In the middle of California lay an abandoned, post-apocalyptic weightlifting gym. It was remarkably intact compared to its fellow buildings nearby. In this gym was a very young, handsome, muscular man. He worked out.

He snatched 315 pounds.

He cleaned and jerked 405 pounds.

His training was not over. He grabbed his baseball bat and savagely pummeled the heavy bag with it. It was a form of exercise he called "unleashing your fury." There was definitely a mesmerizing effect in his mind when doing it. And he had to do it. It's his martial art.

"Time to eat," he said to himself. "I'm running low on food supply. I hope I can scavenge some beef jerky."

Despite the semi-bitter weather in California in December, Deon walked the streets of what was once his hometown shirtless. Not that it was his choice, just after escaping death himself Deon had to tear apart his shirt for the use of bandages to keep his head from bleeding out, as well as a few cuts and scrapes he had all over his chest and arms. Now for the most part completely healed, his body bore the scars of what reminded him continually of the destruction brought about this city. Just how far did this plague go? He prayed to god that his little sister Kallian hadn't been affected; she was all he had left.

Deon stopped his mindless wandering for a moment, bending down onto his knees, stooping over a man who had died just hours ago. The rats had already began making a meal of his exposed feet and face, but he had a shirt...a shirt Deon needed. Brushing away a rat that sat on the dead man's shoulder, Deon stripped the smelly clothing from the man and adorned himself with it, instantly feeling relief of the cold December air no longer on his bare skin. These rats were the only thing Deon had seen alive in days, and he had only just missed the man by a few hours. He had to wonder...was he the only one left?

"I suppose it's just you and me then." Deon said to the rat now nibbling at pieces of the man's chin. Deon moved his hand carefully and picked up the rat, putting it onto his own shoulder before standing back up straight and tall, the rat now cleaning it's whiskers after having a full meal. "I think we could both use a bath, what do you think?" He asked the rat with a somewhat bland expression. He began walking again, in hopes to find some fresh water.

Victor ate his last piece of meat that day. It was deliciously roasted right outside of his gym-home on a bunch of burning firewood. "Would this be my last meal with meat?" he was wondering. He still has concerns for maintaining protein in his body, and he doesn't wanna cannibalize for it. He wants MEAT! RED MEAT! PORK, BEEF, LAMB! ANY MEAT! But his favorite was duck. Though right now, he didn't care what kind of meat he'd have. It could be bone-dry chicken breast for all he cared. What matters is to store some food, like a squirrel looking for nuts.

Vic carried his trusty wooden baseball bat with him, holding it tightly in his left hand, even though he was right-handed. It's for protection, and intimidation. He also very aware that the laws of the lands have changed. No more society, it's all anarchy, and it's either kill or be killed. He must be the Apex Predator. It's time to rule the world Victor Lennard style. While he was searching for food, he encountered a man who was wearing a filthy shirt and was apparently holding a rat. He also noticed something unusual. Several feet away from the both of them was MUTATED MONKEY!

"Hey dude! Watch out! There's a mutated monkey behind you!"

Must be my lucky day, Corey thought as he counted up the contents of the wallet he had just snatched off a half-chewed corpse. 140 . . . 160 . . . 180. Corey smiled. "Well, that helps considering I was down to twenty bucks." He stuffed the wallet in his coat pocket and jumped back in his truck, grabbing his laptop from between the front seats and opened it up, punching in the password in the blink of an eye.

He opened the spreadsheet that contained the information he needed for finding his old customers, and the closest one was a guy he had sold his machete to, and he lived four miles away in an apartment complex. Good thing I got the hundred and eighty. I'm going to have to do some driving to get these things back. He closed up the computer and shoved it down between the seats again, jumping from the passenger seat to the driver's seat and noticing the thing that was crossing the road.

