Number 7

"You certainly seemed motivated to inspire them just now."

"Did I? I was merely saying what I thought."

"And I was too."

Marcus and Sylvia walked alongside one another throughout the streets.

With his knife of flesh in one hand and his standard knife in the other, Marcus looked around as he watched each corner with suspicion, preparing for a zombie to jump out at him at any moment.

"But you know... if you give them too much hope, then it will only be a whole lot worse when things don't go well."

"I never gave them hope. I merely encouraged them not to abandon all efforts from the start."

"I suppose so."

Sylvia walked with her spear in hand, remaining just as diligent as her sharp eyes darted from one place to another.

"It seems very quiet. I suppose the undead don't particularly bother to attack the school, since there isn't any way to obtain food in such a manner."

"You know... I never particularly gave it any thought. But do you think that those who are undead are conscious?", Marcus asked.

"Eh? What are you talking about?"

"Do you think that perhaps... they're trapped inside their own minds, forced to watch as their bodies move on their own?"

"I..."

Turning around, Sylvia grabbed the cheeks of Marcus, glaring at him.

"I don't want to even consider that.", she said.

"I see.", Marcus said as he shook the woman off.

It was then that the woman stepped forth, heading off without so much as waiting for the man as she fluttered her arm in a carefree motion.

"Even if that were true, there's no point thinking about it. We have to kill them either way... so isn't it easier just to believe that they're brainless monsters?"

It was as she stepped forward that a zombie barged out from what looked to be a pile of stocked up garbage, rushing forth at the woman with a snarl.

"Rargh!!!"

However as soon as the zombie revealed itself, the woman moved just as quickly as her spear slid through the neck of the zombie with fluid motions.

"They look like monsters. They act like monsters. So what's wrong with thinking that they ARE monsters?", she murmured as she flicked the blood off her weapon.

With a bitter smile, Marcus followed the woman as the two stepped forward, fearlessly trudging through these open streets.

"But couldn't the same be said of us?"

----

"Hey. Hey, you. Yeah. You. You, right there in the blue. Hey. Can you hear me? You can hear me. I know you can."

[December 20th, 2037]

8:55 PM

Inside a dark jail cell, completely devoid of even so much as a window, sat a man.

His frame was exceedingly thin, and his limbs appeared as if they could be snapped like pieces of straw.

"Hey, do you have a girlfriend?"

This man who was well over 6 feet tall continuously pestered the guard who stood outside his cell, not moving an inch even as the prisoner called out to him time and time again.

"What does she look like? Is she pretty?"

The prisoner wore an orange jumpsuit that was far too small for him - not in the department of width, but rather that the sleeves were cut off far too short.

"Is she loyal like mine?"

The man had long hair which was bright red, and it seemed to fall down as it covered most of his face.

His bright blue eyes which peeked through his hair were filled with a crazed excitement as the man tilted his head, causing his hair to fall to one side as he spoke in a mad tone.

"Or is she out there fucking another man here and now?"

"Will you shut up already?"

The guard glared at the man with annoyance, however this only invoked a grand smile from the madman.

"Haha!! Did I hit him where it hurts? Oh, I did, didn't I?"

The guard let out an annoyed sigh, clearly irritated.

Even so, the man had enough self restraint to prevent himself from abusing the prisoners.

'I'm the guard. I'm the one who's supposed to be the upright citizen here. Therefore... I shouldn't become aggravated by the jeers of a man who couldn't even follow the law.'

"I mean, if I were her then I would probably want another man too. After all, you're really dull. Or at least… that’s what the Lady said."

The red haired criminal continued to jest with a mocking tone, to which the guard closed his eyes as he took in a deep breath.

'Although... I guess it is pretty hard to follow the law sometimes.'

"So? I'm dull. Isn't it better for you that way? Would you prefer that Officer Krieg is on duty instead?"

"Nah, nah! I like you, Officer George. As dull as you are, it's better having you around than that guy!"

The guard let out a light chuckle as he looked over to the prisoner with a smirk.

"I heard your story. I don't have anything to say about whether what you did was right or wrong. But it was illegal. That's all I can say."

