FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It's been five months. Five horrible months since a biological disease moved through the world, threatening to wipe everything out in its path. The symptoms were stuff of nightmares.

Skin loosing color.

Heart slowing down.

Muscle spasms.

Hallucinations.

Death within a few short hours.

And then coming back to life as an infected fur that was once sane that hisses, and bites at anything that walks its way. Its blood shot eyes would lock onto you, tongue lashing out, and reaching the hands that were once gentle to grasp you with an iron lock grip.

Infected with the virus, the disease would rush to the brain, taking a trail through the body, and finally reaching the appropriate destination.

The brain.

With the main computer of an individual under its control, it would consider anything around it an enemy, and attack with ruthless force. Although the infected can move very slowly, getting in their grasp is one move you will regret.

Following the phrase "stick in groups", the undead flock together like a bunch of mindless freaks following a fake religion.

Then they strike.

And one bite is all they need to turn you into one of them.

Just one bite, and the virus would be carried inside you, to your brain, and turn you in a few hours. And I was dumbfounded I had survived for five months. I thought I would be dead within a week.

Getting to the abandoned apartment complex in Chicago was a chore in itself. Mindless hordes of undead littered the streets of what used to be a bustling town, and I had to chop through it. Slash by dangerous slash.

Living south of Chicago, it was my only choice to move north. My suburb was being overrun, and I needed somewhere else to mend my time, and gather my thoughts. Or the thoughts that I had left anyway. I started to dig through my mind of everything I know about myself. It helps me keep my sanity. My name is James Range, but most people just call me "Range" for short due to my experience with weapons. I never shot a gun in my life, but I always found them interesting. I have caramel brown fur, and a black tail with a black muzzle, and paws. I have a blood type of AB which is rare, and gave my blood regularly to help people with blood transfusions.

Snapping me out of my trance when I looked on the horizon, I realized I was at one of the biggest cities in all of Illinois.

Chicago.

I arrived on the outskirts of town which was miles away from the actual city, baseball bat in my right hand, and a backpack on my back. Taped in several places, my baseball bat was on the verge of becoming nothing more than a few splinters. My hands were blistered from gripping the wood too hard, afraid to lose the weapon that protected my life.

And I walked.

I just walked.

Nowhere to go in the rain as it poured down in sheets, and devoured the landscape around me, I decided to set up camp in a nearby restaurant that was closed up. And it seemed I wasn't the only one.

Birds nested inside, flying in through the broken windows of the shop, seeking refuge like me. I never got the name of the shop because the letters on the front were torn to shreds from artillery barrages in the early days of the outbreak where panic broke loose along with a few "accidents" from the military. But I knew better.

They wanted the infections gone. Everyone did. And to the military, firebombing would destroy the monstrous plague forever. The only thing it did was kill off anything in the vicinity of the blast, and make the civilian population think worse of the military. That was when the government collapsed in on itself. Soon it was everyone for themselves.

The rain pitter pattered on the roof of the building, and some birds didn't mind that I came into their territory that they had set up. An old wooden desk with a small cash register was in the middle of the room while a back room with an almost destroyed wooden door was in the back, tucked away. The back room would be the perfect place for a base of operations.

So that is what I did.

Ripping off the wood from the desk, I boarded up the back room door rather sloppily to avoid being intruded on by the undead. The back room was dark due to the very little light. The only light I could use was the light coming from the flashlight I had stashed in my bag.

Finishing the door, I closed it, locked it, and was barricaded inside the small room. Putting my backpack down with all the supplies I had, I shined my flashlight over the room. Seeing something red appear in the artificial light, I walked over to the glow.

The object was painted red, and dust crowed over it like it was attracted to it. A red button was on top, with a distinctive "on" written crudely under it. I shined my flashlight over to see a red cord moving up the right side of the wall, and connecting to a rusty light bulb.

The red object was a generator.

I smiled to myself, never thinking I would ever get the luxury of having light. Pressing the button with excitement, I waited to see if the generator would come to life.

Nothing happened.

I pressed in the button once more.

Nothing.

I sighed, knowing it was too good to be true. Then I heard it. It was slight humming sounds like a bunch of bees crowding together, but less intense of a buzz. The generator started to vibrate slightly, and I knew right then that it worked.

I smiled again. It was the first time in a while.

The light bulb flickered a bit before turning on. What I saw shocked me, and I felt my heart skip a beat. A bright and sleek black wonder was sitting before me. The white keys shined with a strange glow while the back keys equally had a luster. In gold lettering, a small signature was signed on the side, indicating it was not a copy. I had to remove the lump in my throat as I walked toward the grand piano that was standing before me.

