TAKE GREEN BAY
Blinded by the blood in his eyes, the farmer released the Warrior to wipe his left forearm across his face.
And Yama pounced, his right hand held in the Nukite position, and speared a piercing hand strike at the thing's throat, his training compelling him to go for one of the softest and most vulnerable areas on the human body. He felt his fingers sink into the yielding flesh halfway to his knuckles. Without missing a beat, as he drew his right hand back, he whipped his left hand in a Tegatana-naka-uchi, a handsword cross-body chop, connecting on the side of his opponent's neck.
Standing a few feet away, Melissa Vail heard a distinct snap and saw the thing go abruptly limp. "You did it!" she exclaimed in amazement.
The Warrior straightened, his eyes narrowing, "I was lucky."
"You were magnificent," Melissa breathed, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed. "No one has ever broken their hold before. Usually, once one of those things grabs you, it's all over."
"I've never seen anyone behave the way this man did," Yama commented, moving to retrieve the Wilkinson. "It's as if he wasn't responsible for his actions, as if he was a robot."
"Now you know why we call their kind the walking dead."