[IC] Wєℓcσмє тσ Nєω Yσяк Cιт- ZOMBIES!

[Soul]

"Ugh..."

Devon groaned, slowly raising his face from the mass of expensive sheets and fabrics that covered his body in it's overwhelming embrace. Cloudy blue eyes glanced around drowsily from beneath messy locks of platinum blonde hair, before the smooth face underneath it smirked slightly in triumph. He remembered where he was - especially so, considering the overbearing, snobby richness that was currently being released from the rectum of his room. He was in a pure royal blue room, complete with a double king-sized bed, a plasma screen TV, and a bathroom that was bigger than his entire apartment room back home. Devon glanced around once more, his blue eyes now half-lidded and alert. He remembered everything now that his brain was refreshed with the oxygen of life. A field trip to New York City, and the school somehow garnered enough money to fund booking more than a dozen rooms at the coolest, most epic-est hotel in America. The Four Seasons Hotel. A pretty dope name for a hotel if he had to set it straight.

"Shit...I'm late." Devon kicked off the blankets that was covering his body, quickly sliding out of bed and falling, rather uncool-like, on his butt. With a snort he leaped onto his feet, throwing the rest of the blankets lazily on the bed. Something felt wrong...but he couldn't put his finger on it. The teen glanced at his alarm clock. "12 AM? Crap...we were supposed to get into the lobby at 6." Now feeling a tad panicked, but keeping his 'cool' persona running, Devon ran towards his closet, kicking open the door and throwing on some regular clothes. A long-sleeved white and red shirt, slim dark red jeans, and black and red converse. His awesome black shades were thrown on next, and the boy glared into the mirror, giving his reflection a 'thumbs-up'. "Looking badass. Totally gonna spin some phat stacks when I get back to the crib." Although his voice was it's usual calm, apathetic drawl, the slight smirk on his face gave way to his real emotions, seeing as his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses. Without a backwards glance, Devon exited his surprisingly neat room....

Only to gasp and scramble back, holding onto his mouth. The hallway....reeked! Badly. And the blood....so much blood. Although there wasn't many people running around, now that he was outside of his soundproof room, he could hear the screaming, the moaning, the gasping from the entirety of the hotel. His room, and a lot of other teenagers' rooms, was on the fifth floor of the resort, but he could still hear sounds from the floors under and above. Devon quickly regained control of his emotions, pointedly looking away from the gutted-open corpse of a nearby man. That man's stomach was like a popped piñata, and his guts like silly string. "This shit isn't cool..." He was cut-off by the corpse suddenly moving. This wasn't cool. Wasn't cool at all. The hallway was dim, but he could still see the man's glowing red eyes, and decomposing skin. Devon breathed through his mouth, grabbing a baseball bat from a nearby cart and twirling it through his hands. He had to gain control of his emotions...

With an inhaled breath, Devon brought his bat backwards, and then forward, like he was playing golf. The zombie's head exploded like a watermelon, showering the boy's shirt and pants in speckles of blood...but Devon wasn't paying attention to that. He was already adapting to this crap, if only slightly. He sighed, crouching by the body and rubbing his pale face free of blood, only to get the red liquid on his hands. This was so...so fucked.

*Gasp* Please, everyone stay calm. There has been a breach of secure- *Gasp* security. Everyone...remain cal-

Devon cursed under his breath, resting his bat against his shoulder, and looking down the hallway. The elevator was there - beeping eerily against the wall, along with the stairs that took him to Floor Four. There were Ten Floors in all, but he just wanted to get to the lobby. ..but, now that he was adjusted to the darkness, he could see quite a few more glowing crimson eyes in the darkness. So, there were more zombies...

"I could totally bust out a fresh rhyme real quick, but this shit ain't legit, never gonna qui- Damn it, no time." The small rap calmed his heartbeat, and Devon quickly regained his calm, cool posture, twirling the bat through his fingers once more before facing the direction the stairs were at. Should he go down a floor, or go up and try to warn the other teenagers...?

"Fuck my life..."

[cerozer0]

"There is forty percent chance that a terrorist attack would occur during this trip.."

