The cold grass on the side of the road scraped and scratched the young man's bare arms and face, a deep ringing in his ears running alongside with a heart beating rapidly. There was a frantic voice next to him, one he swore he recognized, but could never place. All he knew was that with every labored breath, his chest shot out in this horrible pain, like his lungs were being stabbed over and over by dozens of sharp objects. He stayed quiet, not like he could make any noise if he wanted to. The voice seemed to argue with someone else, the second person's voice much more muffled and distant, as if they didn't want to look at him and hid behind the owner of the first voice. He didn't recognize the second voice, nor could he understand them, either of them, but they sounded much more calm than the first one did. Perhaps there was an accident, and the calm one was at fault, or perhaps the panicked one caused it. No, he knew the owner of the panicking voice wouldn't do such a thing. How could he know that? Memories of the owner of the voice recalled in the young man's head like a buffering DVD, never stopping or playing long enough for him to get a good look at his face.

Was this death? Was this the afterlife that people had spent thousands of years trying to explain, from an eternal punishment or reward, to mindless and endless darkness of void? Was this instance he was going through right this second, was this death? Life buffering in front of someone like a movie on an old and barely-functioning television, working so poorly that the viewer couldn't even see the faces of those they lived for, or those they cared about, was this death? Were the sirens he began to hear a part of it, or was he waking up? Police sirens, eerie and distant, rapidly approaching him. The voice seemed to calm down now, and the second one had vanished. Was this a rescue? The young man's heart rate had been gradually slowing down, would they even make it in time? They would, they're close now. They're close, and soon, the young man would wake up.

===================================================

The high squeal of the ringing in his ears had been replaced with the rhythmic sound of a heart monitor, but the rich darkness had not been replaced by anything. He could once again hear voices, one he knew from before, another spoke with authority. There was even a third voice, a stern one, but clearly female. He knew he recognized her, too, but fumed over not knowing who she was. Why didn't he know them?

A door closed, and two sets of footsteps exited the room. Two sets of footsteps, but he recalled three voices. Was the last one still there, or had he left as well? Was he just standing there watching him? Was he crying? Yes, crying. Crying?

"Hey, uh... Mike? I don't know if- if you can hear me, but I-I'm sorry this happened..."

The voice muttered, unnervingly clear.

"What? Yes, I can hear you!"

The young man screamed in an internal monologue, and therefore received no reply.

"Uh, they caught the guy who did this, he was just some... asshole- moron..." The voice somberly said, "They said you're gonna be here a while- asleep for a while. They said you need it..."

"Who is 'they'? Why can't you hear me?!"

"I have to go now, but I'll be here every chance I get! I promise,"

The hollow voice squeaked.

"NO! Don't leave me here! Take me home, please! WHY CAN'T YOU HEAR ME?!"

The young man screamed into the void, as loud as he could, but a response never accompanied him.

"Hello...?"

He squeaked. Silence. Deafening, horrible silence. Other than, of course, that wretched heart monitor.

===================================================

"Mike? Mike, you're digging your nails into my arm!" A deep, Australian voice said. Mike groaned, a pounding headache made the light from the window unbearable.

"What...?" the young man squeaked, throat scratching at itself every time he swallowed. He was in bed, lying next to someone who held him. But instead of his lover lying next to him, he lied in the arms of one of his alters.

"Mani...?" he muttered, eyes still burning.

"Howdy. Have another dream?" he asked.

"Uh... my head hurts..." Mike winced, holding the side of his head.

"Easy, mate. Lie down." Mani said, pressing on his shoulder so he'd rest his head back on the pillow.

"Why are you in my bed?" the young man asked.

"You asked me to lie down with you. Said you were cold." The Aussie replied. Mike hummed in a response tiredly, exhaling softly. He sighed, laying back down and Manitoba held him to his chest like he had moments prior.

"What happened to me?" he asked after a few minutes.

"As far as I know, car wreck. A bad one." Mani replied.

"What's that beeping noise?" Mike whined, tucking his chin closer to his sternum.

"What beepin' noise? I don't hear anything..."

"You don't? How do you not hear that?" he asked, flipping over to grab his glass of water, pausing upon spotting his phone. The screen idled, turned on, showing a third-person view of him lying in a hospital bed.

"What's... What's this?" he asked.