Said thing at one point was a dog. Not anymore. Ugly thing, Corey thought as he started the vehicle and gunned the gas, smashing the creature into a montage of blood and fur all over the front of his vehicle. The windshield wipers flicked across his vision twice, and all that remained in his vision was a transparent red smear. Time to get a weapon back.

Henry got into his car and started to drive. The world looked deserted and everywhere he could see dead people and things that vaguely reminded him of animals. Oh god what has happened to the world ? He gritted his teeth trying to keep his focus on the road and not the devastation around. He hit the breaks as he came close to a crossroad, but as he waited for the light to become green he figured out how stupid he was Jesus Henry...there is no one around, just drive

It took him half an hour before he arrived at the mall that he had used to go to, he had figured that there had to be some kind of food stored in there. He stopped as close to the entrance as he could, grabbing his thing he jumped out of the car and ran to the doors. They didn't open and a shot of panic rushed across his mind What if I can't get in ? What if there is something waiting in there He balled his fist and wrapped in his shirt, he had to get in, he had to get food.

The glass shattered after 4-5 punches and once he had a hole it was pretty easy to make it bigger. He dug shards of glass out of their place until he could just barely get in, it was better to make a small hole so what ever was out there could not get in. Gathering his thoughts for a moment he looked around the mall and to no surprise he couldn't see anyone. After a loud sigh he set of running towards the food court.

NPC: Jimmy Dunnevan

Purpose: Random Passersby (This one is only for Corey.)

What you can get out of interacting with him: He bought Corey's good quality machete ( http://zombietools.net/images/weapons/tai_fighter_1200.jpg ) before the apocalypse. He now resides in his apartment, desperate for food. He's willing to sell anything to get money to buy from Martha Stewart, who sells breakfast burritos next doors.

Location: His apartment that was almost destroyed but can still serve as a shelter.

Hint: You can enslave him if you want. There are two ways to do it. Making yourself feared or making yourself loved. When he is enslaved out of fear, he is more obedient to you but also more likely to backstab you. When he is enslaved out of love, he is less obedient to you but also less likely to backstab you.

Another hint: You can kill him and harvest his organs, which sell for great price in the black market. Just make sure you put his organ on ice so it won't rot.

The sun bore down on Alex as she walked down the crumbling road. Wasteland stretched all around her in every direction save for one, straight ahead. Trees lie dead and decaying and vegetation was sparse if not entirely absent. The lonely expanse was welcoming, but frightening. Bandits were common and the law was dictated by the heavier armed. It was no place to be, and not a place she planned on being in any longer.

A gust of wind kicked up sand and she used her hand to shield her eyes from the assault. The barrage caused her eyes to water forming tears that rolled down her dirty sunburnt face. When the gust finally would calm she cast her gaze forward. Finally, civilization came into view. Alexis could feel her spirits lift with each step. Tonight, at least, maybe she wouldn't be sleeping outside.

The town was only a mile or so ahead, a mere hop, skip, and jump compared to how far she's walked thus far, but damn it seemed like so far. She was thirsty, more likely than not dehydrated. She looked down at herself as she walked. Her hoodie tied around her waist, her jeans and tanktop all dirty. Her once fair skin had since sunburned and now had a thin layer of sand from all the dust devils of the wasteland. She felt disgusting.

Closer to the town she came to a large crumpling overpass. Most of it had long since fallen away, and what remained hardly reminded her of something structurally sound. Her biggest fear, was still bandits. She had a pistol, and had proved to be quite tenacious despite her small 5'2” frame. Years of farm work would do that to a body. Still, she knew she couldn't take someone on if a fight broke out, her best bet was the weapon and she knew it.

Her body went on high alert as she approached the structure. Her eyes were keen and her ears sharp despite the throbbing of blood in her temples. Her heart was racing and adrenaline was already making its way into her veins. Then it happened. Her ear picked it up first. A footstep. She froze.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

She turned to see a large man emerge from one of the crevices of the overpass.

“You lost little girl?”

