FIELD NAME: DISCIPLE

Transcript:
Miller: By now, I think we’ve figured out who makes everything worse - no, not Dobbs - the undead.
Miller: Whether they be shamblers, doggos, shapeshifters, or three headed… uh, whatever Megaboms are.
Miller: But let me tell you, it gets worse. Much worse.
Miller: Enter the Disciple - this S.O.B’s got the corner office in the Hard to Kill Department.
Miller: Weapons? Lots.
Miller: They got more tricks up their sleeves than a cut-rate magician on bath salts.
Miller: These floaty fuckers control other zombies. Making ‘em faster, angrier, and nigh on impossible to put down.
Miller: Don’t have any zombies around? Oh, that’s okay! They’ll invite their own.
Miller: That’s right. You piss off a Disciple and you’re gonna find yourself on the guest list to Satan's kegger.
Miller: Now, remember the part where I said it gets much worse? Yeah, about that...
Miller: If you ever get close enough to do damage, they’re gonna hit you with this beam that - I shit you not - steals your life force.
Miller: And then, adding insult to injury, those sneaky bastards will heal themselves with it!
Miller: My advice? If you’re gonna take one on - bring buddies with you. After all, friends don’t let friends fight alone.