"That's you. You're in the hospital right now. Car wreck, remember?" Mani replied.

"But, that's a different perspective. How is that angle possible?" he muttered.

"It's not real, Mike." Manitoba said hollowly, voice dry and void of any trace of an accent.

"What do you mean it's not real? You just said-" Mike pleaded.

"None of this is real, Mike."

"...what?" the young man squeaked, just as the Aussie melted into thousands of bugs. Mike yelped, scrambling off the bed and hitting the floor with a thud. The bugs devoured every aspect of the room, their little legs and jaws making this sickening buzzing noise. Their legs dug into his skin as he frantically kicked and waved his arms at them, desperately flinging them off of him. The dark void came back to replace the walls of the room, plunging him into the horrible emptiness of-

"MIKE!" Manitoba shouted, shaking the young man's shoulder. Mike shot up in a cold sweat, breathing rapidly. His arms shook as he held himself up, his chest burning with every inhale.

"...what the hell...?" he wheezed, voice cracking.

"The hell, yourself! What happened?" Mani asked, demanding his attention.

"I don't know! You said that this wasn't real!" he shouted.

"What wasn't real?"

"This! Just- Just this! A-And you dissolved into these- horrible bugs-"

"Bugs?" Mani repeated, lip curled up.

"Yes! They were loud- it was dark-"

"Mike, calm down. You had a dream- a nightmare."

"I... I've never had a night terror like that. I didn't even know you could dream in Headspace."

"Yeah. Well, dreams and the Headspace are both subconscious. Your fears can manifest here, just like in dreams. Your nightmares manifest in storm clouds normally, but you're not out right now. I guess that's why this happened." Manitoba stated, Mike stared at him for a moment.

"I'm in a hospital right now, aren't I?" he asked, Mani glanced at him.

"Yeah, Mike, I just told you that." the Aussie replied.

"You did?"

"Yes." He nodded.

"Why are you in my bed...?"

"...Mike, you just asked me that." Mani muttered.

"I did...?"

"Yes, about ten minutes ago. Lie back down, you need to sleep." he pressed on his shoulder again.

"I must have dozed off..." the young man said hollowly.

"Do you want me to stay?" Manitoba asked.

"Yes." Mike nodded as he wrapped his arms around him. He breathed deeply, chest still burning as he did. Mani stroked his head, and his eyes got heavy as he began to doze off again.

"No," he muttered, abruptly sitting up, "I need to wake up."

"What?" Mani asked.

"I need to get us out of this hospital. I need to leave." He held himself up with his arms, limbs shaking.

"How do you know you're ready to wake up, mate?" he asked.

"I can try, can't I?"

"I guess... I'll be right here for you."

"Thanks." Mike smiled.

"You come right back here when you sleep tonight." Mani snapped.

"I'll try, but I can't promise-"

"You come back here. We'll be here, we'll make dinner. We'll hang out, like we used to." He added with a small grin.

"...Okay. I'll do everything I can." Mike choked, "Thank you."

"Of course. It's... overdue."

"Yeah. I think... I owe it to everyone."

"You don't owe us nothing', Mike. Just... it'd be nice to have ye' up here."

"It'd be nice to be up. But, I think I have to go." Mike muttered.

"Right. Well, you come right back up." Mani pointed his finger at him.

"I will- I'll do my best. I'll try to reach someone, at least."

"Good. I'll see you."

"Yeah. Thank you." They embraced each other tightly, Mike's breath shaking as he exhaled.

===================================================

"Thank you." Mike muttered, eyes snapping open with a gasp. The bed he lied in was stiff, and the blankets the texture of tissue paper. The white walls of the hospital room were spotless, but the equipment that sat next to his bed had a thin layer of dust on them. A hospital was supposed to be sterile, who was in charge of cleaning the equipment? A little dust was the least of his problems. It was day, but the lights were out, which made sense if he'd just gotten out of surgery.

He tilted his head to the right side, to the side that the little button to summon a nurse was and attempted to lift his arm. His deltoid muscle stung as he weakly left his arm, careful not to tear out the IV needles from his wrist. He dropped his hand on the little buzzer, then let it slump off and dangle from the bed for a moment, before pulling it back onto his chest. He swallowed, the tube in his throat making him gag, how were they supposed to remove these things?

