Dead, rotten fish. The cringe-worthy smell was not the best thing to wake up to. It burned my nose and planted a semi-permanent scowl on my face. Raw fish smelled terrible fresh, but after so many days the stench would eventually worse. Looked like the same principle applied to... corpses. I grumbled while sitting up. After a yawn, I rubbed face only to find more dead skin peeling off. Ugh, when was the last time I showered?

Scanning the room for a door, I headed to the one that was slightly ajar. The scent of linen in contrast to my horrid stench was too much to resist. My feet led me there in quick paces, as I was desperate to feel clean after so long. However, the moment I opened the door a note written in chicken scratch caught my attention. The blue shower curtain was open, which allowed anyone who entered to see the slip of paper. I leaned closer, then ripped it off the wall. The handwriting was shit, but still legible.

"Don't shower. You will explode. Seriously.

From Wastia"

My scowl stretched further once I noticed duct tape covering the shower head. Looking down, it turned out the tub faucet was treated in a similar manner. Way to be subtle. The sink, on the other hand, was littered with hygiene products from lotions to... herb bags?

I picked a purple one up by its necklace and brought it to my nose. A long whiff revealed it to have dried lavender inside. I placed it over my head without a second thought. At least I'd smell decent.

Hair tied in a quick ponytail, I walked to the clothes bag by my bed to pick out a matching set of clothes and sneakers to wear for the day. Once they were on, I sat in a chair in the TV room. This was my life now, huh? A nice room with security and food, three strange acquaintances by my side and cool, though a little gross, neighbors. What a time to be undead.

Somehow, a part of me wished Jack could experience this. But that was just a pipe dream. I lifted my knees to my chest, staring at the carpet. My skin felt mushy; I bet if I dug hard enough, I'd see things that should stay hidden. Jack'd kill me on the spot if he saw me like this. But what would I do?

Someone knocked on the door, successfully pulling me from my stupor.

I huffed. People needed to stop interrupting my thoughts, dammit. Stretching my arms up, I yelled, "Go away, please."

"I can't."

Styke's lowered voice reached my ears. I sat up, backing against the bed frame. Was he here to shove more gunk in my face? With a huff, I snatched a pillow and hugged it with all of my might. "Yes, you can," I argued after sniffing.

Another series of knocks, along with something banging on metal. "I know I was an ass, but I want to make this better." He scratched what sounded like his scalp, then sighed. "I'd also rather not have to clean up a corpse who forgot to feed herself."

Despite the smile peeking on my face, I kept my resolve. "Doesn't matter. I'm never coming out."

Squeaky objects rattled on metal. Possibly rubber or plastic? I couldn't tell.

"We figured you'd say that, so I brought some sacrificial offerings." More rattling, this time louder. "Charles said you liked this kind of thing."

Charles? What the hell did I tell him? The constant squeaks had me interested. For now, my worries could hide until another time. I tiptoed towards the door as my lips curled into a smirk. Knowing Charles, it had to be something gross. Or more sugar cookies. Maybe even both.

"Really? I guess I have to see for myself."

My hand was centimeters away from the knob. Was this a prank? Payback for leaving them to clean up puke? No, no, Charles wouldn't do that. Hopefully. Besides, trust had to be a two-way street.

I swung the door open before I could retreat. Styke stood alone, holding a red metallic bucket. So that was what I heard.

"Alright," I started, glancing from what he held to his face, "what is it?"

Styke didn't say a word. Instead he went off into a laughing fit. They were short and deep ones, each bouncing off the walls and down the halls.

I crossed my arms while glaring at his dimples. What was so funny? He had a nerve.

Once he fell silent, the dead man grinned. "You're pretty gullible."

I couldn't help flaring my nose. "Are you sure you came here to―"

He fucking shushed me, then pulled the top off. "Just look inside. I swear it won't bite."

After scowling at him, I peeked into the dark abyss. Silent seconds were spent scrutinizing the colorful contents before I furrowed my brows at Styke. "These are your sacrificial offerings? Lollipops?"

"Yes," he stated, gaze never averting. In fact, he gave a deadpan stare as serious as a heart attack when he repeated, "Lollipops."

