Coughing. All that could be heard from the darkened alleyway was coughing and hacking. But that was to be expected, seeing as how he was a smoker. Well, at least that's what the survivors called him. But what the hell, he didn't care. He limped down the alley, wheezing and waiting for a nice little human morsel to wander it's way through. Back when he was human he was a heavy smoker, which is no big surprise, but was also quite the gambler. Probably why he loved being a zombie so much, after all, you never no which survivor's gonna have the auto-shotgun or which will still only have their pistol. He let out another loud hack, realizing he should probably take a short break and let his black lungs catch up with him. Of coarse, having a twenty-five foot tongue resting on them didn't help matters either.

"Fuck…" He thought to himself as he sat next to a dumpster, coughing up small amounts of smoke as he rested.

He should really consider himself lucky, at least when compared to other smokers. After all, while most of his kind had their face and arms covered in tumors he was mainly free of them, only having a couple on the left side of his face, obscuring his eye and making him look basically human. At least if you took his glowing gray eye and grayish tinted skin out of the equation. But he had always noticed he was slower and coughed a lot more than others, giving him more of a disadvantage over the others. But if he was careful where and how he hid most humans would pass by him, only staring or offering the occasional "Are you ok?"

He was suddenly jerked from his thoughts as the subtle sound of soft crying could be heard around. Jackpot. After all, what zombie cries?
Oh yeah, now he remembered. A hunter friend of his once told him about witches, creepy depressed female zombies. But he was a gambler after all, so it would either be a depressed human or an easily agitated undead chick who would rip him to shreds.

He slowly stood up, letting out a long hack as he did, and moved towards the origin of the sound. He continued his lopsided stride down the alley, finding a slightly open door with loud wailing pouring from it. He peeked in, but couldn't see anyone, meaning he'd have to go in. He pushed himself through, looking in a back corner of the room to find his host, the witch he suspected it to be. She was sitting on her knees on a mattress, crying to herself and obviously not noticing him yet. He didn't leave like he should've though, instead he stood at the doorway a few minutes before taking a couple steps inside.

And then the crying stopped. The witch's whining was replaced by low growling as she turned around, her yellow eyes glowing with hate as she started to stand up. Once she noticed it was another infected though, she slowly calmed down, easing back down to her knees and starting to cry again. The smoker slowly approached her, kneeling down beside her and catching her attention again. She let out a loud growl, though it slowly dimmed as he stayed. Her crying didn't come back though, it was just replaced by silence. The smoker looked over at her, eyeing her almost perfectly human body. Other than her pale skin and hair, glowing yellowish eyes and red (probably stained) claws she was basically still human. They weren't that different really. Next to the hunters, who never worried about blending in (they're like zombie Spartans, they just fight and fight until they die) they were really the most human infected out there. The "boomers" were fat and covered in boils, not to mention every time the see a human they puke all over them, and tanks, well, who the fuck would confuse a tank for a survivor?

The witch let out a sigh, shifting to the fetal position and slightly leaning against her new guest. She was cold, as was to be expected from an undead woman in her underwear sitting in a dark room. He was slightly warmer than her, warm enough to ease some of her tension as she sank deeper into him. His arm wrapped around her waist, moving more on it's own than what he controlled. She didn't seem to mind though, resting her head on his shoulder as a small stream of tears leaked down her face.

"Are you ok?" He asked, the witch looking up at him as a response. "You're kind is always crying and I was wondering…why…?" He asked, the witch laying her head back down, the smoker laying his head on hers.

"I don't know about the others, but…I cry…because I'm…lonely…" She replied as the smoker began rubbing small circles into her back.

He lifted his head and looked down, the witch looking up as well, their eyes meeting for a second before they slowly leaned forward, eventually meeting in a passionate kiss.