a series of sbi oneshots

our zombie

tommys a zombie who doesn't wanna eat people he meets sbi and they like him and don't want him to leave

or

sbi is a dick and think they own everything

The only thing between Tommy and certain doom is a car. Bright red and in surprisingly good shape given the current state of the world. It’s covered in dust and two wheels are missing but it could be worse. He can’t count the number of times he’s come across broken-down vehicles now. The tombs of desperate people who stupidly thought ‘Hey! Surely I can drive away from the incoming hoard and won’t be viciously slaughtered!’

The remnants of the car’s driver speak for themself.

Faintly, Tommy can hear the breathless gurgles and cries of the zombies. Wandering down the street, hunting for something - or someone - to take a bite out of. You see, this wouldn’t usually be an issue, not at all, but the growing group of mindless feasters has caught sight of a group of stragglers who’ve locked themselves inside a run-down gas station.

If he moves his head up a bit he can catch a glance of the survivors. They’re stuck inside, but the door won’t hold for long, it never does. And it would be fantastic if the zombies would just break down the door already and eat them so that Tommy could go on with his day, but he’s never been that lucky.

And nobody this incompetent has survived so long.

That’s why Tommy isn’t surprised when they open the door and come out blasting, armed and angry and clinging to life. The zombies never stood a chance, which would look totally cool and action movie-esque if Tommy wasn’t a zombie himself.

He stays low, hoping, praying that they’ll clear out the immediate area and leave. Because while the whole dying and coming back and somehow remembering things wasn’t great, Tommy was inclined to want to stay alive for a bit longer as well. And while he didn’t crave brains or whatever he couldn’t exactly communicate that to the living, breathing people who would blast his head off on sight.

The sounds of violence come to an abrupt halt with a final horrible squelching noise. He dares another peak and immediately regrets it when he sees one man’s boot having caved in one of the zombies' heads.

He wants to puke, but puking would be very not cool, and also Tommy hasn’t really eaten in a while so there’d be nothing to puke up anyways. Doesn’t make him feel less sick though.

He waits until he’s heard the small group leave, the revving of a small pickup truck giving them away, and then finally once he can hear nothing at all, he gets up. He makes a dash for the station and luckily isn’t interrupted. The inside is ransacked, completely empty. Still, he goes through the aisles hoping against hope that somehow something will have survived.

By the time he leaves the only additions to his pitiful backpack are a can of cat food and some partially crushed whole-grain bars. It’s better than nothing.

He would swear if he had the vocals for it, but the most that comes out is a pathetic gurgling sound which only makes him more frustrated. He storms out of the station and flips off the general direction of where the group disappeared to.

Still, there are more important things than some idiots who’ll just die in a little while, so Tommy determinedly makes his way back towards his small camp.

It’s a bit pathetic. And he knows it, ok!? It’s just… he hasn’t had the chance to clean up really. It’s located in the remains of an old mall, filled with undead like him, except he has his thoughts left, unlike those idiots. The camp itself is the backroom of an old plant shop, it’s small and hidden and perfect for him to stash what little he can find.