My fingers twitched at my side. The rare, bubblegum-filled ones, to boot. Where'd they even find this? A quick sniff revealed flavors I'd only dreamt of tasting; lemon, root beer, raspberry, surprise, and was this... pomegranate? I covered my mouth with one hand and stuffed the other in my pocket.

"D-Don't think you can trick me with these," I uttered while glaring at him.

"Oh, you don't want them?" He sealed the bucket and turned his back to my. Head tilted back, he added with a smirk, "I guess we can have this all to ourselves, then."

"Wait!" I grabbed his shoulder, eyes wide. "I take it back. Gimme the sweets."

Before I could steal it from his possession, Styke lifted the bucket up. "Not until after dinner. Agreed?"

If only looks could kill. Oh wait, he already died. A few small chuckles caused my shoulders to shake, so I brushed them off as shrugs. "Sure, whatever. But this doesn't mean I accept your apology." I locked my door then slid past him, adding, "You're still a cunt for what you did."

He nodded. "That's fair."

We decided to walk down the steps this time as an awkward silence stood between us. Once we were in the lobby, I headed for the food court now that I was more familiar with the place. Hanging out with him felt a lot more tiresome than Charles. I hated this tension.

"Glad you're liking it here," Styke noted while we scanned the area for Wastia and Charles.

A smile creeped on my lips. At least he was taking the initiative. "It's a lot nicer than the slums."

"Slums, huh. That must've been―"

"Ah, there they are," I cut him off after spotting Wastia waving us over. That wasn't a fun conversation to have after such a gruesome afternoon.

Once we reached our destination, I pulled a chair out and promptly sat down. The cushion was alright, though it could've been better. Plates full of food circled the table, with the main course being fried meat. Savory seasonings greeted my nose and stole my attention. Pepper, garlic salt, paprika and a hint of lime. My stomach grumbled in awe.

"Ahem," Wastia coughed.

I forced myself to turn my eyes to her. She'd changed into a long sleeved burgundy shirt, possibly to hide the guaranteed bloodshed later on. Smart.

"Sorry, what's up?" I started after a gulp.

"We weren't... clear about everything before. Sorry about that." She scratched her scalp. "To make that messy scene up to you, ask anything you want to know. We'll tell you. Mostly."

My eyes widened. "Oh―"

"But, you have to do the same." She pointed her fork at me as grease dropped from it onto a napkin. "We need a solid reason to keep you around; so far I'm not seeing any."

That made sense. I winced, but nodded. "Gotcha."

She sighed, leaning back into her chair. Eyes locked on me, Wastia wiggled her pinky between her teeth. "Good. You can go first."

I arched my back, staring at the food instead. A plate of sloppily-presented pastries stood before me. Drool coated my teeth. After licking my lips, I asked, "Can zombi―"

Hands clamped over my mouth. "I keep telling you not to call us that!" Wastia hissed while leaning over the table, her yellowed eyes bulging.

I slapped her away without a second thought before huffing. "Then what am I supposed to say? You all keep saying that word's taboo but completely avoid going into detail."

"Ah, right. Must've slipped my mind," Charles mumbled.

I snapped my head to him, slightly curious to see how he ate. More importantly, what he was eating.

"We're 'Mortem', short for Homo mortem." He wiped his lips with a napkin. Oil smeared his cheeks still. "Supposed to be a twist on Homo sapiens."

I narrowed my eyes at Charles. He said that like he wasn't sure. But, that was better than pissing off Wastia 24/7. Fists tightened, I closed my eyes and focused on the food court's boisterous sounds. Other than silverware clinking on plates and bowls, I caught wind of children laughing, couples arguing, elders bickering, and other incoherent conversations.

I glanced at my hands. It didn't make sense; we were just as human as the civilians, so why were we treated like trash? With a sigh, I let my eyes scan our table. Fruits, sweets and vegetables were slathered on each of our plates. We'd look like a regular group of friends if not for the deep-fried human thighs they ate. In the end, Styke was right; we were different from them. From Jack.

I grabbed my fork and stabbed a chunk of the main course off. Thick, succulent grease slid down my utensil's arms as I examined the cooked flesh.

"Mortem, huh. Sounds nice," I uttered before shutting my eyes and stuffing a piece of m-m-meat in my mouth. It was delicious; a hint of sugar and spices mixed with vanilla frosting coated my tongue in a layer of sweetness. Even so, my stomach still churned. Shivers crawled up my spine with every chew.