She felt her heart sink as the adrenaline now filled her body. No time to think, no time to grab her weapon. She took off running towards town. She heard the metallic click of a weapon behind her with an order to freeze. Not a chance. She bolted with all she was worth. Pumping her arms for speed she felt fear envelope her. This was it, her worst fear realized... bandits.

Still, her mind did not forsake her, she made a point to abruptly zig-zag as she ran. Then it happened....

Gunfire rang out behind her as the sound of whizzing metal zipped past her, some would even kick up the dirt around her. One she could swear she felt the wind off of.

Yet, as quickly as the fire started, it stopped. Alexis, however, did not. All the way into the town she ran. Passing into the small jungle of buildings she finally stopped at the corner of a sidewalk along a crumbling street. Placing her arm against an old lamppost she gasped to catch her breath. She looked up at the buildings and people around her. A few strange stares, but most didn't seem to give a second glance.

Her hair was now disheveled, her skin burnt and caked with sand, her stomach running on empty, but she was safe. For now.

Deon's head snapped up as he heard another voice. Swiveling his head side to side, his eyes finally happened on the younger boy. Seeing another human being alive was almost enough to make him smile. Almost But before the boy's words had time to even register in his mind, Deon was thrown to the side of the road with a powerful swipe of the mutant monkey's arm. Momentarily getting the wind knocked out of him, Deon rolled over and got to his knees, clutching his side where he was certain that this...mutant monkey had probably bruised a couple of his ribs. Rage coursed through Deon's body as now that boy that had warned him was in the back of his mind, he wanted that monkey dead and he wanted it now. Getting up to his feet, Deon stared the animal down, a gleam in his eye that told the animal that he wasn't to be fucked around with. The monkey, in response, put itself onto its two feet and swung his arms wildly, beating his chest and producing a roar, exposing his fangs for Deon to realize that they were nearly an entire foot long each.

Deon charged the ape on steroids and shot a left hook towards the fuzzballs face, but the monkey used his strong, powerful arm to shield it's face and push Deon's hand back. Now rocking on the balls of his feet with his arms up in a defensive position, Deon wasn't even finished. Deon continued his assault on the monkey, jabbing right, left, kicking up, down...anything and everything he knew how to tire out his opponent quickly. The monkey was relentless, however, and continued to swipe and claw at Deon, being the first one to shed blood as it's claw caught onto Deon's arm and tore the skin through one of his tattoos. Deon had enough, no more games. He jumped back a few feet and grabbed a rock that had crumbled off of a nearby building and attacked the monkey once again, landing the rock square on his head. The monkey let out a terrible roar of pain, but Deon didn't blink. Instead, Deon swiveled himself around the monkey and jumped on it's back, wrapping his thick arms around the it's neck and began to squeeze. Blood poured from the animals new head wound, and now with his wind-pipe being crushed, the mighty animal finally slumped into unconsciousness. Deon climbed off of the knocked out animal and clutched the rock tightly in his hand, and continued to wail the rock into the animals head until nothing but a mangled wad of fur and blood remained.

"Eat up." Deon said to the boy, half joking.

Vic knows this was his chance. He was searching for food and hadn't found any yet, but this man, this powerful martial-artist, might have some leads. 'Maybe he knows where I can get food', he thoughts to himself.

"Hey, uh, I heard Martha Stewart was selling food. You got money for the both of us? I'm hungry," he said to Deon.

What Deon didn't know, however, was that Victor had a sinister plot in mind. He had no intentions of sharing anything with this guy. If he turns his back on him, he's gonna bash him with his baseball bat and rob him of whatever he's got. He knew where Martha Stewart was and planned to stock up on food. He knows it was no survival of the fittest. Though, for now, he had to hide his true intentions and befriend this guy.

He waited for answer. He wanted to know if this guy had money.

