There was a rotten scent to Wichita, one that refused to go away even after the bodies were cleared from the streets and into what was once a quarantine zone, which was full of its own bodies. Each with a story that would remain unknown to all. He had no idea how many people were left, or if there were any that were real. He saw people, and was always unsure, made even more so by the complete lack of another person. He wasted away as the world around him did.
Before Hell on Earth was awakened, he had been diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia, a condition he could cope with then. He had medicine that his sister made sure he took, and had a fantastic therapist that he went to on (Thursdays?) a weekly basis. That ended in one crisp autumn where when the leaves started to fall, the people did too. Then the people, the ghosts, and the voices came back. He ran out of medicine, and his sister ran out on him, for a reason he forgot.
(Because you nearly killed her?)
She was dead though. He found her body some time ago, and she faded away. He had bigger things to do. He knew it. He left it back in Arizona, and kept walking on. He hadn't eaten in a month, and he wasn't hungry. He felt like God, he needed nothing but them.
They surrounded him, more coming each day, his loyal army of ghosts and voices. They never left, and he didn't want them to.
He was a short way away from a Home Depot, and he chose that to be his domain, his castle. That's when he met him.
He didn't know if this person was real, so he stalked him like a wild animal, foam building at his mouth. His feet crunched the dried, dead grass. He saw this man holding a gun, and that is when he pounced.
Six shots rang out, all of them missing. He saw them hit his ghosts. He saw them fall. His mouth turned into something monstrous, as hit bit at this man's throat. The man screamed for something distant, for help, but it was too late.
He scampered away, blood over his mouth and hands, his prey's skin still in his mouth. He saw more people come, and drag the man into the Home Depot. There were six of them. The Ghosts told him what he needed to do, how to avenge his fallen comrades
He made his move, running into the Home Depot, wanting (needing?) blood. It was the only way. He saw his hunt ahead, his game approaching his domain. There was a crowbar in front of him. He grabbed it and crept behind his first victim. There was little fight due to the sheer power of the swing. He was knocked out, blood pouring out the back of his head. He bashed the crowbar in more, until he saw the gray chunks of his brain.
He ran to the next person, they were holding an axe, he swung at that hand, shattering the bones inside. The axe was dropped with a scream, and he took for himself. Lodging it in the man's throat, chopping until the head was clear off. He saw the rest try to run and hide. He grabbed the axe, and his victim's head, which he threw up above the high shelves of the store. He heard somebody scream and he headed for them.
They ran, but they weren't fast enough. There were two of them, one had a gun. He charged at that one, lodging the axe in his crotch, when he was down he took the gun and shot him point blank in the head. The other one ran, but he threw the axe as hard as possible, and it landed smack in the back of her head. Then he maneuvered behind the shelves until he found the last group of the people.
He still had the gun, and used that to shoot two of the remaining three through the skull, he would finish them later. He picked up a nail gun and started his chase. His speed was nearly superhuman. He tackled the scared man and shot him twice in the stomach. He emptied the rest of the clip in the man's eye. He lied there dead.
The last person was his first victim, immobilized. He went to him slowly, knowing he had time.
After he was done with him, he was unrecognizable. He had turned into a better version of himself. Master of his domain, a god, truly and fully.
He thought he would live forever.
