Stumbling in at a time past midnight but luckily enough before four, Nate slathers a hand against the door of his apartment attempting to feel for entry in the darkness. Fingers fumble against keys while a drunken gaze looks the keyhole. Luckily enough, it isn't long before he somehow manages to click the door open and allow himself into his safe place. Possibly the reason Nate always found his way home so easily when he was drunk was probably due to the consistency of his night's out.

Every night consisted of the same thing. After finishing at the same time every day of five past five in the evening, he'd wish his co-workers a sound goodbye before wandering toward the nearest pub. It always bothered him that his colleagues seemed to want 'in' on his life so much. Working with a bunch of forty-somethings and a few twenty-nothings meant that he'd found himself surrounded by awkward sexual tension and boring conversation. On one side, he'd noted that two of his colleagues were easily fucking one another whenever the chance arose and in the other ball park, he could see that the guy who drove the other delivery truck had a pretty hot daughter and that dude who had employed him was a massive asshole.

Regardless of any interesting or beneficial qualities his co-workers may have possessed, Nate was never very much interested in socializing with them at all. A few times, he'd experienced those awkward moments where he'd actually ran into them during his lonesome, drunken adventures but almost always after the first obligatory drink, he'd find an excuse to escape. My grandmother just clocked it, my pet goldfish needs feeding, the circus is in town and I really wanted to see that one freak. Whatever came to Nate's mind. Whatever way he could escape his colleagues; he'd use. Hell, give a man a spoon and he'll dig his way outta prison. That's exactly how Nate saw it.

Even when Nate did find himself alone and enjoying the company of a sweet glass of jack, he'd receive the odd text from one of his hindrances.

hi n8 wut u up 2?

That annoyed him. His name was clearly spelt with an a, t and also and e. Yet his colleagues didn't get that. They were almost too fucking stupid or too lazy to even type those few letters. It gave him a headache almost any time he'd look down to his phone.

hey nathan any chance you could come in earlier tomorrow? got the big bosses from hr coming in and things need to be tip top! thanks john

Fuck off, asshole. Hell, that grated him too. By no means was Nate Shakespeare, yet it always bothered him how John would finish his texts with 'thanks john'. Like he was thanking himself. Hell, his asshole boss probably was thanking himself. Giving himself a big old pat on the back for all of his 'hard work'. The guy was really good at cracking a whip. That and being a douchebag.

For the past few months, Nate's drinks had been hard and straight. The fact of the matter was that his drinking had worsened in the past year. Ever since Brie. Things between them had become so warped, so painful that it'd taken a toll upon Nate. Despite being barely 31, it'd aged him. He'd gone from reasonably happy and relaxed to tense and quiet. Preferring only his thoughts over other people's company.

Now he found that his drinking was routine. The sad routine of a lonely man who was too bitter and way too damn angry to socialize any more than he was paid to. His drinking reached dizzying heights that he'd be far too embarrassed and way too proud to indulge anyone with.

Despite usually being once or twice a week that he'd usually frequent the bar, lately; it'd been every day of the week.

Of all the days; today had been a particularly rough day for the trucker. Today was a day brim with humiliation and embarrassment.

As per usual; he'd made his way to work. Few miles up the highway before driving down the high street and along side his familiar route, he'd seen - her.

Every morning she was stood there. Her name, who knew? Nate called her 'legs'. Eight forty-five every morning she stood waiting patiently for her bus to pull in, long blonde locks drooped over her shoulders. Her - legs - always a main attraction hidden barely behind a cute pencil skirt and her slim yet curvaceous body adorned forever with tight shirts or open buttoned tops. Everything about the mystery girl was a dream to Nate and it soon reached the point in which he found himself driving the exact same route and leaving at the exact same time ready to see her every morning.

Not once did she look his way; but every time he drove past her, he'd look at her body, her hair - in her eyes. And he adored her.