Blake went sprawling backwards as a bandit came out of the darkness and hit him. He steadied himself and lashed out with his foot, slamming a heavy hiking boot into the man as he approached again. His assailant wasn't hurt significantly but he was knocked off-balance, which was enough. Blake used the wall behind him to stand up rapidly and charged the man, grabbing onto his head by the eyes and forcing it down to meet his raised knee. He screamed in agony and Blake took the opportunity to kick his legs and get him onto the ground and then stamp and kick the man until he was unconscious. He preferred to get along by his own when he could but the man had attacked him and had clear intention to at least beat him enough to steal his stuff and possibly kill him. He made sure that the bandit was unconscious and then looked over his belongings, finding little. The man had no weapons, medicine, food or anything of the sort except for $200. He took the money and put it into his satchel, depositing it in the previously empty section of the bag he used for money, a pouch accessible from what seemed to be a broken part of the lining.

Trying to get far away from any possible allies of the man, Blake briskly walked out of the building and into the street, trying to find somewhere more suitable for shelter and some more supplies.

NPC:

Name: Martha Stewart
Purpose: Cook
What you can get out of interacting with her: She sells food.
Location: In her house.

Deon shook his head no, keeping a straight face. "No, but there are other ways to get what you want." Deon said with a shrug. Sure he had money, $200 worth stuffed inside of his boot, but he wasn't about to tell a complete stranger that. No, the only one he would ever share his money with would be his sister...if she were still alive. He couldn't afford to think like that though, right now he just had to take care of himself and worry about her later. She was tough, she had pulled through worse; at least that's what he tried to tell himself.

"Show me where this Martha lives, we'll pay her a visit and see what she has to offer." He suggested. Glancing over to the now dead mutant monkey, he figured it would probably be best if they didn't eat something that had been mutated; who knows what that would do to their stomachs.

Alexis stopped and heaved to catch her breath, clentching on the nearby lamppost for support. People passed by her without as much as a glance, except maybe one for her unmistakably bright hair. She expected as much, and was rather happy to be of only minor note.

Her stomach began to audibly protest. She would more than love to oblige but she was sure of where, she'd never stepped foot in this town before afterall.

She untied her hoodie from her waist and started to carefully put it back on. Despite her best efforts it still brushed against her burnt skin causing her to wince and curse.

"Damn," she said with a sharp inhalation.

As she brought her head through the collar she heard a loud ruckus from an allyway just across the road. She let her hair fall on her shoulders as she spotted a rather built man despite his small size. His skin was dirty and his hair short and dark red, almost crimson in nature. His clothes were of heavy material that reminded her of some kind of gang member. It didn't help he emerged to the street looking around as if searching for something.

Alex wanted no part of this. As his gaze swept in her direction she quickly turned away and started walking hoping to find some kind of shop to ask directions in. Her stomach growled again but her heart raced. Had she stumbled into somewhere worse than the wastelands? Was she better off out there?

A small sign caught her attention and she quickly dipped inside. Knicknacks of all sorts lined the shelves, but they held no interest to her. She approached an attendant.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you know of a place nearby I could get something to eat?"

The older man nodded and scratched his scruff for a moment, "Mrs Stewert has some good chow. Just up the street on your right."

She gave the man a small smile, "Thank you kindly, sir."

"Anytime lil missy."

With that she left, still looking out for any shady types that might be around. She found the home with no trouble. Unsure if to knock or walk in she knocked and awaited an answer.

"Alright, follow me," said Victor.

He motioned Deon to walk with him as he headed to Martha's house. It was about a mile away from where they were, and Victor kept alert for any possible hostilities. There could be more monsters lurking, and for all he knew, this man with him could be a whackjob cannibal waiting to ambush him when not looking. He had to be careful.

As he was walking, he saw some pretty disturbing sights. There were lots of dead people, and some looked as if they were eaten by something. He gripped tightly his bat and kept his eyes open, and then looked at Deon.

"You... did a good job against that monkey. What are you, a martial artist?"

Richter...