And almost wanted to scream when a body laid over top of it, his lifeless body drooping over the keys. A black suit was his attire along with charcoal black pants. A bright red tie was slung over his neck while a distinctive watch garnered his right arm.

A pistol sat in that hand as well.

The distinctive bullet hole was visible on the upper part of the individual's forehead, and a dry, once red liquid was dabbed over the middle of the piano, and down the man's white vest. He was defiantly an aristocratic man, and I drew the conclusion he couldn't take it anymore. Although the blood was dry, the suicide probably happened recently.

I shook my head at the thought of putting a weapon to my head, and pulling the trigger. Even in the beginning, I found strength. I thought of ending it all so many times, but I fought on. I fought on to find my family. Even though they might be dead.

Walking up to the body, I threw it over my shoulders, and walked over to the boarded up door. I sighed, knowing that my previous work was in vain as I ripped down the wood that I put up. Opening the door slightly to see it was sunset, and the rain cleared, I saw no undead, and walked the body to the street. Throwing it down on the road, I shook my head, and reached to close his eyes.

"Rest in peace..."

Closing his lifeless eyes slowly, I knew there was nothing left to do for him. That was until I saw a shovel leaning on a tree nearby. I must not have seen it due to the rainstorm before. I decided to do what would be best, and buried the fur to prevent disease to spread.

Finding my shelter with the grand piano once more after I buried the body, I hastily boarded the door back up once more, and grabbed the pistol that was laying on the piano. I removed the clip to see it was full, and moved a round into the chamber with a click. Putting the safety on, I pocketed the weapon.

Reaching into my backpack, I pull out a shiny device that proudly displayed, "Ipod Touch" on the back. I smiled to myself, and stuck the ear buds inside my ears. It was the only way to escape this war between a virus, and the living. Music helped with it.

Grabbing my backpack, and using it as a pillow, I rested by head upon it, and felt my eyes drift downward. Telling myself I was safe, I drifted off into a light sleep, making sure to keep my ears tuned for any sign of shuffling.

I dreamed of clouds. Puffy white before the outbreak happened. Not orange and full of smog from endless brush fires being lit to light up the night. I heard from the satellite that orbits earth, millions of tiny fires burned like embers upon the earth.

I wonder how those astronauts are surviving.

So alone, and wondering what the hell was happening to their planet they were once on.

With a jerk, I awoke from my sleep. A bird outside the door chirped loudly before flying off at the sound of a moan. Not just any moan, but one that rattled your bones, and made your muscles tense. One that froze your blood, and made you shiver like you were trapped inside a raging blizzard.

The moan of the undead.

It wasn't a physical harm to you, but more like a psychological. I have heard of many committing suicide, or going insane due to the moaning of the infected outside the safety of your home, or so you thought was safe. They would gather in numbers, clawing at your door without any result. They would just keep gathering until they looked like a giant swarm of bees from aerial view.

Knowing instantly how to prepare, I reached into my right pocket, and clicked the safety off with my index finger, and got off the ground. Looking around the room for a melee weapon just in case I would have to fight it head on, I found a fire axe sitting on a nearby wall, and armed myself properly.

Grabbing my backpack, I took off the wooden boarding's of the door, and opened it slightly to peek out. A fur in his middle ages shuffled the barren streets, dragging his left foot as he hobbled slowly down the road. Soaking his shirt, a crimson red liquid snaked its way down the shirt that he wore. A blood shot eye moved towards the door when the thing heard it open. Since they cannot see, the infected rely on their hearing, and use it to their advantage.

Moving towards me, I noticed his left leg was wrapped, and the same liquid on his shirt was noticeable on the bandage around his ankle. It was obvious the fur tried to wrap the wound to disinfect it, but to no avail.

He was no longer a person.

I opened the door which made many birds chirp angrily, and fly away. The undead fur still pressed on towards me, limping, and rasping. His arms reached out towards the sound he heard, wanting to wrap a death grip around me.

I aimed the pistol, getting his head in between my crosshairs, and pulled the trigger. I was not expecting the recoil to kick back as hard as it did, and the bullet I fired hit a nearby tree, sending sharp wood everywhere.

Being more careful with my shot, I aimed, and held my breath to concentrate. I pulled the trigger once more, and heard a sound of metal hitting flesh. The bullet carved through the weakened layer of skin that the infected man had, and easily pierced the brain.

