A Whole New World~~~ of Death

[Demenyx]

No matter how experienced you were, the fear never really went away. D'angelo didn't care who it was; Bruce Lee, Chuck Norris, Ozzy Osbourne, it didn't matter. Your insides reached absolute zero, skin burned, thoughts vanished. You were without doubt, struck with complete horror. Everyone in the world, especially in this new twisted one, went through it at some point. Any opposing answer would have been utter bullshit.

D'angelo was 18 when shit hit the fan. He had just tossed up his cap in a wave of proud cries. His class was officially announced graduated. He was thrilled to have finally finished the numerous years of torture. Unfortunately, as he ended that painful road, he was forced down the start of another, much more gruesome, road. Vivid exclamations of parents, teachers, students, all evolved into actual cries for help. The screech of everyone's screams echoed in the air into what felt like an eternal shout. The newly graduated, D'angelo, was one in many others who were confused. His eyes began to investigate only to see his class president douse in bright red. The student was was ferociously digging into the Principal's stomach; squishes from his manhandled interior roared into the ears of everyone. The mic, like an ace reporter, captured it all, even the student's gnarled breathes of lifelessness.

After that, it was survival of the fittest. And in the end D'angelo ended up nearly alone. He watched friends and family fall prey before his eyes until only one companion of was left by his side.

"Fuuuck," whispered a frustrated D'angelo to himself.

The man had been at the same old routine for a year now. And within that time he easily lost count of how many times he had to rummage through abandoned estates just for a mere hope of a suitable shelter, or at least food and water, hell another weapon would have sufficed. Though often unsuccessful, D'angelo became skilled at silent searching. He felt so highly of it that he gave himself the title of Shinobi. The kid watched way too much Naruto. Sadly the young man learned today that even the best 'ninja' derped up every now and again.

The floor was rotten from a couple of leaks in the ceiling. The pink carpet had patches of brown mixed within it. The teen made note of it as soon as he entered the room littered with My Little Pony posters and stuffed animals. He avoided the rots, but due to arrogant laxness the man overestimated how well he could tip toe over a section of the floor. His foot mistakenly landed on the brown leading to immediate squeaking among the floor board. If he didn't move, then he was falling from the second floor. D'angelo was tough, he survived a zombie apocalypse for over a year now. If he didn't end up penetrated by stray wood or landed on his head he probably could survive. And in this world 'probably' was enough. Certainty was no longer a thing, it was dead like most of the human race. The problem here was that the young man without doubt would have suffered injury. Probably a broken leg from how they were stretched out from the large step he tried to make. And that couldn't happen. Nick, his companion, wasn't a doctor. He couldn't treat a broken leg. Then on top of that was would have to pick up D'angelo's slack when together they could barely make ends meat. If he fucked up here, him and Nick were dead.

The man tried to step back or at least forward, but he couldn't. His legs were too far apart and the flooring squeaked more and more. He felt his heart synchronizing with uncanny cries of the wood below him. It preached for help, D'angelo's weight was too taxing. It slowly began to cave in with the man still trapped on it. All he could do was call for assistance.

"Uh-uhhh, Nick!" He called in terror. "H-h-help!"

"Huh?"

The man's bellows immediately halted as the closet door began to shake. Vigorous pounds and clawing shook the door. The daunting howls of a lifeless being filled room, adding even more tension to the air. And D'angelo knew who ever it was couldn't be stopped by some flimsy door. And right on cue, the door swung open revealing a little 10 year old zombified girl. Her skin was discolored like the carpet; pink mixed with rotten brown spots. Like all the others, her eyes were dull and lifeless. The child's blond hair was disheveled under a withered crown of flowers. The innocence that once filled her body, oozed out of her. Making her grow more monstrous by the second. As her mug opened up for a gnarled hiss, the girls cute missing baby teeth was the lasting D'angelo wanted to see.

"Shit... Shit... Shit, shit, shit, shit. Fuck, fucking, fuckity, fuck, fuck." Chanted the man unconsciously. "Uhh-uhh-uhh, au-aughhh!"

The teen knew better than to scream but he couldn't help it. No matter how experienced he was, the fear never really went away. His insides reached absolute zero, skin burned, and thoughts were gone with the wind. D'angelo was losing his shit. Either the man was falling to his death or being eaten by some little girl and there was nothing he could do about it, Nick had their only weapon.

[Die2Day]

"Ahhh..." The scenery here was just astonishing. Late afternoon, the sun perched its self on the horizon far off into the distance. It's warmth made Nick's skin itch, the blinding rays inched themselves into what crevice it could find, destroying all the darkness it possibly could. A strong gust skimmed over the aging homes, producing an eerie whistle, similar to what a bird might sing. The noise was foreign to him, music was slowly beginning to fade from the earth anyway. What did a bird sound like again? Who really knew anymore.