"Oh? You really are a bit different from the other guards, aren't you? Did you hear what he just said?"

With an intrigued expression, the red haired prisoner grinned with interest as he responded to the guard - though after responding he seemed to speak as if he were talking to someone else entirely.

"So what you're really saying is that if you were in my position... you might not have done anything different?"

The red haired man looked to the Officer known as George with interest, however the guard whose brown hair was buzzed merely closed his eyes without response.

Not a word was said.

"Your silence is killing me, Officer. Come on. Say something, already. It's strange for you to not berate me for my wicked deeds. All the other guards do it. Scum. Trash. Filth. Garbage."

With a smile, the man thinned his eyes as he glared at the guard.

"Don't you want to reassure yourself that you're better than me?"

"I don't particularly feel a desire to do so."

With a cold response, the guard looked at the man with eyes filled with pity.

"Ah... you really are different, aren't you. You know, I heard that you have a lot of issues with the other guards. They all talk shit about you behind your back, you know."

"Yeah well I'm sure we all have shit behind our backs at one point or another."

Cracking a smile, the guard pulled out a cigarette as he lit the tobacco, waving his hand over it before taking a puff.

"I came into this place with the dreams of a child. I wanted to do this world justice. I wanted to stop people like you from hurting others."

The man looked back and forth, taking note that he was the only guard on duty this particular night.

"They're probably all drinking or having fun, you know. Ah... were you put here alone because they don't consider you to be one of them?", the prisoner cackled.

"Hah... well, they can do what they want. It's my duty to guard tonight so I'll guard tonight. And if it's my duty to guard tomorrow night then I'll guard tomorrow night."

"You don't actually hate me, do you?"

"..."

Taking in another puff of the smoke, the man looked to the ceiling as he thinned his eyes.

"I don't really hate or love anyone these days. It's all just... nothing. Although... I would be lying if I were to say that there weren't a lot of guys who pissed me off. But I don't care enough to do anything about it."

Pulling out the pack of cigarettes, the man flicked a single one out as he looked at the criminal.

"Want one?"

"I don't smoke. I've heard it destroys your lungs, and the Lady wouldn’t like it if I damaged this body."

"Haha... well aren't you healthy."

Breathing out a mouthful of smoke, the man let out the next words under his breath.

"Well, I've been breathing poison all my life either way... so it's not like it makes a difference."

Checking his watch, the man looked at the time.

8:58.

"When I came into this force I thought that it would be nothing but helping people. Well, I realized when I came here that I was helping people. But there was one man who I helped... that I know we shouldn't have been helping."

"Oh? What do you mean by that?"

The red haired man seemed to sit forward with interest, yet he was chained to the wall - both hands and legs, therefore he could only move so far before he was reminded of his captivity.

"You know Larry Pertan? The teacher who did all those political rallies talking about heroism and justice? That guy... one of the sickest people I've ever known. The activities we've had to cover up for him... and I say HAD to. Because if it were up to me... the entire world would know about the shit he does and he'd be locked in one of these cells for life."

"It's always difficult to touch anyone at the top, isn't it? Without resorting to... more drastic measures."

The red haired man spoke with a sly tone as he ran his hand through his chaotic hair, however this was met with the bitter chuckle of the guard who put out his cigarette with his badge.

"Haha... here I am, a member of the Shortenmire police force... and yet I'm sitting here relating more with a criminal than I am with my fellow officers."

"Hey hey, you make it sound like relating with me is such a bad thing!! What's with that expression, George?"

"I would say don't call me by my name, but honestly I don't even care. Just don't call me that when the other guards are around."

"Haha!! Alright, you got a deal. So? What do you say we go out for a drink tonight? On me."

"Do you mean that you're going to steal something? Cause you sure as hell don't have any money."

"George, you know I'm not here for theft. You think my hands are nimble enough for something like pickpocketing?"

"You may say that you’re not in here for theft, but isn’t that one of the things on your list?”

As he thinned his eyes, the officer gazed upon the criminal with a grim expression.

“Do you think I'm dumb enough to not notice that you took a key from Officer Jason earlier?"

As the guard said this, the eyes of the red haired man went wide for a moment before he leaned forward laughing.