A moment had gone by and there was no sign of a nurse. He looked to the door, never seeing any signs of life. No one ever passed by his door, not even the shadow of someone. Mike exhaled through the tube down his throat, and lifted his arm again to summon a nurse. The buzzer rang again, and he managed to retrieve his arm before it fell lifelessly beside his bed. The strength in his body was coming back, and he knew it grew easier over time to keep his eyes open, but how long could he sit here and wait for a nurse? He glanced up to the IV bags that hung from the rack, then furrowed his brows as they were empty. Perhaps they just haven't replaced them yet today, and if this buzzer didn't work for some reason, someone would surely be back in to replace them. It must be a first-thing-in-the-morning thing, so they should be in any second. He sighed again, or maybe he just found it hard to breathe. Just something to tell the nurse.

But, another several moments went by and there was still no sign of anyone outside his door. He lifted his arm again and pressed the buzzer twice, if it were broken, it wouldn't make a noise. What if he wheeled himself out the door? Or better, got up and walked out into the hallway. That was sure to get someone's attention. He pressed his arms underneath his body, and attempted to lift himself off the bed. His arms shook, but he managed to prop himself up against the pillows and back of the bed, then slumped back into a comfortable position. Maybe motion coming from the room would get someone's attention. Why was he so weak upon waking up? Suppose damage to the body can do that, not to mention the trauma of surgery, which was proven by lines of stitches on his chest and forehead. Stitches that throbbed from all over his body, those IVs must have been medicated. Morphine, no doubt. William must have told them he was allergic to penicillin, or... or his sister. His sister- William- They would come see him once they found out he was awake! He smiled at the thought, he couldn't wait to see them again, hold their hands, just... be with them. And it would happen today, assuming a nurse would get their ass in the room.

He sat up a little more to lean forwards, trying to get a better look out the meshed window of the door. Nothing. Still, not even a shadow. The tube down his throat had grown irritating, like thick mucus dripping from your sinuses that you couldn't get rid of when you're sick. But, he could get rid of it, if he pulled it out. There had to be a right way to do it, but how bad could the wrong way be? He grabbed the end of the tube and tugged on it. His dry throat clung to it, but he managed to pull it out with little reflex from his body. He still gaged, but not as violently as one may expect. Still, thick, mucousy saliva dribbled from the tube and his mouth and onto the bed sheets.

"Ew..." Mike muttered with a hoarse voice, setting down the tube. His throat stung, dry and now irritated, cold air bringing both realif and more of that dry and crackly burning. He gasped, then swallowed in an attempt to hydrate the fragile skin that lined the inside of his mouth. He glanced again at the door, hoping for a second that he saw a shadow cross over the window on the door, but it appeared to just be a flickering light. Just a useless, mildly annoying, flickering light.

Mike sighed in annoyance, lying his head back on the pillow. Now it had to be any second. Surely, by now, someone would have seen something. Or, at least check on him if it's this late in the day. He looked down the bed at his legs hidden under the blankets and cocked his head. He moved his right foot, then the left one, then lifted his leg up and rolled his ankle. They were weak, sure, but they seemed to work just fine. He clicked his tongue and pulled his knees to his chest and held them like he usually would when he got nervous.

He removed the tube from his throat no problem, but he doubted yanking out the needles from his wrist was a good idea. Unless, if he could use the sheets to stop any bleeding, how much damage could a little needle do? Though, the thought of them always made him a little squeamish. He glanced at his wrist, at the needles, it wasn't like they were doing anything for him. And a nurse could always just put new ones in. Or, maybe he won't need them.

Mike whined, leaned forward again to look out the window. Maybe he could poke his head out the door and flag someone down. He set his hands by his side and lifted his back off the bed, grunting as he swung his legs over the edge. He took a breath, then pushed himself up with his arms, stumbling forward and catching himself on the wall in front of him, tearing the needles out of his wrist. He yelped, hitting the wall with both arms extended, knees locked. He took a breath, huffing and glancing down to his bare feet on the hospital floor. He scoff playfully to himself, taking a step to prop himself up on the wall while he found his balance. He turned to the bed, a little blood dribbled on the sheets and on the floor from the needles being torn out of him, which his wrist and hand were far from happy about. The wounds burned, the skin around it was red and the pinpricks swelled slightly, but he grinned.