Chris was awake, she had been awake since five, yet she was still wrapped tightly within the hotel's given comforter. Her hands were wrapped tightly around a small, blue-covered notebook, and her brown eyes scanned their tattered and inked pages with haste. The pages themselves were covered with an assortment of information, percentages, lessons, anything that could be squished in between the blue lines was presented with messy completion within this book. And Chris was scanning this fountain of wisdom as if it were her only priority.

"A fifty percent chance of a random shooting, fifty-five of witnessing a robbery. Below forty of witnessing a murder." She opened her mouth slowly, letting out a hallow laugh, "now, what's the percent chance of seeing a corpse come back to life?" Bang, bang. Scream. Chris jumped back as something crashed against her suite door, squeaking with fear as the knob began to shake and jingle as if someone was attempting to get in, but the door itself didn't budge anymore. The shaking faded, more screams. A man, and man was being killed now. The yelling faded too eventually, and then it was quiet again. Chris slowly stood up, allowing the blankets to pile around her ankles as she snapped the notebook shut and turned to her duffle bag which had been placed just beside her elegant-looking nightstand, slipping the book into one of the side compartments. And then door shuddered again. Someone trying to get in again? Chris stared at it with growing concern, straining her ears as she hoped to hear if someone was trying to break in again, but could only pinpoint harsh breathing. The breathing continued, but the door knob didn't jiggle, perhaps they were dying? Chris let out a shuddered breath and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on hearing, but quickly fell back as the screams began. Loud and high. A female. There was also the sound of ripping, tearing... Squishing? Chris lifted her hands up to her ears and backed up until her back hit the (in Chris' opinion) tacky wall-papered wall, eyes connected with the base of the door. Something was slipping under the crack, a hand? A shadow? No, it was red, and reeked of metal.

Blood.

The screaming was cut short. The woman was dead, and now a pool of blood was seeping into Chris' room, staining the blue carpet, slowly approaching, slowly, but it could barely pass the bathroom door. Chris whimpered, sliding down until her head hit her knees, and she shook. Afraid, this emotion was fear, she knew that. She had barely experienced fear in her lifetime, but now it was all to familiar of an emotion. The sweat-breaking, breath-stopping feeling that made Chris shake like a child had claimed her mind.

---

The morning had started off well enough, Chris remembered waking up just as the sun was rising, covered with the comfort and warmth of the hotel's blankets. There was no strange noises or smells, just a weird hum from outside her window that she had trouble recognizing, but i was quickly forgotten when she got up and showered, preparing for this day's activities. The field trip, while her family was against letting her go because of her lack of friends, had been enjoyable for the most part. She went to the museum with her school (but spent most of it writing in her notebook), ate lunch alone but in peace in the park, and enjoyed herself while reading and playing around in her nice hotel room. Today held great new adventures to be had, that was for sure, and there was a slightly hope of possibly gaining at least one friend. That was, until she heard the screaming. Chris dried herself and changed quickly and glanced out into the hall, and then it all started. She discovered a body by her door, one of the hotel staff, a man. He was holding onto a mop tightly, which was also splattered with blood, and his eyes were wide and staring but Chris knew that he couldn't see. Still, she opened the door a little more, and shook the body, quickly becoming more frantic as she realized that the hall around her was similarly red to the staff at her foot,

"Wake up, wake up! What's happened? Chris vaguely remembered saying this, but that memory had been tarnished quickly once the body started moving again. At first, she had felt relieved, glad that the man was alive, but then she realized that he still wasn't looking at her. And that half of his neck was missing. He was dead, dead as any dead man could be, yet he was moving. Impossible. Impossible. He reached for her, mouth opening, eyes gleaming red, and Chris pulled back and stumbled. The man was still reaching out, but his head was teetering precariously on it's half-neck. Chris was probably crying, but she couldn't exactly remember, instead her memory all focused in on her sudden brutality; she had slammed the door on the man's head countless times until he finally fell back and ceased moving. Then, covered in specks of blood and tears and sweat, she clambered back into bed and began research, hoping to calm down her beating heart. It had taken six hours.