"Ahaha!! You really are something, aren't ya! You knew that we snatched ‘em and didn't even say anything? Ah... well, I guess being in jail has forced me to learn a few tricks. You know. Besides what I was in here for in the first place."

"Yes, I'm sure. So? What would you even do if you escaped?"

The guard made no move to take the keys, leaning back on the wall casually as he looked to the man with a slight interest.

Tick.

Tock.

"Hmm... If I escaped... eh?"

Tick. Tock.

Putting his hand to his chin in thought, the red haired man's sleeves fell further down his arm as he glanced to the ceiling.

"I would continue to run my business."

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Suddenly, the intercom came on with the dinging of a clock as it hit the hour mark.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

"Ah... 9 o'clock already, eh?"

The man checked his watch once more as he looked down with a tired smile, letting out one final puff of smoke.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

"Well, I suppose once a criminal always a criminal. That's probably why we keep you locked up in here. The only thing I don't like is the fact that some of you get a 'get out of jail free’ card.'"

It was at that moment that the lights went out with an explosion.

The only thing left in the darkness was the small flame of the cigarette, even that which was dying.

"And it all depends on how much you collect every time you pass go."

As he spoke these words without a care for the fact that the fixtures had gone out, a bolt of lightning flew through the facility, connecting the minds of each and every human present.

"Man... I'm tired."

George suddenly felt a woozy feeling overcome him as he fell to his knees, an exhausted smile still plastered on his face as he looked to the criminal before him who seemed to be equally exhausted all of a sudden.

"Looks like I'm not a very good guard."

With these final words, the man fell face first onto the cold concrete floor.

Thus began his apocalypse.

----

"What... urgh..."

A pain in his shoulder.

His back was always hurting these days, but for one reason or another it hurt more than usual as George picked his head up from the cold floor.

"What the hell happened?", he whispered as he opened his eyes.

However as he did so, what he saw was enough to make the man jerk up with surprise.

"Hey... what the hell..."

Everything was rotting.

The concrete walls which made up the facility were now riddled with cracks, and the building seemed like it would collapse at any moment.

"What is this?"

George slowly stood up, wobbling as his body suddenly regained its blood flow.

His skin was pale and his body had become thinner, as if he had been starved.

He could feel the stiffness of his cheeks, which hugged his face tightly.

"This is... ah... looks like I fell asleep on the job, didn't I? Chief isn't going to be too happy about this one."

Feeling that his baton was still at his side, George looked around with suspicion.

The red haired man who he had been speaking to was sitting there asleep in his cell, his long legs spread out before them as if nothing was wrong.

He seemed to peacefully rest as if nothing had happened, a corrupted smile on his face.

"Heh..."

With a slight chuckle, the man shuffled about in his sleep yet did not wake.

"I guess I should see what's going on.", George sighed.

Something was off.

The building was in a state of deterioration.

There was no way such a thing should be able to happen. Even if George had fallen asleep, he should have woken up surrounded by a number of his fellow officers, berating him for snoozing on the job.

Yet no such thing had happened.

"Which means that they've either taken a nice vacation... or something is wrong."

Gripping his baton, George thinned his eyes as he proceeded down the dark halls.

"And even though it wouldn't have been all that surprising... something tells me they aren't on vacation."

Smash!

"Haha... looks like these bars have rusted. Boys! Get your asses out of those cells! I don't know what's going on, but the cops aren't going to stop us now! They've let their guards down!"

A rough voice rang out with power from down the hallway, accompanied by the rattling sounds of creaking iron bars as they were bent.

"Ah... shit."

Stopping in his tracks, George found himself looking back, yet he immediately knew that such a thing was pointless.

For behind him was nothing more than a dead end.

"Looks like I've gotta do something about this."

----

"You know... I think I'm just going to turn a blind eye. I quit."

George found himself faced with two dozen men.

All were hardened criminals.

Many were tattooed and pierced all over their bodies, with hairstyles that ranged from strange to outright deranged.

All of the men wore the orange outfits of the prison, and not a single one of them seemed to be apologetic for the crimes they had committed before they were thrown into this place.

