Once again. I own my ass nothing more.

Mondays.

Wally hated Mondays. They were quite possibly the Sun to all things that could be considered execrable. As far back as he could remember Mondays were always terrible. They meant going back to school, no more partying, and including himself, not willingly, in the not so smart schemes associated with adult tyranny.

However this Monday was very different. This Monday had been spent on the cold, dank streets busting zombie ass. It seemed as if that was all he'd been doing these days. He didn't know where this 'disease' had come from or how so many people were getting infected so quickly and quite frankly he didn't care.

At least not until they'd stolen his teammate Kuki.

She was strong, so he was sure that she'd survived the foray on the tree house. The problem, however, lay in how long she could continue surviving. So here he was, thoughtlessly endangering his life alongside his only other living teammate, Hoagie.

He secretly thought that the only reason that the boy had decided to come along with him was because he hoped this mission to be his last. Abigail's death was still fresh and mind and if his reckless behavior as of late was any indication, he was trying to die. He'd been puked on by some poor fat bastard and they were currently trying to outrun a mob of infected.

"Wally!"

Wally turned to see his only friend being dragged off by what looked like a tongue into the horde. He gritted his teeth and prepared to charge them all.

"Kuki, find her Wally… She's clo-"

Hoagie's screams were the only thing heard at that point. He cringed and closed his eyes tight, firing randomly into the crowd. Sure he was wasting his ammo but at that moment he didn't care. His best friend…

He subsided once everything was dead. Or so he thought. He barely picked up the faint sound of crying, his eyes widening in response. Could it be another survivor? One way to find out. With a deep breath he set off towards the soft sobbing.

"Hello?" he called out hesitantly.

Wrong move.

He was pinned beneath some hooded freak and his strength was failing him. He looked down to see it's sharp claws digging into his ribcage; it seemed so surreal. The only thought that processed in his mind was, 'Am I dying?'

The soft cries became loud wails as his eyes slid shut.

"I hate M-Mondays…," he whispered softly.

Darkness.

Grimmy: Just got the urge to do a little prequel to Lament. Unfortunately I was rushed so I had no chance of proofreading but if I'm lucky the mistakes aren't too noticeable and the writing isn't too stiff. R&R~