I stand in the human's city, a place zombies don't usually get to go to. Due to human mutation and evolution, a good thousand zombies have regained the conscious mind. I'm one such zombie, though it changes nothing about how we want to eat human flesh.
I feel the temptation, but I don't give in, it's quite easy in fact. We take special classes for it.
I smell something behind me, gunpowder? And steel... Someone has a shotgun. I turn around and spot them.
He wore a baggy sweatshirt and jeans, the city was rather cold. The gun barrel quivered from his unsteady hands. I took a step towards him. The barrel jerked away from my face, and I heard the shot before I saw my arm get blown-off. Luckily, I don't feel pain. I look down at my arm, back at him, to my arm, then him again. I look at him finally, he shakes with fear as he pumps the shotgun slide.
"Do you know how hard it is..." I reach down and grab my arm. "to get a fucking arm around here!?!?" I was angry now, as I charge towards him. He fires again, but the Rage-virus has kicked in. I side-step and the shotgun bullets fly harmlessly past me. I throw my detached arm to the ground and grab him by the back of the neck, forcing his head forward. I can't control it, and it's not as if he can stop me.
Seconds later I stare at a tattered human carcass. Sometimes the hunger just takes over and I can't think anymore. It doesn't matter. The laws are only formalities. The part of the city I'm in, even the cops won't show up to stop me. Suddenly my stomach convulses.
I open my mouth wide, pouring out infected blood all over the corpse. "Oh shit. That's never pleasant."
I stand up, now missing an arm with no hope of getting it back. They didn't have morticians offices on the human side. Well, not the kind I needed. I looked at my hopeless limb, and picked it up, throwing it in to a nearby dumpster with a large amount of difficulty.
I walk away, determined to get away before more Ghoul hunters show up.
Ghoul hunters, it's what we zombies call racist, err, disaesist humans. Have I introduced myself?
After that whole scene you deserve my name. But not now. Oh no.
It wasn't too long later I found myself in a bar. Money was easy to make, since I didn't need as much sleep. I do need to shut down though, too much strain and I decay faster. I also don't feel pain, and I no longer hold back my muscle strength. Money came easy, and alcohol could be enjoyed freely (I lost my liver awhile back, and it just goes right through my digestive track.).
It wasn't long until my stomach convulsed again. I covered my mouth, not wanting to infect the other patrons, though nearly got some on the guy next to me. "Hey, watch where you're puking Maggot-bag!"
I wiped my mouth and slowly looked up at him. I really hate people who call me that. Maggot's are actually a serious problem for zombies. It' why we try not to sleep if we can, otherwise the little fuckers literally get under our skin. I looked at the man in the eye. "What the hell did you call me?"
"Shut up meat-slab." Okay, now I was getting a bit pissed. I really wouldn't mind puking on this guy right now. The bartenders would gun them down the moment they went bat-shit. I looked him over. One of the "High-class" in the low-class part of the human side. "Okay, look here Fleshy," Fleshy was the nickname we had for high-class humans. Mainly because they were. " Maggots are a real problem for us. You assholes don't make it any easier. You wanna call me a meat-slab and I'll prove to you my muscles ain't gone dead yet." I growled at him.
"And who the fuck do you think you are?" He got right in my face. Bold move, my breath smells like shit and the tear on my cheek didn't help.
"Lance Theodore. Remember that." I brought up my fist, and socked him good in the face, knocking him on his ass and breaking the table behind him. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a good lump of cash, putting it on the table. "That should be more than enough."
Another black-out for me. Probably spent working whatever job I could get. Now I was in an alleyway, smoking a cigarette. Another advantage of being a zombie, don't need your lungs. Still don't like swimming. Little fucking maggots all over there. And then there's the fish and shit. And look what asshole is coming around.
Same little dressed up boy, though he had a few lackeys with him now, holding SMG's. They didn't look like most Ghoul hunters. I took a look over them. Shades and caps and bandannas. I recognized the markings on the bandannas. And the symbol on the rich boys pin on his dress jacket. The Lions.
The Lions are a merc company. And it looks like I just pissed 'em off.
"A lion's boy are ya'?" I asked him. He scowled at me.
"Listen hear Corpse-meat, I didn't want to talk to you. The boss does. Come with us quietly, or we gun out your legs. The boss 'ell have 'em replaced."