The body fell limp.

Putting the gun at my side, I realized it would be best to find a better place to take shelter in. Looking towards the urban outline of Chicago, I knew exactly where I had to go. I had to go kick the hornets' nest.

Many people say to stay away from the city, saying it is filled with clogged alleyways, and roads alike. Not only the moaning undead you have to worry about, but the living as well. Gangs would run through the town toting automatic weapons like it was a satanic gun party. Psychopathic people that were once normal would roam the streets as well, taking pot shots at anything that walks their way.

Territory was the new currency, and everyone was all in. With the government collapse, laws were in the hands of the civilians, and many just created their own rules. Gangs had no rules. And they proved it by taking over territories within the city. Territories were called "Grids" since power was everything.

Moving in to secure the different electric plants for themselves, gangs quickly disbursed into the North aka Grid one, South aka Grid Two, East aka Grid Three, and West aka Grid Four. Each of the facilities were taken over by the four different scums that decided they ruled Chicago, and started to tax the individual furs that lived in their Grid, and used the power supply for their own survival.

And I decided I wanted to experience firsthand of what "city life" was all about. I lived in the country mostly, and dealt with the rural woods, and small lakes and rivers that dotted where my house was. It was a small house; white siding on the top with brick on bottom, but it was big enough that our family could get by without any problems.

I just started college when the news came on that one horrible day.

There were reports of cannibalism. And it wasn't just the normal, small cult cannibalism shit that happened, but huge. Ten people brutally mauled by twenty slow walking individuals. The slow walkers were "taken down" by police, and the bodies hauled away for "examination." The police reported that twenty bodies were notorious robbers, and part of a syndicate, and were going to be killed anyway.

The story broke national news, and everyone started to hear murmurs of discontent. One day later, a reporter was suddenly bitten by a victim of the mauling, and the doctors blamed it on that the victim was traumatized. Some of the victims got extremely ill, and the antibiotics didn't help. The doctors and nurses that saw almost every type of disease were speechless when a victim was found dead the next day, spewing saliva on the floor like a rapid dog.

A women that was on anesthetic got up, and started to walk, and the heart monitor had already stopped. The women grabbed the doctor, and bit him as well before she could be put down by the guards that were recently put outside the door.

And the disease spread, and spread, and spread until it was literally knocking outside of my door. I was home alone, and spring break started so I decided it would be nice to have time to myself. I closed my door that led into the room, sat down, and played xbox with some of my friends. My parents were gone, off in the nearby city of Chicago with my sister. They wanted to see the Empire State Building...again. And eat out. I should have joined them.

"Did you hear about the disease? I think it might reach my neighborhood soon..." Said one.

"Pssh, don't be so naïve, James. I am sure the military has it taken care of." Another said.

"You sure? I don't know if..." I tried to say, but I heard a banging on the door. I forgot that I ordered pizza for supper.

"Be right back. I think my dinner is here."

Walking to the door, I looked out the window nearby to see a kangaroo banging against my door. His eyes were rolled back in his head, and moaning could be heard from him that rumbled my ear drums. Another one started to limp towards my door. Then another.

And another.

I started to panic, knowing that the undead were just outside my door. I ran upstairs, turned off my xbox quickly to muffle noise which I heard from the TV when dealing with undead so they cannot hear you, and grabbed an air soft gun that was inside my closet. It was better than no protection at all.

Flipping it around, and using the butt of the gun as a blunt weapon, I walked slowly to the door. The banging started to get louder as I made my way towards it, and could hear the fists of the kangaroo bashing against it.

I gripped the knob of the door, my hand shaking violently as I prepared myself for what would happen. The door shot open, and I didn't know the infected had so much power. It hobbled towards me, its mouth opened as its arms tried to wrap around me. I used the butt of the gun, and wacked it across the face before it could get to me, and then while it was hunched over, hit it in the back of the head with the gun.

A sickening crack made me realize I had broken the intruders scull, and I decided to high tail it back upstairs before the other two infected could get to me. I closed my door, and locked it. I was panting, and almost sobbing at the same time. I never killed a person before! I even felt sorry for people I killed in video games! I wasn't a warrior!

But then I remembered that the infected weren't people anymore, but husks of flesh able to move against their will. The human part of them already gone and demised while their physical being still in existence, wanting to spread the virus along to another victim.

