There was hissing like air from a balloon as he withdrew his hand from a desiccated corpse. The boy continued to watch it thud to the ground and stay there before deciding to move on. The crimson sky of Kyoto Bay's evening seemed like every other day, but somehow he knew that he was knee-deep in Hell right now.
He slipped his ashen-grey hands back into his blood-splattered pockets. He could hear the bated groans of nearby infected who were driven insane by their disease, and his instinct nudged him to pursue. He ignored it, choosing to ponder about how he got here. He got no answer again; his past was pitch black and blurred, unlike his eyes which made his glasses redundant and his ears that were eavesdropping on every meaningless moan for god knows how far.
The boy went over what he did know: He woke up under a bookcase, smarting and hungry. He had spied a flock of wizened students plucking at a rotundant pile of flesh. And he reacted. It was only until after walking out of the school library crunching on some zombie pinkies did he get a faint feeling that something aint right.
No past, not much of a present, even less of a future, and only a scented letter in his pack telling him that he was Kha and a female somewhere out there wanted to meet him at the park. But judging from the way things were all over town, the boy doubted the date was still on.
And so he simply soldiered on. Maybe he should find out more about who he was. Maybe he should seek out who turned him into this monster. But Kha shelved the thought as he stumbled into a group of deliciously-shaped nymphoid undead ripe for the picking.
A man can't think on an empty stomach, right?
~~~~~~
I was writing from the perspective of a boss zombie mob. Kinda like Alex Mercer from Prototype. Could turn into an anti-hero, or get gunned down gloriously by the booby humans.