---

But now, it was beating hard again. Chris knew she was going to die her, it was a fact. She would be gutted or torn apart by whatever killed that man, it was a fact. A fact. Fact... Or... was it? Chris slowly rose her head, staring hard at the room around her. There was a mini fridge, a bathroom, a bed, a dresser, TV, night stand, and behind her head, a window. Jumping would be suicide, since she was on the fifth floor, but there were plenty of objects around her to begin crafting a weapon of sorts. With sudden inspiration the small girl stood and smiled a cold, unusual smile,

"Facts aren't facts until proven, isn't that true?" She said to herself, reaching out to grab her duffle bag. She could fight back, she could try and get to the lobby, and she could escape. Those could also be facts, Chris only had to prove them. Her hands moved on their own, going from shuffling through the bag to the mini fridge, where she began breaking many of the larger glass bottles against the wall. Alcohol stained the wallpaper and carpet and her hands, but Chris was too focused to care. After choosing the largest, best broken bottle, she then turned to the window. The billowing drapes were held on by a golden bare, which seemed to be attached to the wall with small, plastic anchors. They were easily to dig out with only a pencil or her finger nails, and the brackets at the ends of the curtain rod clattered to the ground as soon as they were free. She quickly pulled the bar out of the brackets and examined it's length and weight, then turned back to the large, broken bottle she had placed on the bed. Chris quickly fitted the bottle and rod together, then with a combination of shredded hotel sheets she had tore with scissors and some clear tape that had been found at the bottom of her bag she tied the two items together until they were secure. It was a makeshift spear, and while it seemed rather flimsy it would at least be good at keeping attackers far away.

"I'm not gonna die," Chris began talking to herself again as she slipped her duffle bag over her shoulder and clenched onto her weapon tightly, "I'm not gonna die, and that's a fact!" And with those final words of courage she broke into a run, splashing into the pool of blood without a second thought, and easily opened the door.

The man in front of her door was still there, but it seemed to be fully dead now, and now next to it was another corpse. A woman. She was already moving again, eyes blank and gleaming red, and as soon as the door open her body fell back and landed at Chris' feet, who gasped and rose her weapon. The corpse seemed rather confused, unable to stand properly, and Chris quickly noticed that the woman's stomach had been torn open, but as soon as she did the woman turned over quickly and began crawling, jaws chomping. It showed no evidence of feeling pain from the wound, oddly enough. Chris quickly stumbled back away from the attack and allowed her weapon to drop down into the woman's back, wincing as she felt the sharp edged of the bottle dig deeply into the ashen flesh. She then quickly retracted the weapon and glanced down at the body, expecting it to be un-moving once more, but no, it was still chomping and crawling. The wound in it's back had done nothing to slow it's blood thirst.

'Interesting'

Her mind whispered, but Chris quickly ignored the thought and instead jumped forward, landing just behind the crawler. Not waiting to see if the zombie had turned she broke out into a run, exiting her room and entering the darkened hall. The smell was overbearing, and her eyes had yet to grow accustomed to the darkness, so she ran blindly to where the stairs and elevator had been located, crying out as a voice suddenly appeared over head.

*Gasp* Please, everyone stay calm. There has been a breach of secure- *Gasp* security. Everyone...remain cal-

"Dammit!" Chris whispered, glancing around blindly. There were bodies everywhere, most still dead, but some slowly began standing. If the fifth floor was this bad already, the lower floors would be even worse. She continued running, ignoring the groans and screams behind her, until she saw a somewhat-familiar back standing over a newly re-killed, headless zombie. He was twirling a baseball bat, and seemed to be deep in thought,. His name failed her for the time being, and she wasn't entirely sure if this kid was alive or dead in the half-light, but did it matter right now? Would she survive with other people better than by herself? ... Actually, in the wild, packs were more likely to survive than lone wolves.

"Hey!" Chris cried out, standing at least five feet away from Devon, holding her weapon out defensively, "F-Friend or foe?" The groans from behind were getting closer, and Chris tried to still her shaking arms. Hurry and answer...

"Friend or foe!?" She repeated, brown eyes narrowing into slits.