He pressed his shoulder into the wall and weakly stepped closer to the door. He turned the doorknob and pulled it open, leaning on the frame and gazing down the hallway and wincing.

"Hello? Nurse? Doctor...?" he wheezed, "...janitor...?" Mike squeaked. One single light right above his room flickered while all the others steadied, but the hallway was empty. He peered all the way down his corridor, past where the stairs were, and down into the other wing. The floors reflected the lights like mirrors, the walls as white and clean as they were in the movies. But, the hallways were empty, not a soul seemed to wander around. Mike swallowed, then dragged his gaze to the rest of the wing he was in, and his heart nearly skipped a beat. The floor had a small trickle of blood on the left side near the doors, then evolved into a smear blood like something had been dragged. He whined, then pulled himself back into his room, leaning on the wall as his legs shook. Surely there was a good reason for that, and his mind raced to try and think about what it could be, but his head kept going to the worst possible scenario. The likely option was that there was some other emergency, one that took everyone else away from his area, and that explained the blood, and why no one responded to him repeatedly hitting the buzzer. But... surely, there would be someone available. Or, at least he'd hear the frantic shouting of a hospital, or at least see a janitor. However, the whole place had been abandoned. The air was eerily still, and not a sound lingered for more than a second.

Mike's stomach turned, what was better? Staying in the room where it was possible someone would come and check on him or go find someone? Or, maybe this was just another dream. Yeah, that was it. Just another creepy dream. Everyone's had dreams like this, being alone and abandoned, in an unfamiliar place, with somewhat chiche horror aspects. That's all dreams were really, just past experiences and bits from movies that were all mashed together and played back in your head, and it was always way creepier than it was supposed to be, because that's how the human brain works for some reason. Yup, that's all it was, just a creepy ass dream that if he went back to bed, he'd wake up for real, and be in a normal hospital, with people and- and food! God, he was starving, when was the last meal he had? Maybe his hunger would wake him up, and he could soon get back to his life. Yeah, that would be it.

He sat back down on his bed, smiling, then hoisted his legs back up. He sighed with delight, all he could think about was the first thing he'd eat once he woke up. He rested his head back on the pillow and folded his hands on his chest. At least he had a bed in this dream, and everyone knew that once you fell asleep in a dream, you woke up. That was a thing, right? Yeah, that was a thing. Totally. The hard part was falling asleep now, with the thought of the blood on the floor and the dead silence of the hospital eating away at his mind. And the wiring of the heart monitor detects a flatline. He couldn't sleep with that wretched thing, maybe he could find a different room. But that meant getting up, and braving the empty hallway, then peeking into each room, all the while dragging his exhausted body all over the hospital. He sighed, he should at least try to find someone. Maybe he was just the only patient, as unlikely as that was. But, it was possible.

Mike groaned, sitting back up and standing much easier this time as his limbs grew stronger as they got a little blood flow. His chest still burned as he took deep breaths, stitches clung to the hospital gown occasionally and pulled on the wound and only really itched it. He placed his hand on the wall for support, though he almost didn't need it. He peeked back out the door and back down the hallway, definitely not going down the side that had a trail of blood leading down to it. So, he stepped out into the corridor, starting weakly down towards the stairs. Stairs. Could his injured body handle stairs? Up or down? Down, that was always easier, right? Maybe he didn't have to go downstairs, maybe there was someone in one of the rooms. Couldn't hurt to look, right?

He looked side to side at each door, trying the handles of each one he came upon, but most were locked. Just in case, he knocked three times on each one, by the off chance there really was someone inside. With every room lacking a response, his throat tightened nearly until he couldn't breath, and the more he felt like he should never have left his room. He could still hear the heart monitor wiring, at least he had some background noise. With every door he tried, the further he got from his room, and the further he'd have to walk back with a splitting headache and the inability to take deep, meaningful breaths. But, he noticed that one of the doors on the other side of the hallway was ajar, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He stared at it, heart pounding in his ears, a nervous feeling of interest and nausea made its way up his throat. He blinked, glancing back down the hallway at the flickering light right above the door, then back at the door in front of him. He took a breath, trailing his hand off the wall he was leaning on and took a step into the middle of the hallway towards the door lying ajar. He set his hand on the frame and knocked like he had before. No one replied, like he expected, but the door cracked open more and through the crack, Mike spotted a hand lying lifelessly on the floor. He froze and stared at it, heart pounding harder and harder, eyes wide and darting back and forth between the hand and the doorknob.