I bit my lower lip, trying to hold back the tears of confusion, and utter terror. What happens if I am next? What happens if I can't go on? I shook my head, and looked to my right to see a window looking over the bright city of Chicago. Thousands of people were out tonight, and I watched in horror as the bright city started to glow brighter.

Fires started to burn, and the power started to go out.

The bright city was now illuminating with an orange glow instead of the pleasant yellow glow. I remember when I was young, I would stare out at the lights when I could not sleep, and I would get peace from it. Now what I saw was nothing, but fires, and when I listened, the sound of gunshots that were miles and miles away.

I breathed deeply, knowing that the tears must stop, and I must act if I want to survive. I used the butt of the air soft rifle to burst open the window with a crash that sounded like a thousand pins dropping at once. I used a strap from a duffel bag to tie the air soft gun to my back, and jumped out the two story window. Surprisingly, I landed on my feet, and felt the sting from the force of the jump.

Then I just started to run. I didn't know when I would stop, but I just ran. I found shelter in a nearby shack, far away from civilization, and far away from anything that would try to bite me. And in the skyline, I could see black clouds rising and a strange orange glow over the city of Chicago.

The fires burned all night.

That is when I made the hike to Chicago after I settled in the shack. I found a nearby backpack, discarded and nearly destroyed on the road. Luckily, boy scouts in my early years helped me craft it back together. Thank God for the crafting class that I thought I was never going to use in my life.

I had to craft my own weapons. My own tools. Hell, even had to use different herbs when I caught a cold. I was learning to survive again on my own.

And here I am, running away from the piano shop to get away. Being the closest, the Southern Grid was the closet to me, and I decided to aim for that. I passed a few patches of shuffling infected, limping towards me. I had to waste another bullet on an undead wolf that almost got his deathly grip around me.

About two hours later, I was on the outskirts of what used to be the most bustling city of Chicago.

Pilled high with debris.

Cars lined the streets with no one to drive them. Ajar doors had visitors inside of them, prowling inside. Some cars shuffled back and forth, signaling that something or what used to be someone was inside. Random objects were scattered across the freeway like litter, and a huge sign said in bright letters that was chipped away said, "Welcome to Chicago!"

Instead of Chicago, the words were wiped away with a red paint, and instead said bluntly, "Welcome to hell."

I griped my pistol, making sure the safety was off as I pulled it out of my pocket. As I walked by the graveyard of cars, and different debris, some of the shaking cars stopped moving. People who were bitten by infected, and turned inside their cars were still buckled up inside.

One reached out from a broken window, and I moved away quickly to avoid its grasp as it rasped at me. Another reached from behind, and brushed my shoulder. That one took me by surprise, and I had to keep myself from pulling the trigger, and signaling everything in a mile radius that fresh meat was available.

As I walked, the people that weren't undead were dead. A kangaroo was leaning against the steering wheel, his eyes staring into mine with a lifeless glow. His mouth hung open like he was about to utter a blood curdling scream. His hands clutched the steering wheel with such grip that I could make out claw marks.

He died of shock.

I shook off the feeling of guilt for him since there was nothing I could have done, and continued onward. More cars started to appear, some with broken fenders in the front, and back. Others were completely totaled. An 18 wheeler plowed through several trying to escape Chicago. A mark on the windshield where glass broke was a dried brown signaling that whoever was in it hit the vehicles, and slammed his head against the glass, killing him instantly.

I walked over to the 18 wheeler, and opened the door to see the body still buckled in, and unharmed. He was dead before the infected to sink their teeth into him, and could not become a walking monster.

I pulled the victim out of his truck, and laid his body down. I searched his pockets, looking for anything valuable. Pulling out a leather wallet, I opened it up to see several $100 dollar bills tucked neatly inside.

Probably for the man's bills.

I then saw the identification of the Possum. His name was Tyler Right. Born 1980, and married.

Three children.

When a lump started to form in my throat, and my stomach turned inside out, I decided not to dwell on the poor bastard's past any longer, and threw the I.D card away to never lay eyes on it again. I hate learning about victim's previous lives. It makes me sick to my stomach to see everything they found precious ripped apart.

Climbing up on the truck, I saw in the cup holder that there was an unopened bag of chips, and nearly screamed in glee. It has been forever since I had anything salty. I didn't care if they were past their expiration date.

I put the bag inside my backpack for later enjoyment, and searched the truck even more. I found a flashlight that was used if the truck ever broke down, and a first aid kit. I decided to take both for my travels.

Feeling satisfied with the search, I left the 18 wheeler, and carried on towards my destination. What powered my through the endless display of death was the hope of finding my family.