There were a few times he could barely contain his excitement after seeing her; times in which he'd find himself smacking his fingers down upon the steering wheel, drumming along to whatever tune was on the radio and badly singing along to the words. He'd always felt desperate for her attention. Perhaps it was a lonely cry for help. A plea for someone to take notice of him. Some deep-seated Freudian excuse probably lurked that deep down he actually wanted his mother, but Nate'd be the first person to scoff at that bullshit theory. On one occasion, he'd been so taken aback by her short skirt and magnificent thighs that the second he'd reached work he'd ran to the bathroom before releasing his desires in the toilet stalls.

Nate felt like he was in love. Legs was everything that Brie, his ex, was not. Beautiful and thin with friendly features and a devilish sexuality that brimmed from her skin with an alluring glow. It drove him crazy, placing him on edge and causing his heart to pound from his chest. It'd been well over a year since his viscous split from Brie. It'd been over something horrible. Something Nate hadn't spoken about to anyone. When shocked acquaintances pretended they cared about his breakup and asked why the 'lovebirds' could ever do that, he'd simply shrugged and pretended it was mutual. It was not mutual. It was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off and when it exploded both parties had come away wounded.

Legs kept Nate going for now. She kept his mind on something that was a little more sweeter than porn and ever-so-more real to boot. It was like a breath of life to the withered disinterest the man had shown to everyone else around him. Nate wanted Legs, he wanted to belong to her and her only.

That particular morning however; things had changed. After weeks of arriving at the same lonely apartment and hearing of his friend's engagements, weddings and babies; he finally decided on an intervention. Leaving at his usual eight thirty two am, by the time he'd reached her usual spot. His palms were sweaty and his heart was racing. Despite anxiety, Nate placed a brave smirk across his face as he slowed his car beside her and rolled the pane down.

When her eyes met his, his heart practically jumped from his chest. She was down-right beautiful.

"Hey-" Thinking back to the event was humiliating as he wondered how he'd even managed a word. "Every morning I drive past you. Every morning I see you and - I mean. I think you're beautiful." Perhaps he just wasn't the romantic type? Maybe women looked to him with the same disdain they saw ugly people with, or creeps. Perhaps that's how she saw him - as a creep. Because after he'd finished his pitch, the woman had scowled and turned and laughed before rejecting him with a spit and a roll of her eyes. Blood had flushed his cheeks an embarrassing red and his eyes had shifted wide and stunned to the onlookers. A few teenagers and an old man looked as though they were cackling at him. Enjoying his discomfort.

Nate's heart sunk and his stomach formed into a knot that quickly made it's way high up into his throat. Despite 150Ibs of pure masculinity sitting in the front of his truck, he felt as frail as a child and as weak as a sick person. If it weren't for the blush across his cheeks, Nate would've looked like a damn corpse looking at the woman with such wide, dead eyes. Further humiliating him, she looked back at him with a scowl. Even mocking, she was beautiful.

"What makes you think I'd wanna date you, creep?" She'd struck back. Similar to a Cobra destroying it's prey. "Look at you. I bet your truck makes up for your tiny cock, huh? Is that it? Is that why you don't already have a girlfriend? Or maybe it's because you creep on women from the safety of your car? Men like you…" Before she could finish her rant, he'd wound the window up as tightly as possible and sped away in shock. Had it been in a bar on a night out he'd probably have told her to fuck off or flipped her the bird, hell if he was full of dutch courage he probably would've ranted back about "blueball giving whores" such as herself. But instead, sitting in surprise and humiliation, he opted to escape.

To her - he was nothing but an annoying glitch in the day. Spoiling her morning. She'd never knew that to him - she was a dream. A mystery of love he wished to one day embrace. It'd cut him too deeply that day, destroying his pride harshly.

Head falling into his hands, Nate collapses to the ground in a drunken state as he slams the apartment door behind him. If he wasn't so wasted, he was sure he'd be angry. Truth was; he was far too tired to even think of his rage right now. Instead, he found himself consumed by embarrassment.