He swallowed, he knew he'd regret doing this, but he shoved open the door and with a thud, exposed a massive pool of blood and a lifeless body of a man in his mid 50's with his neck torn open, most of his leg and upper torso picked clean of all soft tissue. Mike yelped, leaping away and nearly tripping over his own limb and slamming his back into the wall across from the room and slumped to the floor. The man's head was up-turned unnaturally, flies and maggots covered the wound and swarmed the dried, clotted blood. His eyes were cloudy, but wide in a mildly surprised expression. Mike whimpered, then gagged uncontrollably at the smell of rot, this man had been like this for a while. His breathing made a slow ascend from a clam and balanced rhythm, to rapid exhalation he choked on. This couldn't be real. This wasn't real, this was a dream. A dream that only felt real because he was in the hospital, maybe under heavy sedation for surgery, did people dream while under anesthesia? Of course they did, there was no other explanation. He should go back to his room, where he knew he was safe. Well, maybe he wasn't safe in a room with one exit, but there could be something he'd be able to use as a weapon, or maybe better clothes. And there was a Tv in the room, he could distract himself and fall asleep, or get some answers from a News station... or, he could just focus and get back into the headspace, escape it that way. But he couldn't stop staring at the body, the lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling, the sickening mushy noise caused by the thousands of maggots paired with the buzzing of the flies that escaped the room to explore the hallway. The only noise he's really heard besides that horrible whining of the heart monitor. The marks around the man's throat, they looked like bite marks. Human bite marks.

No, get away from this. Get back to your room, grab some sort of weapon, get the hell out of this hospital. Find some living person, any live human being, just... just, leave. He scrambled sloppily to his feet, nearly forgetting any trace of pain or weakness in his legs and making his way back to the room with the flickering light as fast as he could. He burst through the door of his room, the cries of the machine drowned out by his own tinnitus as he snapped his gaze from every aspect of the room. The bed, the window, the rod the IVs were hung on, everything caught his eye at least once. He found the remote to the Tv, did he have time to sit and search for a News channel on a Tv he'd never used? He shut the door behind him, and clicked on the Tv, the channels already at a low volume due to this being a hospital room. The channel it opened to was a family channel, playing a rerun of some sitcom. The television stations were still up, that was a good sign, right? One good thing, suppose. He frantically flicked through the channels, a "No Signal" screen popping up every so often, regardless of what channel he was on. He finally came to a weather channel, which he could rewind until he found a news section, so he clicked the remote. The screen rewound, fixated on the weather or what had to be days, until coming to a man's face behind a desk.

"The FDA is requesting that people keep their children inside and pets on leashes when outside as a rabies-like disease spreads throughout the U.S. 'Though not the same disease, it behaves and spreads much like the rabies virus, but travails through the nervous system much faster,' Says scientists, and says that this virus makes its way through the body faster than any other virus known to modern science. Those infected exhibit violent and even 'zombie-like behavior', chasing down anything that moves and biting at the neck and head like a wild animal. Fortunately, this Vehement's Virus, named after the scientist leading the research team, is treatable by some of the same medications used to treat rabies, but Dr. Vehement himself is pleading with people to keep their beloved pets indoors as these medications will not be given to animals."

The News cut to the weather again, suggesting that was the last thing to play before this got out of hand, then the screen cut to a "No Signal '' screen again. Mike stared at it for a long moment, then turned it off, choking on a breath that didn't go down right. Rabies. Right, rabies. So, he was abandoned in this... zombie town, left alone, the only other human being he's seen having his throat torn out, very likely by a human. Coming back to this room, where he was cornered, was a horrible idea. But if he could find a weapon, maybe he'd have a chance. Find a weapon, get the hell out. He hadn't even realized he sat on the bed, his legs still weak enough to keep him grounded. He was set up to fail here, abandoned, starving, muscles weakened by lying in a bed for god knows how long.