[Leon_S_Kennedy]

*Gasp* Please, everyone stay calm. There has been a breach of secure- *Gasp* security. Everyone...remain cal-

Jack opened his eyes, 'well that's a hell of a wake up call,' he thought as he sat up. He looked around and felt that slight feeling of panic one gets when waking up in an unfamiliar place before realizing where he was. 'Oh great,' he thought, 'time for another fun filled day.' Even though he knew what the trip would entail before coming, museums were definitely not his idea of a good time. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and made his way to his bag against the closet door. He hadn't bothered unpacking, partially due to the fact he was used to living out of a bag, and partially because he didn't feel it'd be worth the time all the longer they were going to be here. He grabbed the first shirt his fingers came across, a black Pink Floyd 'Dark Side of the Moon' t-shirt, and pulled it over his head. He scanned the room and found the pants he was wearing the day before crumpled next to the night stand and put them on. He pulled a black bandana out of his back pocket and walked to the mirror where he ran his fingers through his hair and tied his hair out of his eyes. His jacket was on a chair in the corner of the room, where he had tossed it upon entering the room the night before with his boots. He put them on and was about to enter the bathroom when he heard what sounded like clawing at his door. "Hold on," he yelled "I know I'm late, I'll be right out." The noise didn't stop, if anything it became louder and more determined. "Jesus Christ," he mumbled as he made his way to the door.

He ripped open the door and was going to curse whoever it was out, but before he could even make a sound a figure tumbled into the room. “Hey, what the hell's your problem!?” he half yelled at the man laying on the floor, “are you wasted or something?” The man was moaning and slowly raised his head and that is when Jack saw that the left half of his face was missing, seemingly ripped from his head. “Hey man, are you alright?” asked Jack taking a step toward the man. As if in reply the man reached out and grabbed Jack's right leg around the ankle and starting pulling it towards his mouth. Reflexively Jack kicked the man in the temple with his boot the mans grasp seemed to lose momentarily before tightening. “Come on, let me go!” Jack yelled as he landed another blow to the side of the mans head with his boot. The man didn't even seem to notice, he just continued to pull Jack's leg toward his mouth. “Seriously dude let go,” Jack said as he brought his boot down with all his force on the back of the man's head. Jack felt the man's skull cave in and his grasp deteriorate. 'What the hell was that,' Jack thought to himself looking at the man's now motionless body. The man appeared to be hotel security and Jack saw a billy club in the guard's belt, he bent over and cautiously removed it thinking to himself, 'better than nothing.'

Jack looked out the door and saw the the entire hallway was bathed in blood and corpses, some still on the ground but others were moving. He the elevators and stairs were to his left and decided they'd probably be his best option. He left the room and broke into a jog, he hoped he could get to the end of the hallway without another encounter. He only made it halfway before he had to use the billy club on the side of a lady’s head, she fell in a heap against the wall. It was now that he noticed two people at the end of the hall near the elevator, they appeared to be alright seeings how they both seemed to be holding weapons. “Hey!” he yelled, “some trip huh?”

[Psych13]

Grace was roughly shaken awake from a very pleasant dream with Jacob Black from Twilight. "What?" She groaned out as she woke up groggily. Her British accent heavy with sleep. She heard a voice speak to her but it was as if she was underwater. The voice was muffled.

She shook her head a little clearing the fog inside her mind. In front of her was her twin brother Isaac. "What?" She asked once again. This caused him to roll his eyes. "Wake up would you? There's bloody zombies outside!" He said with urgency in his voice trying to make her understand the situation.

Grace stared at him with a raised eyebrow. "Uh, Isaac? You feeling alright?" Isaac growled in annoyance. "Grace I'm fine. We need to find a way out of this building. First," As he stood up turning his back to her as he began rummaging around the room, "we need some kind of weapon. Even I know it'd be stupid to go out there without some sort of weapon."

While Isaac was speaking Grace was getting dressed. After she'd finished she decided to forget makeup considering her brother seemed to be in a rush due to the 'zombies'.

Outfit and Hair

Ignore nail polish

When Isaac turned around he paused in shock. "How did you get dressed so fast?" Grace just gave a shrug. "You talk a lot." This caused Isaac to scowl but give her a metal baseball bat. Him having one for himself. This caused Grace to give him a suspicious look.

"Where did you get these?" Isaac then began looking sheepish. "I might have snuck these into your room last night when you were asleep because I planned on getting them this morning so that I could ditch and go play baseball with some of my friends here."

Grace gave him a blank look before she punched him in the arm. "What the bloody hell Isaac?! That is one of the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" She yelled before she began hitting him over and over again. "Can-you-stop-hit-ing-me?" Isaac said between hits. "No!" She said. This continued on until they both heard noises outside.

