A figure walks along the road in the fog. It is hunched over, creeping slowly towards nowhere. As it exits the fog, it becomes clearer. This creature was once a girl-normal as any other. She had friends, she played video games, she had a dog. All that's left are her crumpled remains, somehow still walking the Earth. Focusing closely beyond the blood that stains her clothing, a ripped blue symbol of a dog's head is featured on her shirt. She wears bent-framed glasses that she no longer needs, and houses a tumbleweed of long, black hair. Sometimes, she thinks she can remember her name. It started with a J, definitely. Jamie? No, maybe Jackie? No, that doesn't sound right. Jade? Maybe…
She looks down at her hands. They're scratched up and covered in blood all except for her fingers. She always makes sure to keep them clean so she can see…so she can see… well, sometimes she forgets. But she always keeps them clean.
Up ahead a person lies on the ground, absolutely still. Next to them lies a sword, sunglasses, and a walkie-talkie communicator. Something strikes in the girl's mind, she knows this person. As she approaches she can make out the shape of a boy, a teenage boy. She speeds up a bit to reach him quicker and sees that he's wearing red. She looks down at her fingers again to be met with little strings tied onto some of them- one purple, one dark blue, one lighter blue, one pink, one orange, one green, one gray, one teal, and one jade. The girl drops herself beside the boy to see him covered in blood, chunks of him missing. There's no mistaking that he's wearing red, though.
A little farther ahead she can see more moving figures. They aren't slow like her, nor fast like she could be. They're armed with guns, chainsaws, swords, hammers; one even has a sickle, if she recalled its name properly. Each one bears a different color. She can't make out the colors too well- not surprising since they're probably hiding from creatures like her- but she glances down at her fingers again to check. All the colors match up perfectly. She can't always remember why, but she can't attack them. The colors are safe, the colors are friends. She looks back down at the corpse wearing red. She never had to wear a red string. She knows exactly who wears red.
Something begins to run down her face. She can't feel it, though, she can't feel much of anything anymore. But this time, she can remember. This time, she knows.
Dave Strider is dead.
Still she stares at the corpse, mutilated mercilessly. Her gaze shifts to one of his arms, which just so happens to have crooked teeth marks in them. Her mouth, which already stretched the width of her face, grows a bit wider as the corpse stirs. His eyes open- almost completely white, just like hers. He begins to stand up and she reaches for the sunglasses that lay next to him. She can't remember exactly why they're important, but she knows they are. He shockingly refuses them. The corpses, both boy and girl stand up.
The boy points a broken arm ahead, where the girl sees something hiding behind a pile of debris. How pathetic of a hiding spot.
Even with their dead faces, each can tell what the other is thinking. The human has no corresponding color to the strings on the dead girl's fingers. Fair game.
Their mouths seem to envelope their entire faces as they move in to attack.