He snapped himself from his own stumbling mind, standing up and the hanger the IV bags hung on caught his eye. Long, probably sturdy, good enough. The more time he wasted in this hospital room, the more needless danger he put himself in. He unhooked and tossed aside the empty IV bags and picked up the rack, a bit heavier than he thought it'd be. He turned to the door and shook his nerves free of any hesitation, and charged back into the hallway, then froze. The hallway wasn't as silent anymore, but it took him a moment to hear over the ringing in his ears, the spine-chilling sound of a child crying. Mike fixed his gaze to the end of the hallway, all the way to the end, to the other wing of the hospital where the sound was coming from. What exactly was his duty of care in this situation? There were few things more horrifying than the sound of crying when you were alone, but it definitely was a child.

"H... Hello?" Mike squeaked. The crying ceased, but sniffling still echoed through the still air, "... are you okay? W-what... happened?" he called a little louder. A door opened at the very end of the hallway, and out stepped a little boy who couldn't have been older than six years old. The boy paused for a moment, then began approaching the young man with a noticeable limp in his right leg. He approached rather quickly, the hair on the back of Mike's neck stood up again. He wasn't sprinting, but he moved fast enough to pause about halfway to him, by the stairs, to seemingly catch his breath. The young man had to squint to see him in the dimly-lit hallway, not having his contact lenses in didn't help, but he spotted an IV tube and needle stuck in the boy's left arm, and his right one bandaged up with barely-stationed gauze, like it had been pulled off and stuck back on many times.

"Are you okay...?" Mike wheezed to him. The boy made no effort to speak, and that paired with the immense amount of saliva dribbling from his mouth, the young man's grip on the rod got tighter. The eyes of the boy were wide and crazed, he stared at him like a starving dog stared at a drumstick, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly, head cocked to one side with a blank expression. However, through all this, a small sob occasionally escaped the boy's throat.

Though he'd never seen rabies in real life, he figured it'd look something like this. Or, he could just look off due to Mike's lack of a proper eyeglass prescription, but he was drooling. A lot. If that wasn't a red flag, who could guess what was? Maybe the fact that his gaze never strayed from Mike's throat. Not once.

"...can you understand a word I'm saying?" The young man asked, holding the rod up to his chest, and inching his foot forwards. The boy took exactly one step back, no other aspect of him changing. Mike cocked an eyebrow. This was a child. Maybe he could talk to him like a child. Children were dumb, they'd do whatever you told them - most of the time.

"Why don't you... go back to your room." Mike started, "Just, go grab something for me. Anything." He smiled, his voice dry and hoarse. He took another, more full step closer to the boy, and he took one step back. Creepy. Just plain creepy.

"Go back to your room, it's safe there. There are scary things out here, just go on back to bed." he ushered, could this kid even understand him? The boy did nothing, but an occasional clacking sounds, and it only took Mike a second to realize it was coming from the boy. Upon opening his mouth, he'd snap his jaw shut and click his teeth together. The young man swallowed hard, then took a step closer to him, but the child didn't move.

"Oh, c'mon kid. Just, go back to your room. If you go away, I'll go away, okay? Just... back up-" Mike pleaded, adjusting his grip on the rod. The boy glanced down at it, then back up at him, then took a single weak step forward. Mike scoffed quietly, recoiling his arms.

"D-Don't you dare-" The young man snapped, the boy took another small step, then another, while limping on his right leg.

"I'm warning you! Get back!" Mike hissed, positioning his feet so his stance was sturdy. The child stayed quiet, aside from the sound of his jaw snapping shut. The young man grit his teeth, breathing heavily, then raised the rod and charged at the boy, sprinting as much as his weakened body could allow. The boy screamed a high-pitched screech, hardly sounding human, recoiling and sobbing in terror, then colapsing onto the floor. Mike waved the rod at him threateningly as he passed, then practically leapt down the stairs and slammed his shoulder into the wall that sat on the furthest side of the landing, then used it to push himself off and head to the automatic-door exit of the hospital. He ran right through the waiting room and past the reception desk, both just as barren as the rest of the place was.