They stopped what they were doing looking towards the door. They looked at each other then back at the door. Isaac then slowly began walking up to the door with his baseball bat ready to strike. Grace slowly trailing behind him.

Isaac then grasped the doorknob behind sputtering turning it and pushing the door open. They both peeked their heads out Scooby Doo style where they saw a couple of teenagers conversing. Well, one had a weapon of sorts. Which was pointed at the guy and then the was another guy. All of them had weapons. Two of them were near the end of the hall near the elevators. The other guy was on the other side of the hall.

Grace took the bloodied scene well having seen a crazy and unhealthy amount of horror movies in her life. The smell caused her to wrinkle her nose in disgust. Other than that she was good.

Isaac then stepped out into the hallway to be within the 3 teens view. "Uh, sup. We come in peace?" He said to the 3 others. The last part coming out as more of a question. He was wary of other people considering a while ago one of his friends chased him around with a fire extinguisher saying 'Die zombie fucker! Die!'. He's probably dead now.

[breathing_towers_to_hell]

*Gasp* Please, everyone stay calm. There has been a breach of secur- *Gasp* security. Everyone...remain cal-

"A mi pokol...?" The nonsensical gibberish sounding over the PA system slowly fused into recognizable works as Adorján became fully conscious and functioned once again in the bilingual manner he was accustomed to. As far as he was aware, there was no wake-up call requested by the administration when they had arrived at the Four Seasons.

Though, this sounded more like a panicked warning than an everyday wake-up call. The person at the mic was gasping for breath. Adorján pondered this as he rose from the bed and dressed himself-- he couldn't recall what clothes he'd brought along to the trip and, by extension, was currently wearing and didn't really care much. Adorján was well aware that he was a dense person, socially and otherwise, but he was by no means stupid. He brought along the bulky backpack that sat like a sack of salt against the mint-green wall and took a book in his hand-- his latest fancy, a cooking volume by Jamie Oliver-- in case he’d need to make a quick escape.

The door jammed on the way out. Adorján forced it with all the strength he could muster. Relatively, this was not much, but it was enough to open the door a smidgeon with a sickly squishing sound and then a ‘thunk’ as though the door had his something hard at full force. The boy stepped out warily, and looked down in horror upon realizing that whatever had been blocking the door was now a bloody mass on the ground. It appeared to be a human (or an ex-human). One impossibly thin arm was stretching out, bony fingers flexing and gripping Adorján’s leg loosely. He threw the packet of dehydrated ghost peppers that had come with the book in its face.

The mass on the ground convulsed, its hand clenching desperately, and it emitted something like a cross between a breathless scream and a death rattle before ceasing to move entirely. Adorján carefully edged away from the skeletal hand, which had ripped away part of his pant leg, and ran towards the stately stairway leading down to the lobby, thinking it would be no safer to take the elevator in this circumstance than it would if the whole damned building was ablaze. The ornate stairs were no longer anything close to “pretty”, instead littered with bloodstains and human remains, including a corpse with only half its face remaining. Adorján, not nearly as steely and emotionless as he tried to be, had to keep from retching.

He’d arrived in the lobby (having done everything to keep away the remaining threats, from throwing his right shoe at one’s head to headbutting the other) to see something he would have laughed at, were this situation not so terrifying: four or five of his classmates locked in a Mexican standoff, all pointing assorted weapons and speaking candidly to one another. Adorján tried not to bother them and headed towards the decorated gate, both the entrance and exit to the Four Seasons, hoping to make it home to his mother and away from whatever the hell was happening here. One of the taller, faster boys caught up to him effortlessly and queried: “Where the utter fuck do you think you’re going?”

-”Home.” Adorján shrugged, trying to hide his fear (he’d always been unreasonably scared of the athletic, quote-unquote “cool” crowd).

“In one shoe, in a world where the dead move, a kid the size of a shrew?” the boy attempted to rap. In the poor light, his hair appeared an eerie white. “That shit ain’t cool.” he finished.

-”There’s no time for this!” a girl about Adorján’s size hissed.

“Can--” his words caught, and the sandy-haired boy tried again. “Can someone please tell me what the hell happening--?” he’d probably missed a word there. Said a contraction wrong. It didn’t matter, proper grammar wasn’t of the utmost importance like it usually was.