AN: So, first and foremost, this is for "dedicated" to two people: 1) One of my close friends, who's currently trying to figure out who he is. 2) breaking ground: Fellow Fanfiction author... This is the start of my continuation of Creature I Have Become. It's not required to read it before hand, at least not for this one, but if you'd like to, I certainly am not going to stop you. I just thought of this idea one night while I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Hope it's satisfying enough for you all not to hate me. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own L4D. But please oh please can I own the authors of the scribbles on the wall? I ask, because I don't know who they are!
Scribbles on the wall.
Words etched into the cold surface.
Did they belong to other survivors?
...
They are not zombies. They don't want to eat your brains. They're like us. Just different. Different, that's all.
... Surely, this person was a madman. Suggesting the Infected weren't some type of undead creature? ...
This virus, whatever has infected them, it hasn't killed them. They're still people. Human beings. Their brains just work differently.
...
What is this, some kind of teen girl obsessed with them?
They're bloodthirsty animals.
Creatures of the night.
...
Before the virus was released, we knew them. Friends, and family. We loved them. But now what? We savagely murder them, in some vain attempt to save ourselves from dropping to their level. But why?
...
Because we don't want to die.
...
Because we're scared to embrace our primal core. The raging thirst for a fresh kill. The lust for the hunt.
...
Who the hell is this?
...
The "zombies" aren't undead. They're alive. And there's proof. They're changing.
...
No shit, Sherlock.
...
They're evolving. Just like we would. Just like nature does. They aren't too different from us. No, just a few things that have changed.
... The words stop, but only briefly. More scribbles ensue. ...
I will prove these people are not zombies. They are human beings. Just a little different. I'll show the world. Soon, everyone will see...
... The scribbles stop. The writing on the wall has faded, lost to time. The words abruptly cut off, leaving stains of red marker. Or blood.
AN: As an afterthought, I'd like to say that the person who is writing the scribbles on the wall is in normal font, whereas the person reading the scribbles is in italics.