He ran right out of the building, frantically scanning each abandoned car and building window for any sign of life. He spotted what he presumed were several bodies, all lying lifelessly in some of the buildings, all seemed to have some part of them eaten off by what he hoped were wild animals. He did eventually calm enough for his body to start complaining about his sprinting, a sign that the adrenaline had subsided. He stopped himself to lean on a lamppost, muscles quivering under his weight. Was it the lack of proper use over the last few days, or the lack of sustenance in his system that made his body so weak? He wheezed, the scent of rotting flesh thick in the air making things much worse, the scent of what had to be hundreds of rotting corpses around town, or even just in his area, some of which he's seen missing limbs and other large chunks of their bodies like the man in the hospital room had been. Some were just carcases, hunks of bones held together by in-edible ligaments, all other muscle stripped away by teeth of all kinds. Now, all of them were likely infested with flies and too far gone to be even considered as edible by scavengers. Aside from buzzards, dozens of the massive birds circled the town. But, some of their carcases lied with the human ones, along with stray cats and dogs, small bones of birds, any animal you'd find in town. The hospital wasn't safe, but neither was outside. At this point, he'd have to count the pros and cons of each one, but he didn't have time for that. He had to hide, find food, find shelter, recover, not get eaten, maybe see how many of his loved-ones were alive, if any.

He pushed himself up off the lamppost, grunting as he put weight on his left hip, which throbbed, complaining about his exertion. He should keep moving, find someone- anyone that was alive. He used the rod as extra support as he hobbled down the sidewalk, the concrete warm under the sun's light. That was the only good thing so far, the sun. The sun and its warmth, though the heat didn't do the smell any favors. But, it warmed him, and it got the blood flowing. But, his heart nearly stopped as he rounded the corner and locked eyes with a woman. Mike inhaled sharply, then held his breath, every muscle in his body parilized. The woman stared at him, the same crazed eyes as the child.

"No no, this is a dream..." He muttered, "Please, don't do this again, this isn't real." he pleaded, the woman cocked her head. Her arms were scratched and bloody, hair all mussed and had... stuff in it, and a deep bite mark from what appeared to be a dog, her pant leg torn. She drooled just like the boy, but mixed with the blood dribbling from her nose, she must have been in a fight with something.

"You're not real, stay away from me-" He pleaded. The woman opened her mouth in a twitchy movement, then let out this heinous gargling hiss and lunged at him with her arms extended. He shrieked, leaping backwards and taking off back the way he came. The woman's screeching and yowling got the attention of others in the area, others Mike hadn't even known were there, from allies and open buildings, who made no efforts to attack him when he ran by first. Most of those who showed themselves in response to the woman's cries just stood and watched him run by, but some joined in the chase. He ran right past the hospital, the little boy watching him from the top floor, as he did so, Mike keeping his gaze straight ahead. He'd be cornered in that building, even with a weapon, he'd be dead within minutes. His only chance was to outrun them, but his asthma made him wheeze. Either asthma or general weakness, he was slowing down. His strides got shorter and shorter as he realized it, his eyes fogged up with tears.

"No! Wake up! I want to wake up!" He screamed, mentally, "Let me wake up!" he began sobbing, descending into hyperventilation to keep up with his pounding heart.

A man jumped out of an ally he passed, screaming with the same horrid hiss. Mike dug his bare feet into the asphalt in an attempt to stop as the man grabbed his wrist. He choked, slamming the metal IV rod into the man's side, over and over, as he fended off his jaws with his hand. The man hissed at him, catching his wrist between his teeth as Mike smacked him with his weapon, bending and eventually snapping it into a pointed end, which he repeatedly prodded him in the ribs with until he drove it right through his ribcage and out his back. Mike let the rof slip from his hand and he punched the man in the side of the head with as much strength he could muster, throwing him off and scrambling to his feet, his legs giving out and forbidding him from standing. The man lay on his side, wheezing labored breaths, the small mob of infected that was chasing him before stared at him, almost fearful. The injured man gagged, the foam frothing from his mouth running red. One of the infected lunged at the man, tearing open his throat with his teeth like an animal, seasing the horrible cries and wheezing. Another joined him in his feast, only left with the woman to glance up at Mike, before joining in herself. Some of the other infected in the area approached, being hissed at, before snagging a piece of the fresh kill. Mike gagged in between breaths, the sound of flesh rendering and tearing made his vision a bit foggy, he almost didn't register the bite on his wrist.

A car horn snapped everyone's gaze to the left, just as a royal purple F150 slammed into the small group of infected that had gathered around the body, sending their bodies back into the alley the now dead man had emerged from, or just into the building adjacent to it. Mike screamed, scooting back again and covering his face with his hands, taking rapid and uneven breaths, letting out small cries in between them.

"Mike?" A female voice called over the sound of the engine growling and infected writhing in pain.

"Ember...?"