"You don't need to force yourself," Wastia said while handing me a napkin. "You're turning greener than you usually are. Spit it out."

I shook my head. "That'd be a waste―I haven't had cooked meat in forever."

"Did you heard what I said earlier? Forcing this won't do you any good." Charles waved his hand in a circle, scowling at me. "Just take your time, you'll... you'll get used to it."

"Why can't I just eat sweets forever," I grumbled after swallowing, "'s not like I'll get cavities."

Wasti a sighed, leaning her head on her palm and eyeing her cup. "Technically you could, but it wouldn't turn out pretty."

I crossed my legs, enduring the acidic tang in the back of my throat. "Whaddya mean?"

She flinched, but spoke no further.

"Y'know, the creeps who turned most people into Mortem didn't want to." Styke nodded at Wastia, then faced me. "When we don't eat enough er... meat for a long period of time, we turn into those 'zombies,' not giving a damn about who we eat."

He paused to pop a forkful of food in his mouth. It... looked so good. Juices made the baked meat gleam under the dining hall's lights, its oils painting it honey-yellow. I licked my lips before facing him again.

"Saw it happen all the time in Sector 920," he continued after drinking water. As he spoke, his jaw clenched. It looked like he was staring off into the distance, into his past. "They're the ones who killed you, not us."

I spent a few fruitful seconds scrutinizing the flower-patterned table. Once I let out a hesitant laugh, I levelled my eyes to the three of them. "You're wrong; Jack did."

"Well―" Charles started, only to be interrupted by Wastia squeezing his shoulder. He promptly continued eating in silence.

I looked to her. When she smiled at me, clarity flooded my veins. I had a better idea of what―I mean, who―I was. But that brought on more questions; who came up with the name? Was there a leader per sector? A... A government? How were the cities powered, and where was this food coming from?

Questions squirmed in my head while I ate without a thought. Chances were I killed Freddy and Guno, Dib, and that drunk. The worst part was, they tasted amazing. Sweet, sweet sugar danced on my tongue as I bit into them, probably because most savages were known to be vegetarians. Somehow, their succulence made the horrid act a thousand times better. Now, as properly cooked meat slid down my throat, I wondered the same. What happened if I hid my sins with junk food?

Morbid curiosity pushed me to find out. I clutched my fork with one hand and a knife in the other. After cutting off a piece of my dessert, I squished it onto some meat. My eyes stared daggers into the concoction. Focus, Lulu. You can do this―just shove it in!

Wastia reached for my plate, sighing. "I guess it's too soon. If you don't want this, I can―"

I stuffed the fork in my mouth before she could continue. It was... unique. At first, the new, potent flavor forced cold shivers up my back. I took slow chews, looking, hoping for it to taste bad. But once the cake's vanilla frosting coated my tongue, I couldn't contain the small squeal from slipping past my lips. It reminded me of a miracle fruit, shifting my focus from the severity of my actions to how simply delicious the cake was. I just had to have more.

Sweetness still clinging to my taste buds, I took in more meat. Its crunchy, deep fried skin reminded me of the crepes I once sold at... at my job! The pure saccharin goodness jolted me back to the once foggy memories of when my heart still pounded; when I worked at a bakery before everything. I used to mix and match sweets in a way less vulgar fashion.

Despite the bitter iron tickling my throat, I ventured further. Dosing more meat in sweet syrups, frostings and creams until I ran out of condiments. No, there had to be more. Assorted pastel pastries caught my eye, but before grasping for them, I turned to my group with wide eyes.

"You really need to try this!" My hands slammed on table, fingers trembling. "Wait no, maybe you already have but hot damn―"

Wastia kept glancing to other tables while her lips stretched into a forced smile. She kept fidgeting, as if my enjoyment suffocated her.

Charles continued scarfing down his side dishes. Mashed potatoes laced in gravy, vegetables and buttered bread. In the back of my mind I wondered where all of our food went, but figured now wasn't the best time to ask. Instead, I turned to Styke, who downed a glass of water in rapid gulps.

With raised eyebrows, I scowled. "It's not my fault you guys have no taste."