Gordon Freeman

And not just any zombie, either. The ones pursuing them had been still sort of human-shaped, for all their missing parts. The skinless ones were... well, about what you'd expect for a moving corpse with neither skin nor much muscle mass left. This one is bent low, its knuckles nearly brushing the cobblestones. What little of its skin is visible is a repulsively bloated reddish-purple, mottled like a livid bruise. And the black thing covering what used to be its head isn't alone; there are at least three or four more of them clinging to the creature, studding its back like pustules about to erupt.

With a wet snuffling noise it turns in Dinah's direction and tears one of the black headcrabs loose from its torso.