High-school had been a complete drag. Everyday of it honestly sucked to Nick, with the nagging teachers, gross lunches, stuttering nerds and sex hungry sluts adding to the despair. Everyone had to be somewhere, there really was no such thing as an individual, only a piece to a whole. You either belonged here or you didn't belong over there. Junior year seemed the worse. Everybody was freaking out about college or something like that. Who'd want to go back to school for another 4 years? An idiot. Being 18 and still not a senior, anyone could have imagined it blew. Nick knew it for sure, and made sure his attendance there was at minimum. It was nearing the final days for the upperclassmen when shit got real. Skipping school once again, Nick instead attended a gathering of his own. The classic garage rock band. It was supposed to be a normal practice day for the group, play for a few minutes then crack open a beer and light up a cancer stick, and begin their weekly dose of shit talking. Just the usual. The only thing that seemed off was the audience that commonly showed up to watch their show. The little black boy from a block a way who always came to watch Friday night, he was acting funny. Maybe he was just sick. Maybe black people could just twist their necks 360 degrees while emitting a steamy, white foam from their larger than average lips. Nick was so stereotypical.

The teenager slid his body between the halfway open door and it's frame, knowing he dare not make a peep. D'angelo said he was going upstairs, the two rarely split up, but, Nick had to piss beyond belief. Hopefully, his friend could of survived without him for a mere minute. He climbed softly up the steps and to his surprise, not one squeaked. It really was unrealistic. Peering beyond the railings,steps away from the top ledge, Nick could make out D'angelo's awkward figure. Sighing with a secret relief, he continued on his current path, only to be interrupted by the loud bellow of the teenager. Instinctively,  Nick sprinted in the direction, skipping the last step, pulling himself forward like a sling shot as he placed his dirty palm on the end of the railing. In the room, he could clearly the problem. D'angelo's fat self was sinking through the rotted flooring. He wasn't really fat, but Nick knew he'd give him hell about it later. Sinking quick, Nick stretched forward, gathering a handful of the damsel in distresses top and pulled him forward as the small portion of the floor collapsed ahead of them. "Damnit fat-ass, you can't be killing yourself now." A high pitched scream stung at Nick's ear drum and this time it wasn't D'angelo's screams. He began to gaze up suspense-fully, hoping it wasn't a gross, smelly,flesh eating  lifeless corpse. Standing ahead of the newly opened doorway limped a rotten young girl's carcass. it's young and girlish nightgown was torn and tattered, the pink that had once covered it now was stained with an indistinguishable grey hue and crusty red patches. It was a miniature gross, smelly,flesh eating lifeless corpse. The undead now dashed wildly at the two, it's arms flailing left and right, releasing a jaw locking wail that left a ringing in Nick's ears. The zombie jumped, diving over the hole D'angelo had caused only seconds ago, revealing her full set of retrograded baby teeth and sickly aged half rotted tongue.

BAM! The lifeless body crashed violently into the faded pink walls of the child's room. The flesh eater's vessel stuck to wall for a second, it's ancient raw meat acting as a 'natural' adhesive. Nick spun the guitar in his hands cool-fully, the neck of the instrument twisting around his own, then back into his hand, it's base landing on the edge of his opposite shoulder. A 2010 limited edition Fender Deluxe Stratocaster v9, with chrome finishing and a custom rosewood carved neck. His prized possession and weapon. His baby. Mid tackle, Nick whipped and spun the legendary brute, leading the edge of the masterpiece right into the young-lings disfigured skull and sent it soaring across the room. Nick dropped the guitar from his shoulder, catching it with his off hand. He slipped his finger down the thick, silver shining strings, producing  a single note. Ear candy. And not a scratch on her...""

[Demenyx]

Nick's grasp had D'angelo's nerves shivering from head to toe. His eyes began to widen as he was roughly pulled back and tossed aside on his rump like some rag doll. Which was actually nothing new. It was only natural for them to treat one another like animals. And who could blame them? Living in such a harsh world could only raise brutes. Like his name sake, Nicholas came in the nick of time. D'angelo had felt a soft breeze against his legs as the rotten flooring under his feet collapsed. A second later and he would have really been feeling the breeze as he fell.

"Pfft," sounded D'angelo from his lips ungratefully. "Fat ass? Bitch it took you forever to get up here." His vulgar speech was low and cautious. As he spoke the teen kept his eyes on the undead brat. She wasn't much of a threat now, but anything could have been when your guard was down.

The girl suddenly sprinted forward, collapsing bits and pieces of the floor in the process. Having no sense of control or balance, she face palmed the wall with a mighty room quaking thud. The screen of the open window in the wall even fell out and crashed wildly on their porch. If the child wasn't capable of killing them, her mindlessness would have been quite a laugh.