That was the name of this hound. He was far more vicious than any wolf the world had ever seen, and can take on a mighty lion in combat. He wasn't a regular animal. He was rare, and Juliana was its master.

However, when the apocalypse happened, he got separated from Juliana and was now wandering alone, scavenging for food. He would occasionally see dead meat, from humans, or it would kill the occasional cat. But he was better off with his master.

He was wandering around an abandoned hospital, looking for more food, but can find none. When will his master see him again?

"Hi. Remember me?" Corey asked, twirling his keys around his finger, when the man opened the door of the ruined apartment. "You are Jimmy, right?"

"Uh, yeah. And . . . I don't remember--wait. weren't you the guy who sold me that sword thingy a while back?"

"It's a machete, Jim, and due to the circumstances, I need a weapon, meaning I need that blade back."

Jim hesitated. "I can't just give it back. I need a little compensation so I can survive," he said, rubbing his fingers together.

Corey pulled out his cash. Most of it was in twenties, and he had sold the thing to the guy for only ten bucks. "How about I give you twenty and you give me that sword and some food? Whaddya got stored up?"

"Thing is . . ." Jim mumbled, "I haven't got food. I've been buyin' from this person next door."

"Riiight. You mean to tell me you haven't got an emergency stash? Surely you aren't that dumb."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jimmy said, refusing to make eye contact now and twiddling his thumbs.

"You're lying, Dunnevan."

"Alright, fine! Yeah, I've got a stash. Got a good potato casserole in the freezer. But that ain't cheap!"

"I offer you twenty for the sword and the casserole." May not be the best stuff in the world, but it'll be food. "You can buy some much better stuff with that money."

Jim seemed to be stalling. Eventually, with a sigh, he answered, "I'll give you the stuff, but you get out of my life after this."

"Deal."

"Now where's the money?"

"I have to see the sword and the food first, and it has to be on the floor between us, and then I'll hand you the money. I have reasons right now not to trust anyone."

Jim seemed reluctant, but he went into the apartment and gathered what Corey had asked for, set it on the floor in the doorway, and Corey handed him the twenty. Not another word was said as Corey gathered up the stuff and returned to his truck. He climbed in the back seat, shoved the rather large, frozen casserole in the dash so the sun would bake it, and began searching on his laptop again for his next sword's location.

Deon had no interest in talking to this kid, the only thought on his mind was to get some food. He would do whatever it took to keep his two-hundred dollars not only secret, but fully intact as well. If his sister did come back, she might not have any money. And the longer Deon held onto the money, the more valuable it would become since everyone else would start to fret it away. Well...Deon had to think that there was an 'everybody else.' This kid was still alive, and now he was mentioning some woman who sold food so she obviously was doing well. He had to think though, if this Martha Stewart was doing so well, able to provide food to those who needed it...how did she come off so easy? The entire city around them was a wrecked city of death, plague and turmoil. No, something didn't smell right to Deon, and it wasn't the sweaty kid walking next to him.

"Something like that." Deon answered curtly and pushed on ahead, making it clear to the boy that he wasn't there to talk, only to survive. Once they made it to the indicated door that the boy had pointed out, Deon rapped his knuckles on the door, a strategy coming to his mind as he waiting for this Martha to open it for them.

Blake skulked through the city, carefully making his way through the shadows and staying away from people. It wasn't that he couldn't deal with them, he had just proved that if he had needed to, but that he didn't want the trouble and the effort. Even some weak street punk who went away with a flick of his wrist required effort and could give him an injury and in this world fatigue was far from ideal.

As he walked, he realized that he needed to eat. There was no more food in his bag and he wasn't optimistic about scavenging in a relatively crowded area such as this. He remembered hearing about a woman who sold food and so made his way towards the area where she was supposedly located. As he approached her door, he noticed a few others were assembled too but if they were customers they were unlikely to cause trouble and if they tried anything he would take advantage of the chaos.