Alive.

My mind started to drift back to when the skies were blue, and birds sang beautiful songs. Where school was on my mind and survival came easy. Where clans on games came first, and resources for "apocalypse now" came second. Now I regret not doing anything for this day.

And I regret not going with my family.

Not paying attention to where I was going, I stepped on something, and slipped. I fell to the ground, and instinctively turned my safety on my pistol off so I would not end up shooting myself in the leg. What I slipped on was fresh, red, and warm. It was blood.

Not a lot, but enough to make you wonder where it all came from.

Then I saw the source. A female doe in her thirties started to hiss, and groan at what disturbed her. She got up slowly, her legs almost buckling beneath her body. She slowly turned around, bloodshot eyes glaring at me, and arms reaching towards me. She wore a business suit, and red lip stick still gowned her mouth. She reminded me of a movie star, but without make up.

But now she was entirely something else. Something that wanted to get closer, and not in the friendly way. As she hobbled closer, I moved back further and further away. I reached for my pistol, clicked off the safety, and aimed. I pulled the trigger, signaling to anything that the next meal was on the way.

The bullet tore through the cranium of the infected women, and punched through. She fell limp to the floor, and I couldn't help, but feel sorry for her. Too bad I didn't have time to reflect on what happened, and next thing I knew I was tearing down the highway, sprinting away from the infected that gimped down the highway with intent on finding a new host.

Tripping, I felt my arm burn when I slid against the ground, and I landed on my shoulder. Another infected that was in front starred down at me with empty eyes that reminded me of a cavern so deep and dark you couldn't see any light. It leaned forward, and grabbed my arm, and with a sharp tug it pulled me towards its open mouth.

I started to yell, pushing away at the arm of the infected, but to no avail. I tried to push away the thought of being bitten. The thought of having to have the last bit of life sucked out of me in a few hours. I started to think of my family. I started to think of everything I have done in my life, and what I could do better. And I started to feel a warm liquid flowing down my right cheek, and then my left.

It was a miracle I lived.

With a crack, a shot from a rifle rang out from far away, loud enough to shake the very core of one's being. The bullet ripped through the infected's arm, tearing through muscle, and bone before making its final decent off a car's windshield, setting off a piercing alarm. All hell started to break loose as more gunshots were fired. Some closer than others while some too far away to tell.

I felt a white hot pain on the bottom of my stomach when another gunshot rang out, and I looked downward to see a hole. And blood was seeping through. I put my hand against the wound, but felt the world turn. A thousand questions shot through my mind like the bullet that ripped through a wolf's torso.

Am I bitten?

What is going on?

Should I run?

Why can't I move?

I stared down at my torso only to see a hole about as round as an "ok" mark one can make with an index finger, and middle finger. I grabbed the wound to feel it was fresh, and realized that if the bullet that I was shot with hit any vitals, I would not be alive very long.

Hearing my heart thump softly in my chest like an unturned drum, I could feel death coming closer and closer to me, as if taking its time. I lifted my hand away from the wound, and saw it was coated in blood, but not just anyone's blood, but mine.

My vision blurred in and out of focus as I walked forward, gimping like an elderly man without his cane. Each step felt like hell, and eventually I collapsed onto the ground, unable to move since movement was unbearable.

All of a sudden like an icy wind, the pain slowly disappeared, and was replaced by nothingness. I started to wonder if I really was dying. My eyes pressed down, wanting to close so I finally obeyed their wishes, and slowly closed them.

If this was dying, it wasn't so bad.

Next thing I knew, I was laying inside an apartment room that was falling apart. My head throbbed like my heartbeat before, and my mouth was dry. I blinked a bit, and rubbed my eyes, but my arms felt like bricks as I lifted them to my face.

Looking around the room, I saw a single bed tucked away in the corner with an ironically preserved writing desk while everything else around it was fading slowly. Even the paint on the walls was fading.

Looking down at my body, I realized a bandage stretched all the way from my shoulder down to my lower torso. A brown spot was visible on the once white bandages, and the previous liquid was red. The brown spot was due to dry blood.

Trying to sit up, I quickly realized that the movement was a bad idea, and pain shot through my system like lightning. I decided that lying down would be my best motive, and waited for anyone who would appear in the room.

It felt like hours waiting in the room alone, confused, hungry, thirsty, and battered. As I wondered what would happen, A Doberman walked inside, and closed the white door that led into the room.

