Prologue

85 4 3

by ENGLivesAndZERO

by ENGLivesAndZERO

A brunette stood in a bathroom, staring into the mirror. His blue eyes were piercing his reflection's, and a sad smile formed on his face. Then, slowly, he let his gaze drift towards his right forearm. The bandages wrapped around the limb continue to slowly get soiled with a dark, crimson substance. He sighed.

Then there was a knock at the door.

"Sean, you okay in there?" A deep, masculine voice asks, concern evident in his tone.

"Just fine, Mark!" The wounded man replied, his voice higher with a thick accent.

"Well... Okay... But hurry up -- we gotta get outta here before those fucks decide to break down the damn door again." With that, the sound of receding from the door.

Sighing again, Sean turned back to his wound. Carefully, he peeled the bandages off. A deep, angry bite mark. The wound continued to pulse, spilling blood.

Tears pricking his eyes, the man began to rewrap the wound.

'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'

A dark-haired man sat on a couch, his brown orbs staring boredly at the screen in front of him. On the TV, random, incoherent noises and colors glitched all over the screen. The stubble shadowing his face was a clear giveaway that he hadn't shaved in forever. Outside, a lone groan echoed through the hallways of the small house.

Glancing at the barricaded door, he let out a sigh.

"Goddamn pieces of shit..." He mumbled, getting to his feet and cocking the gun.

However, before he could get ready to shoot, he heard a soft whimper behind him. Chills ran up his spine, and, slowly, he turned towards the source.

Standing there, in the doorway, was the lighter brunette known as Sean, or Jack, as he preferred. He wore a dark green hoodie with his signature Sam in dead center. His already-pale complexion had turned ashen, and his bright blue orbs were flickering, fading. Slowly, the man reached out a hand, and Mark noted that the normally-short nails had changed into dangerous, jagged claws.

"Jack...?" Mark asked.

Jack let out a soft growl, his eyes sad. Mark felt tears brim his dark orbs as the man he considered his brother shook his head, coming closer.

"M..... Mark...." Jack choked, his voice raspy.

Mark looked down before nodding. Slowly, he offered his left shoulder, tensing in preparation. Carefully, Jack scooted closer before nuzzling the older man's cheek. He let out continuous, apologetic growls. Mark sighed, wrapping his free arm around the Infected male.

"I know, Jackaboy. I love you, too. You've been the best friend I've ever had, and I'm glad to have spent this long with you." He managed, holding the younger of the two.

He didn't know if their relationship would be affected once they both changed.

After a year or so of this damn Infection, and losing everyone else, the two men had grown extremely close. They truly had built a bond of brotherhood. That's where this deal had originated: if one of the brothers were to end up Infected, the other -instead of killing him- would allow himself to be Infected as well.

In another state altogether, a young girl with (h/l), (h/c) hair blowing into her (s/t) face. She shook her head. Clicking the gun she held at her hip, her (e/c) orbs scanned for any other zombies.

This is where my story began...