He crawls along the floor of his tiny, narrow apartment. Dragging himself via his fingernails against the carpet toward his pet Goldfish, Snowball. In a drunken state of interest, he feels that Snowball needs feeding.

Ever stolen a goldfish before? Nate could quite confidently say that he had. It was the Winter of the year before and Nate'd been hanging whatever old clothes he'd remembered to wash out onto the communal washing line he shared with the other tenants of the apartment block. One guy, Lenny - as they all called him, owned a pond. Truth be told, it didn't belong to him. Hell, it didn't belong to anyone. But Lenny claimed it as his own. He was an old sack of shit with not one reasonable bone in his body. The kind of guy who'd bang your door down for playing your music two beats too loud, or the kind of geezer who'd put passive aggressive notes around the corridors. Nate felt he was an asshole of a grand proportion. But generally; he stayed well and truly from the line of fire. Until that day. As Nate had placed his boxers and shirts over the washing line, he'd noticed Lenny's eyes glaring over at him. After a few seconds of awkward realization, he'd finally turned to face the source.

"What can I help you with, Len?" He'd asked reasonably, with a hint of skepticism.

"Nothing" Len'd spat back "I'm just a little pissed as all." Lenny had responded with that patronizing as shit 'country-boy' accent of his. He was well into his mid-fifties yet was still trying to be John Wayne. Nate was convinced that shit had ended when had come along. Holding his eyes from rolling with a long blink, Nate nodded a question.

"So, what's up, Len?" He forced himself to ask, but he didn't really care.

"Well, boy." That's annoying. "My carp, all my carp are gone. An'…an my damn goldfish. They all gone up and died. Some - asshole - has been poisoning them."

"Ever consider it's 'cause of the cold? Freezing my balls off out here…" It was lucky it wasn't snowing,otherwise Nate's washing would've never gotten dry. "Maybe that's why your fish are dying? 'Cause they're freezing their fishy balls off."

Len didn't respond with any words, instead just a spiteful glare and an angry shake of his big, bald head. Oh man did Nate want to shit in his cornflakes. The guy was a grade-A prick. He was always accusing the tenants of various shit. Today it was poisoning his fish. Yesterday it was treading crap through the hallway. Whatever it was, it was tiresome, tedious and never welcome.

Nate shrugged at his fellow tenant and then he watched him leave with a glare that wanted to pierce daggers in the other man's back. Thinking about how much he hated Len for a few seconds while he placed his washing across the freezing line. It came to him quickly how he wanted to bother the other man. Forever the prankster, Nate couldn't stop himself from grinning. He was going to steal a fish. Just…just fucking go for it and nick it. Maybe put it in his kitchen sink for a little while. He'd call it Bub after that zombie from what was that film called and it'd be his best man at his wedding. What a beautiful thought.

He'd edged toward the pond like a thief pocketing whatever in a shop, sneaky and abrasive. Then before he'd known it, he'd reached it and somehow miraculously caught a fish in his hands. Well, there were only a few in there anyway and the cold made them swim around like ice cubes. Upon catching the creature, it flopped and struggled in his hands. Nate damn-near almost dropped it before he broke into an insane laughter and rushed back to his apartment.

After that things just sort of, to excuse the pun, flowed. Nate had thrown the fish into his sink and he'd made sure to use filtered water rather than tap water because he'd remembered hearing something once about nitrates or whatever it was. During the weekend, he'd bought a tank, set it up, complete with a filter, a cute LED light and a pretty bitching display. Hell, he'd spent way over $100 on it. Especially after the shop assistant had told him that a goldfish'd grow as long as his hand.

Over time; Bub had become Snowball and Snowball was referred to as a real ass kicker. Len'd never found out about what had happened to one of his surviving fish, but by god did he accuse as many people as he could of - killing, losing and even eating the fish. But never did he ask anyone if they'd - stolen - his fish.