Looking the dog up and down, I noticed he had a scar on his left eye that ran down to his upper chin. He had a very rough figure, like he been through insanity and back, lost in his own memories. He walked up to me, and looked down grinning saying, "Ahh, sleeping beauty has finally woke up."

I blinked twice, confused, and asked, "Who the hell are you?"

His face becoming blank, and having a real intimidating aurora about it, he said, "The name is Chris, and I saved your life so show at least a little bit of decency."

"Wait...you saved me?"

The Doberman nodded , and said simply, "Yep. You had a bullet lodged in your lower gut when I found you. A few more inches over, and instead of breaking off a rib, it would have ripped through your heart. The gangs were unhappy about us not paying taxes, and decided to go on a rampage down the highway you were on, shooting anything that was alive or dead. You just got in their way. "

I gulped, and clutched my chest. "So where am I know?" I asked while looking down at the bandages that covered the bullet wound.

"You are at Grid number two. The Southern Grid."

I was too shocked to even think how hard it was for me to get dragged all the way here. "So what do you mean by taxes?" I asked as the Doberman grabbed a pair of glasses.

"Anything really. People, territory, objects, even weapons. Sometimes gangs need resources themselves, and they tax us for allowing us to use the electricity that is generated from the Grid. Grid two is run by a nasty gang of killers. I believe they are called Death's Hand."

"So you people didn't pay taxes, and the gang just decided to go on a rampage?" I said as I felt a spurt of pain run down my torso.

"Pretty much."

The Doberman pulled something out from behind him, and I noticed it was a glass bottle. An orange tinted liquid swirled inside, and the cork that was on top snugly imprisoned it. That was until the Doberman popped open the bottle, and put it up to his mouth. It had a foul smell, and I knew exactly what it was.

It was whisky.

"Drinking will only worsen your heath." I chimed in.

"And so will getting shot."

He took a swig of the strong alcoholic beverage, and walked over to me, offering me a hand. I took his paw, and he gripped my arm hard as he lifted me off of my sitting position. I felt more bursts of pain, but quickly shook it off.

"So what is your name?" I asked as he walked over to a table, grabbed my backpack that held all of my supplies and weapons, and handed it to me. "The name is Robert Patterson, and you owe me and the town a fuck ton for saving your ass. We spent a lot of resources keeping you alive."

"I never asked for your help." I said as I threw the backpack over my shoulders, and rested it on my back.

I wasn't being mean to Robert, I was used to flying solo all the time I didn't even know what "company" even was anymore.

"Without my help, you would be dead." Robert added with a glare. "There is a group of people outside that wish to meet you. We need more bodies to defend the town from the waves of infected. When our Grid saw smoke rising from the highway, we knew that Death's Hand was busy on another rampage. We decided to look for survivors since we were running low on people around here. When we saw you laying down on the ground close to death, we decided we would get you back on your feet to help us."

"What happened to everyone?" I asked, curious to know why Grid Two needs able bodies.

"We sent them on a recon mission to search for supplies. They never came back. Now we need to fill in the gaps and responsibilities they left behind. You will be on guard duty at the outer walls of this area. The gangs here will help you since they own the territory, and don't enjoy shooting the people they get resources from. Just keep your guard up."

I nodded, and felt a burst of pain through my ribs at the slightest movement. I clenched my teeth and Robert seemed to have noticed what was going on.

"Your duties will not start until you are fully recovered. Until then, you can start with mediocre tasks. It will be boring, but you will be helping others around here. We are a mini city; keep that in mind if you hoard resources. If we catch you hoarding anything, we will kick you out faster than you can say "Zombie." Robert said strictly as he pulled out a bottle of pills from his pocket.

"Take this. It is vicodin and should help with the pain. I have some problems I need to deal with...you rest."

He handed me a small pill canister, and walked out of the door. I wondered if I would ever see him again. I popped open the case to see large snow white pills inside, and I grabbed one quickly, and popped it into my mouth. Without any water, it had a horribly bitter taste, but in a matter of 30 minutes I could not feel anything. It was a painkiller.

I grabbed a blanket nearby that was rolled up, ready to be used, and I fell into a much needed sleep. I actually felt safe, away from everything. Now I just needed to heal, and then I can leave in the morning.

I can leave without any trace of my existence. I don't want to be a burden for these people.

Closing my eyes, I felt reality start to fade, and dreams take over. My mind blurred, and mixed with a fake perception, and all that I could think about was where Robert got that scar.

And all of a sudden I felt a sudden connection to Grid Two.