The zombie soon recovered, losing half of it's face to the wall as it turned to the two and launched at them. That was when the stench really came in. Before, from a distance it was barely tolerable. The smell of mold and rot emitted from her skin, human waste settled in her intestines for probably over a year roamed the air, the bacteria in her mouth adding even more of a foul touch to the pungent odor.

Then, Nick began to do his thing. In this forsaken world he was probably the closest thing they had left to a rock star. The rocker even did a little show, spinning around his guitar before bopping the girl back with a large splat. She landed on her bed, laid out across her back and leaking away all the musty fluid from her contorted head. And like Nick said, his guitar came back as fresh as ever.

"Jeez, you fucking show off," uttered D'angelo after Nick played his note. It wasn't anything special, but even Nick managed to turn that simple note into ear candy. In truth, it was probably his ego, confidence made any rocker sound better. Relief began to rush D'angelo's face as he stood up. A slight smirk was stretched across his lips. He really was a damsel in distress this time, and like his knight in shiny armor Nick came to rescue him. "Heh, and they say chivalry is dead. I guess it was resurrected with the rest of this undead fuckers, huh?" D'angelo extended his fist for a bump from Nick. That gesture always indicated how close they were, for with a simple bump of fists everything always ended up settled.

Then, the relief that checked into his body mere moments ago left. Apparently his body wasn't a suitable hotel for such a feeling. And seeing relief sign out, his heart tried to do the same. Pounding against his chest trying to escape. And the cause of his wanted chain of events was no other than the voice of a mass infestation of rodents, the hotel's worse nightmare.

"Ayy, what the fuck was that?" Croaked a macho voice from out side the window.

"I think it came from over there," replied a feminine voice. "Dale didn't you and shit face just check out that house over there?"

"And where the hell is that shit-faced fucker?" Chimed in the voice from earlier.

"Haha, yeah."  Answered a younger, lax and stoner-like voice. We cleaned out the house and packed the shit in the truck. Daryl had found some nude-y magazines. So I decided to give the man some privacy, ya know? He must still be in the house, I guess."

"Oh shit," said an unsettled D'angelo. He would have been by the window checking out the people out side, and in fact he was actually in the process of doing so, however he caught a glimpse of shimmering light in the large hole he created. Through a thin screen of dust floating in the air, he traced the shimmer back to a revolver pistol. It sat midst a pool of blood. Scattered pages of naked woman were soaked in the quickly spreading liquid. The source lead back to an out stretched hand from underneath a pile of wreckage.

"The fuck?" Questioned the man clearly agitated now. "Do you guys think this is a game? A herd of god damn walkers are on there way here. You know, the kind that smells worse than your shit, are slightly dummier than your bitch ass, and likes to bite us more than your god damned mother? Fetch him!"

"Uh, uh, right, Boss." hastily said Dale.

D'angelo's head slowly began to turn towards Nick. His eyes even wider than before. A hint of eccentricity sparked in his optics, giving an intense and wild feel to them. He was nervous, yet he knew what they had to do.

"We have to get that gun..."

[DarkNoxx]

On the rooftop laying down was Shinji, while in his light sleep he hears the sounds of others, the crumbling of things around him. He rose off his back and rubbed his eyes. The sky without a sun and him sleeping throughout the day wasn't a uncommon happening, he was quite a lazy person on the outside and misunderstood on the inside, coming to his feet he stood a good 6ft tall. He looked around the rooftop then over the edge (what the hell went on, am I still sleeping?!) he said in his mind before stretching. "How did I even get up here again..."

Shinji turned around to see stairs on the side of the building, he face-palmed himself lightly against his light caramel skin before walking in it's direction, right foot then left foot until he was moving in strides. Soon he reached the stairs and started his way down each step he skipped the next, this habit of his was always there, but never understood or cared where and why it started. He reached the bottom of the steps and inhaled deeply, but this was a mistake...the rush of a rancid odor inflamed his nostrils.

"Ah sick! what the hell is that!?" he looked left and right but caught no sight of the source of this stench, he leaned against the wall of the building holding his nose with his index and thumb tightly while his other hand adjusts his jacket. The attire Shinji wore gave off a lazy biker look and he was fine with it. He looked around the area, all that was before him was patches of grass while the rest covered in concrete, in the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a steel rod, his assumption it must of came off the stairs. He went to pick it up and swing it as if it was a sword knocking the end of the rod against his shoes with a thud as his lips etched to the left side.

[Demenyx]

D'angelo carefully lowered his body through the rotten hole in the flooring, then leaped down. Landing safely on the blood soaked debris. He wearily approached the gun, cautious of dopily slipibg and falling on the sharp rotten wood. He also had to keep an eye out for the blood,

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