Recalling his memories of his little friend, Nate gropes around the cupboard for some fishy flakes. Everyone told him flakes were the worst, that his fish would gulp the air too often and get a sickness something awful, but Nate called bullshit on that one. Unthinkingly prying open the lid, he presses his nose against the glass of the tank and begins to empty it's contents.

"Little Snowball's gonna get so much fuckin' food. He's going to grow big and strong…" Nate imitates a Russian accent…badly "like Russian bear." It isn't long before he's fallen back to his knees and collapsed next to a pile of fish flakes.

Grunting as he lay his body against the floor. The exhausted man gropes the ground and he finds himself falling into a slumber. As his stomach rumbles with sickness and his head begins to pound - he falls into a deep sleep. It's a Thursday night and he'd work in the morning. But for now sleep was more important than the oncoming day.

Shooting awake against the ground, Nate coughs what he can only assume is the remnants of hours old whiskey from his throat. Head banging as though full of fire, Nate rises to his full 5ft 11″ height and scans the room. Barely seeing through his hungover eyes, he continues to cough. God knows what he'd smoked last night to make him choke so.

One of the first things he notices is Snowball. Upside down, his belly flat across the surface of the water. Nate's no expert; but Snowball's tummy is inflated and rotten-looking. His precious fish is dead. Dragged into the filter and sucked of all life. Spying it causes him to frown sadly and hang his head. You could argue - it was just a fish. But fuck that mentality, it was his friend. Snowball didn't take any shit from anyone and Nate had respected that.

Nate wasn't going to mourn a fish, however. Instead, he adjusts himself to the world around him; it takes him a few moments and a cheeky cup of coffee for him to realize what day it actually is. Friday. Last working day of the week. And alongside the realization, Nate spies a clock that states the time is eleven eighteen am. Almost three hours after he was meant to start.

Panic forms a knot in his chest as he rushes for the door, unthinking to even throw a shirt and tie on for his place of work. So, dressed in jeans and a white sleeveless top, he rushes from the door. It's not until he's raced down two flights of stairs that he finds it odd there's not been a ring from his asshole boss asking him where he was. Hell; even the apartment around him seems oddly quiet. Slowing down at the last few steps, he pulls a half-charged phone from his back pocket and stares at it curiously.

No texts. No Calls. No signal.

Weird.

Raising a brow at the oddness, he pockets the phone before slowly leaving the building. Hands slide across the glass and the door creates a creak as he leaves. Seconds after leaving the building his ears are pierced by an unfamiliar noise.

Screaming.

Alarmed not only by the shout but also by his now throbbing hangover, he runs to the source. Fumbling over his own feet, he traces back toward the scream to find a woman surrounded by three men. It's daytime and yet the scene looks like a murder. Blood decorates the ground as well as the three villains as the woman crawls away - her ankle badly broken and her foot twisted and torn into a gory injury.

"Holy shit." Nate edges beneath his breath; watching the event with shock and confusion across his tired features. While he stands like a voyeur, analyzing the situation, the woman holds an open palm out toward him and screams for a rescue. Despite her acknowledgment of Nate, the other men don't take any notice of him and instead they charge for her.

Placing a palm over his agape mouth, Nate watches as the men begin to tear and slash at the woman. Their movements aren't natural, human; instead they're brutal and cannibalistic. Soon enough their teeth are biting through her flesh and her screams only become more desperate and scared. Horrified, Nate charges forward and pulls one of the men off of the victim.

"What the fuck is wrong with you guys?!" Fear is disguised by guile as Nate stands against the men. Despite his current new-found strength he quickly finds himself intimidated when all three focus their attention onto him. Blood drips from their lips and drugged up eyes pierce Nate's body and take a firm grasp upon his soul. Looking to the attackers makes him feel like a scared child and soon he finds himself frozen in fear.

Everything was happening too quickly; too suddenly. He couldn't be sure if it was the alcohol leaving his system or the reluctance at facing such ghouls that caused it; but his body was shaking like a shower of shit and he knew they could tell. Glancing toward the woman, by this point he figures she'd pretty much be fucking dead before he decides to high-tail it out of there.