"Fine then." I threw the cigarette down and stomped on it. "Take me to the boss." The thugs surrounded me. Good measure I suppose.
Again, a blackout as I follow them. Next thing I notice is me in fancy office. The swivel chair in front of me had it's back turned. I could tell someone was behind it from the wisp of smoke. High-class boy stood in the corner with a gun.
"So, you socked Lupin pretty good. He's not an easy man to take down."
"Why's that?" I asked the mysterious man.
"He's a werewolf. Or Felithrope actually. A werelion. He's pretty strong."
"I don't see your point."
"My point is you could be useful. You do almost anything for work, don't you? You do need money."
"You offerin' to get rid of that problem?"
"Would you like me too?" I thought for a moment. That was good question. The zombies who did manage to make it big had all kinds of stuff. Latest surgery to keep 'em patched up, place to live, plenty of food.... Nah, that wasn't me. That wasn't Lance Theodore, the workin' man.
"I prefer the worker's life." I told him
"Very good. I may need you from time to time. There are things a zombie can do that my people can't." I was about to protest against his statement before I realized he was right.
Demons are strong, and immortal, but they can't spread infections. Reapers are similar but they don't work with others. Angel's choose their sides, and Vampires are very power-hungry. Lycanthropes and Felithropes are strong, but difficult to control. And the Lion's had no zombie members as far as I knew.
"Lupin here, from time to time, will offer you a good paying job. If you're fine with getting your hands dirty."
"Merc work 'eh?" I nodded. "I can do that."
"Then I'll give you your first mission." Lupin said, motioning with an SMG for me to get up. I did as told, holding a smirk on my face. Or I wanted to. A few of those muscles gave out a long time ago. He walked off and I followed him.
I was surprised by the security here. Full riot gear with Assault rifles and/or shotguns. He took me in to an elevator, and I could still feel anger from him.
The elevator opened and he led me away in to a conference room. Guards here had heavy weapons. As in mini-guns and rocket launchers. This was definitely a private floor. I saw a black square object fly towards me and caught it.
"The fuck is this?" I asked, looking over the fancy cellphone.
"We had no previous form of contacting you. That'll change that." Lupin responded. He changed his persona, making himself look polite and better than me. Fucking Lion's boy.
"Now to discuss your first mission," He sat down at the conference table. "There's a reaper who's been causing us trouble. In fact, you interrupted my investigation of him--"
"Did you think he went to go get a drink?" I interrupted.
"Yes. Now as I was saying--" I interrupted again with loud laughter.
"Dude, you are so fuckin' dumb!" Lupin's brow furrowed.
"Will you SHUT UP AND LISTEN YOU INSUFFERABLE FOOL!?" He shouted, I calmed down. Not because of him, mind you.
"He calls himself The White Reaper. He's taken a fancy to preying on the vampires of the Lions, and has converted several of our angel's to our competitor." Lupin explained.
Their competitor, Steel Hawk, was another merc company, generally seen as cleaner than the Lions.
"We want to know if he's a Steel Hawk or not. If he isn't, he can be dispatched. If he is, we'll have to improvise a different form of death for him." He continued.
"He also dislikes Zombies, sees them as an abomination." My jaw dropped at him.
"You want me to be bait!"
He chuckled. "Yes. Another note, if you can give us his identity that will help immensely. It's a well paying job, 2k in it for you if you comply."
The Lions were scum. Dressed up scum. But this also hit a personal matter. Most reapers do view zombies as abominations, and hunt us almost exclusively. They would too if not for vampires.
"So, what is your choice?" He asked, a shit eating smile on his face.
"I'll take the job." I really couldn't deny it. The guy made what was left of my blood boil, and I loved to fight. I've been dying for an excuse to let go of my boundaries.
He snickered. "I'll inform the boss. You can go know. You'll be contacted later with details on how to fight him, and attract him. You may go now." I got up and took my leave.
~%[Five hours later]%~
The phone vibrated, making a light ring. I picked it up and clicked a few buttons. It was a text from Lupin.
"The White Reaper usually frequents the suburban area the most, especially ones with thick zombie or vampire presence. Often he finds zombie that are especially avid about their humanity and eliminate them. The one neighborhood he frequents is Rainwater Pines. The third text message I've sent will get you in.
Second, the boss wanted dossiers sent to you on everyone you meet, in case you want help. Yes, that includes me. You may request only one person though. The second text message I sent you contains them.