"Ah... is that so, Officer? But you know... I don't really feel like letting you go so easily."

A burly man with a large heart tattoo on his arm and ripped off sleeves approached George as he swung his arm, showing off in front of the men around him.

"Haha! Is he going to give that cop a beatdown?"

"This is what I want to see!"

The men cheered on from the sidelines, sneering as the man towered above George, who merely chuckled at his bad luck.

"Haha... I guess that won't work, will it?"

'How can I get out of this?', George wondered as he gripped his baton.

He was an officer.

He had a weapon.

The bald man who stood before him had a scar across his eye, which had been blinded by whatever attack it had taken.

'I guess I might be able to defeat him if I stick to his blind side... but the real question is... will that get me out of this situation?'

Gazing at the numerous men behind the thug, George almost laughed out loud at himself.

'Nope.'

"I surrender. Do what you want."

Dropping the baton with a resigning grin, George put his hands up with a smile.

"Haha!! You see this, boys? The police are nothing when they don't have their shiny tools to threaten us. On the ground, blue boy."

"Yep, yep. We really are just a bunch of cowards, you know. I'm scared to even think about it."

Bending over, George resigned himself as he spoke in such a manner.

"What would happen if I didn't have the tools to protect myself from people like you, that is."

It was at that moment that the foot of George slammed into the bald head of the man.

He had performed a front flip while bending down in submission, catching himself as he performed a handstand from his surrendering pose before rocking the man's skull with a kick.

"Ah. But it looks like I probably just made a bad move, didn't I?"

The towering man fell backwards, blood dripping from his skull as he was caught by a few of the men behind him.

"Why you... I'll show you not to-"

"Hey fatso. I come all the way from my cell just to see you and you're getting beat up by this scrawny little cop over here?"

It was then that a voice took the attention of all, turning them away from the fight which was unveiling itself.

From the corner, a young man spoke as he rested one leg on the other with a casual expression.

"Y... young master... I... I haven't lost! I was merely testing-"

"Enough."

The boy looked to be in his early 20's, with brown hair that was styled to perfection.

He wore sunglasses and carried himself with arrogance, and as he walked down the aisle he stepped forward with a toothy grin.

"I hate it when dogs bark like that."

It was at that moment that George found himself dusting his knees off before this 'young master'.

'Ah... looks like I'm really in trouble now.', he thought.

It was as he thought this that his throat was gripped.

George felt his body be lifted from the ground as the man carried him with strength which contradicted his thin build.

"When you take on an opponent... you can't let them think for even a moment that they're above you."

It was then that George was thrown to the ground with immense power.

His brain was rattled as he fell to the cold concrete with a slam, and he felt blood pool around his head as a foot was pressed to his face.

"If you do that... then they really ARE above you."

George then felt a hand grapple his face, lifting it up as he soon found himself staring straight at the shades which the prettyboy wore.

"Hey. You beat my boy fair and square. So I'll let you live. On one condition."

The prettyboy then threw George to the ground once more, sticking his foot towards the officer with a sly grin.

"Lick my foot. If you serve me like a loyal dog, then I won't kill you here and now."

With tired eyes, George looked up to the man.

He was arrogant.

He was confident.

He was powerful.

"You know... I'll let you in on a little secret, Officer."

As the man stood above George, he grinned as he began to go on a rant, spreading his arms in a taunting manner.

"I wasn't locked up in this joint because I got caught. I got caught so that I could get locked up in this joint."

"Hm? What's that supposed to mean?", George said with a rebellious smile.

"You should already know who I am, but in case you've been living under a rock, I'll inform you. I'm the heir to the Street Rats Organization. All it would take is a single word to your Chief there and I'd be let out of this place scott free. After all... our group makes a lot of money."

"So why aren't you free then?", George asked without hesitation.

"You seem to catch on quick. I guess you've already seen how easy it is for someone with power to get around the law?", the man chuckled. "Well then, I'll tell you. Why would someone like me be in this dump? It's simple."

It was then that the foot of the man met with the chin of George, causing his face to fly backwards.

"I was trying to find more rats off the street to follow me. And where better to find them... than the filthiest gutters?"