Edited. Now without the silly mistakes [hopefully]. Also changed the chapter order slightly.
Ten fucking days.
He'd been trapped in damn room for TEN. FUCKING. DAYS.
Well, as trapped as someone could be in an unlocked room with about fifteen different exits, all of which if used would lead to the outside world.
But that was the problem.
The club had windows.
Had it not then Frankie would have happily ran out of the dark now rather rank scented room (you try living on one room for over a week with no running water then see how good you smell afterwards). But. The room had windows. And through those windows he'd watched as the other club goes ran to their deaths.
Not all had died at once, no, some had managed to get away, though he'd seen them again a few days later a lot worse for wear and far less human then before, missing body parts or in some cases having grown extra body parts. Some had gotten off easy, ploughed down by gun fire in the chaos, the gunslingers unable to tell friend from foe amongst all the madness. It was a shitty way to die by Frankies standards, though he guessed a bullet to the head would in-fact be a lot less painful then having your intestines ripped out and strewn across the street as he'd done to some fat bitch, or having your leg ripped off then used to bludgeon you to death.
Yeh.
A headshot sounded kinda nice after that.
He'd of probably have stayed inside the storeroom never having to worry about his preferred method of death though there was one little problem. He'd run out of food. And though he never paid much attention in science class (or any class for that matter) he could remember form the movie the ring you could last the good part of seven days without food before kabam. You're dead.
He'd run over a hundred different battle tactics in his head but when the time came to venture out of the club and find a different place to hide all of his wonderfully well thought out planning went down the drain.
He stood by the door, light green eyes scanning the road for any signs of…well….anything really. Didn't matter what it was, if it moved then there was no way in hell he was stepping foot out of this building, though after an hour of seeing nothing he eventually had to stop trying to make up excuses and open the door.
One steps.
Two steps.
Three steps.
Wow things were going better then expected.
Four step.
Five steps.
Six steps.
Hella' lot better then expected.
Untill of course Frankie was about ten meters away from the door and suddenly something heavy slammed down onto his back, making him fall forwards and subsequently bite the end of his own tongue off in the process.
The little wigger boy screamed like a girl and desperately tried to bat the THING off him. It was dressed in some scruffy outfit consisting of a blue jumper wrapped in…duct tape? Wow. Now that sounded a little bit familiar. Frankie opened both eyes and caught a glimpse of his attacker, taking in the messy blond hair and short stature.
"Awww hell no-" before he could finish sharp claws grabbed his oversized sweater, beginning to tear it from his body with scarily accurate motions, mimicking those that Frankie himself had used on the same damn boy for the past three years,
He'd never seen how stealing another males clothing could be considered gay. In his eyes it was the ultimate form of humiliation, forcing the little short ass to walk around half dressed all day while Frankie had a locker full of the boys stolen clothes, all trophies of the mini victories he'd won over his self proclaimed bitch.
But now it seemed the tables had turned as the hunter managed to remove Frankies sweater in one sharp motion, pulling it from his body exposing his pale chest and rather girlish physic he'd spent hours at the gym trying to change but to no avail. "Oi! You little fuck, give it back or I'ma shank you in face blood, ya' get me?" the speech impaired boy yelled, his own messed up ridiculous dialect meaning nothing to the hunter as a faint smirk crossed its face, claws flexing and then slamming down onto Frankies stomach, raking over his skin creating deep welts.
Frankie screamed so loud he could have sworn his lungs would explode, if the hunter didn't gouge them out first that way.
What in reality took seconds seemed like hours as he felt the creatures sharpened nails slowly dig into his skin, ploughing at it and sewing its seeds of infection deep within his body. Frankie felt his breath begin to slow down, and his heart rate quickly follow as the claws dug deeper into him, now exposing his organs to the elements.
He would have lay there and been torn apart if it hadn't of been for four survivors, each armed to the brim with an array of weapons, shooting everything that moved.
A bullet skimmed past the hunters head making it growl in anger, not seeming to be able to pick up on exactly where the bullet had come from though having a rough idea. In one quick motion it bit down on Frankies shoulder sealing the deal then ran away, the boys jumper still clutched in one of its now blood stained hands.
The survivors assumed he was dead a left, leaving the dieing boy in the street until he was completely alone. He felt himself black out every now and then, having to will himself to stay awake, stay away from the darkness creeping into the corners of his eyes making everything go blurry. Eventually he lost all feeling in his body and assuming this was the end his shakily got to his feet, hands pressing down on his stomach keeping everything on the inside as he made his way back into the club, not wanting to die out here in the street just to be eaten like carrion on the road side. Feasted on by scavengers which had once been human, some of which may have even been his friends.
…
When he awoke four days later he had no recollection of anything that had happened within the past week. Or year. Or ever actually. He sat up and blinked, feeling the side of his face being able to tell that something was different. He blinked again and waited until his eye focused, making up for the missing one, trying to compensate now for the change in depth perception. He reached one greyish skinned hand down to his stomach, feeling over the heal skin that had once been ripped to shreds, now only littered by several claw shaped scars. He went to raise the other hand to do the same, to check his body was fine and free from open sours, though he noticed that his right arm was considerably heavier then his left, probably due to the large amount of greyish tumour like bulges all gathered around his forearm, stopping just above his hand. As a human he would have found this sick, and would have most likely vomited into the nearest circular object, though now his brain didn't seem to register this as being physically unattractive, he only saw it as annoyance, the tumours causing his body to feal off balanced.
He got to his feet, now being able to tell it was only on his right side that the tumours seemed to have grown, having a slightly awkward stance to make up for the weight throwing him off balance. Another rather interesting change that though he couldn't remember, he could have sworn hadn't always been there, were the three large slimy appendages protruding from his body. One seemed to be coming from a slit on the beck of his neck, another amoungst the tumours on his shoulder, and the last one from his own mouth, judging from the feel of it something that reached all the way down into his stomach and probably further.
He gave the appendage and experimental twitch though from instinct he seemed to know what to do with it, needing little time to work out how to control all three and get used to his new body.
He stood there in silence for a few minutes, waiting for his quickly festering brain to come up with something to do.
Eat.
Kill.
Fuck.
Any basic primal desires were instantly thrown forwards in suggestion with little or no order, his body simply screaming at him to do SOMETHING to satisfy it. He touched his left shoulder feeling a slight pinprick of pain where the hunters teeth had sunk into his skin then he tilted his head to the side a fraction, remembering small flashes of information, sights and scents. With a low growl he walked out of the club, lounge tongue instantly shooting out from his open jaw and quickly strangling a common infected that had come to close, sending a warning to the others lurking about to keep there distance as he made his way along the street, one track mind now fixed on finding the hunter.
His hunter.