Third, if you need additional resources, the boss's number is below. Give him a call and he'll get you what you need.
Don't die again.
The snarky little asshole. Making a death pun. There's a difference between moking the dead and making fun of it. Making fun of something in my terms means making jokes out of it. Which I'm fine with. But mocking is when you insult with the intention of hurting.
I took a look at the second text. I only really had interest in one of them. I pulled up the Dossier.
Name: Lupin Kingwood.
Preferred firearm: SMG: Berretta model 3
Preferred Melee weapon: Collapsible baton
Super-natural quality: Werelion.
Skills: Lock-picking, investigation, firearms training, melee training, hand-to-hand combat, Occult, Business, explosives, black ops.
Combat background: Paramilitary.
Wow, the little shit was pretty good. I went back to his original text and hit reply.
"I'd like you to watch my back, though not be obvious."
"God damn it, if this weren't the bosses orders I would so murder you."
"Shut up and get some sleep."
I shut off the phone and turned over in my bed, slowly slipping in to sleep.
I awoke to an odd feeling in my cheek. I reached up and grabbed the fat little maggot trying to get in and promptly dropped it in my mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed it. Today was the day. I got out of bed, quickly dressing myself. A one sleeved jacket(The other sleeve was accidentally torn off.) over a simple tank-top and a pair of jeans with brown boots.
I walked out of the house, hood up. I spotted Lupin across the street. It was difficult at first. The auburn-haired prick was difficult to see if not dressed up. Now, he was in a long brown trench coat over a black shirt, boots similar to mine, and a pair of brown pants. He also wore a brown fedora. I could smell the gunpowder and steel though. He wasn't tricking me.
He nodded to me slightly before disappearing in to the shadows. I pulled out my new phone and turned on the GPS, setting it for Rainwater Pines.
Another fuckin' black-out. If I'm not doing complex actions, it's easy for that to happen. I pulled up the document on the phone and showed it to the man at the gate.
"Ah, browsing the houses sir?" He asked with a smile. I could smell sweat and anxiety. He was afraid of me.
"Yeah." I responded blankly. He smiled again and opened the gate.
"We have a nice selection! Hope you find what you're looking for!" I walked past the gate and in to the neighborhood. I started walking around.
An hour later I was approached by an elderly woman.
"Sir, I don't think you should be here." She said with her frail voice.
"I'm causing no harm." I stated and she nodded.
"Yes I know, but certain members might not... be keen on you being here."
"What do you mean?" I said, feigning curiosity.
"Well.... we're good people, honest. But every neighborhood has it's eccentrics. Giovanni is ours. He keeps talking about how bad zombies are. And most of the zombies who move here mysteriously die."
I made my pupils widen. "Why?"
"I don't know. Some say it's--" She cut herself off. "I shouldn't talk about that."
"Do you think it's murder?" I asked.
"Why, that's unbelievable!" she protested.
"Of course it is, Zombies are no less human than you! We might be infected but we can cope. I haven't had an incident for eight years straight!" I said, making a note to keep my voice as loud as inconspicuously possible. I smelled a strange scent... a mysterious void...
"I should go now. Thank you for listening to an old lady." She walked back to her home.
Another hour passed and it was sundown. Just when I thought the white reaper was a no show, I was almost right.
I walked out the gate and kept going. Just I was approaching the bus stop I smelled and odd form of steel. I ducked, and the scythe flew over me. I turned, only to be kicked to the floor. A white cloaked figure stood above me. He brought the scythe down to my head.
I closed my eyes and flailed up, grabbing the scythe before it hit me. I had it just below the blade. I laughed.
"Make peace with your end, I will take you from this world, abomination." I heard him say.
"You know, I get enough bullshit from humans and angels, and then there's you fuckers. And you know, I've been dying for an excuse to let go." My eyes turned red, my grip tightened on the scythe and I heard it creak.
"So," I lifted up the scythe away from my face.
"Here we are, duty and rage." My voice became guttural, animalistic, but I held on, just to say these lines.
"IT'S A FIGHT TO THE END. SCYTHE VERSUS FIST. DUTY VERSUS RAGE. DISAESE VERSUS DEATH," I made the scythe creak more, beginning to bend the wood.
"LET'S SEE WHO FUCKING WINS!" SNAP!