His legs seem to run faster than ever before away from the threat as tears well in his eyes and his heart beats in tune to his fear. Rushing toward the door, he attempts the code for the apartments a few times before well and truly giving up and instead heading toward the road. Minutes go by before he finds himself in the middle of town.

"F-f-f-fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" Expletives spew from his shaking lips and soon he finds himself far from the trio. Eyeing his hand, he forces his free hand to grip it due to his uncontrollable shaking. Caught up in the moment created a bubble of anxiety and fear for the confused man until he notices the town around him. Everything looks the same, but with a red filter. Blood pastes across roads, decorates cars and slathers over anything else. Corpses litter across the street and Nate wonders just what the fuck happened during the night.

Circling his surroundings on shaky legs, Nate fears the worst. Everyone's dead. He's the last man alive and the thought terrifies him. Despite wanting so long for people to leave him alone and let him to his own devices, being alone right now seemed the most frightening thing possible. Loneliness scared him almost more so than the corpses that obstructed his view.

Nate creeps along the pavement, slow steps guide him along the road. Never had he'd thought he'd have to edge his way through cracks of blood on the ground, stifle his way across bodies and waste of all kinds. His body shivers, his heart races at a million miles per hour. Nate hadn't felt so scared before. In his case, also involuntarily lonely too.

Breaking the dominating silence, a voice rings through the air. Like a safety net wrapping it's way around Nate and dragging his attention toward it, he thanks the heavens. What luck.

"Over her, man! Come on! This way!"

Flickering his eyes toward the noise, a shaky Nate races toward the source before being welcomed into the boarded building. An old pub that'd been decked out into a substitute fortress. Breathing hard and dying for a cigarette, he relaxes against the wall. His body still writhing with the shakes.

The bar wasn't long abandoned. The place just looked like it'd been host to a damn riot with it's wreckage of a lounge. Tables were tipped against windows and chairs thrown to the side to make way for only the patrons would know what. The bar taps were still leaking and the familiar scent of alcohol and smoke within it's walls had now been tainted by the metallic smell of blood and death. Looking at his surroundings, Nate's clearly taken back by the environment. Even for him the scent is a little too strong. Knocking him back with a palm held firmly against his nose.

Peaking from the darkness, the voice is matched with a face. A young woman to be exact. With a brunette bunch of curls hauled up into a bun upon her head and a plump body covered by a summer dress and sandals. Despite a kind face and innocent eyes, she looks too damn similar to Brie for him to smile at her warmly. Hell, just the slight familiarity between the two makes him reel away and look to the floor. Despite such coincidences, when Nate looks back to her, a small smile forms across her thin lips and her eyes look almost as frightened as his.

"Are you okay?" She asks with good-intention before a man appears to nudge Nate into the door. The man is damn-near covered lip to eyebrow with piercings and wears a messy beard with longish hair. He looks like a hell's angel with his tattoos and tough guy scowl. Nearing what Nate would describe as easily 240Ibs, the guy's an intimidating 6ft 3″ to boot. Everything from his attitude to his physicality is another frightening reality for the trucker.

"Guess it's nice to see someone else who isn't dead." The man comments.

Catching his breath; Nate's eyes are wide and desperate while he looks to the girl with the friendly albeit scarily familiar face intently.

"Is everyone dead…?"

Sympathy sweeps across her expression before she places a hand upon his shoulder.

"Most people are…" It'd been twenty-four hours since it'd begun and at this very moment, barely six survivors stood within the hideout. "My name's Tasha…who're you?"

Nate ignores the question and instead falls to his ass, his legs spread before him. His head hangs low. Depressed.

"Everyone's dead, but us?" He repeats. It's not a question, however. More of a musing he wishes not to be answered. A hand runs through his hair while he leans his head back into the wooden pane of the door. "…"

It's difficult to talk now so instead Nate opts to sit and stare at the ground with a longing look in his eyes.

"I'm Nate." He finally says.