His breath grew heavier as he cautiously crept through the dark, musty alleyway just westward of the hideout. Bruised but not bitten, thank God. Suddenly he stopped and sniffed the air. Slowly, he turned around, dreading what he'd see next. Sure enough, his gaze was met with flocks of Them. Their skin was pale and sickly, their hair thin and dry. Their faces were ripped apart, the only thing hiding the skull a thick layer of blood. Their arms and legs looked like they'd been viciously eroded and their shirts were barely held together by single threads. The air reeked of rotten meat, but with a strike of cheap perfume. These monstrosoties were limping towards him at a threatening rate. He had no idea how they found him, but he knew that if he didn't get out alive, he'd have to start all over again. Quick as a blazing fire, he lunged a small grenade in the direction of the gnarling zombies. Theywere knocked unconcious by the impact. He took a few hesistant steps back, then turned and loped forwards, running for his life. Zombies were starting to resuscitate. They lagged up, their snarls broken as ever. He pacened. If he didn't reach the end of the mission, all would be lost. Every last bit of work he put into this life would be gone in an unchangeable instant. He heard the struggling breath of the undead not far behind him, he felt a bloodied hand reach his shoulder. He violently shook the beast off and got an SF2 Civilian Model assault rifle out of his ripped backpack. He rose it up to his eye, he aimed, and-
"Jenny! Bedtime!" my dad called from downstairs. I groaned and paused the video game.
"Five minutes, I'm kinda in the middle of something!" I called back.
