His mind was oozing drown his face sometimes coming out in thick chunks and the rest coming out like a cornstarch slurry. I raise the pistol aligning the metal stumps with his heart and pulling the trigger. The recoil almost knocks the gun outta my hands; a quiet thud is the only other noise in the room after the gunshot. His body already cold now lies on my floor, blood doesn't flow, nor ooze, in fact nothing comes out except a spent bullet and used casing. A hole was left in the wall and the casing on the floor. What was dripping and spilling out from him before no longer was. The lack of blood wasn't too shocking, hell the sight of death wasn't either. His blood had been drained when he was being embalmed and instead replaced with formaldehyde. The name of the body on the floor was unknown, as were the rest of the bodies which are roaming the streets. It was like Resident Evil but diluted no weird anomalies or weird mutations which caused the body to become almost bulletproof had occurred.Mr.x doesn't exist here, yet. I walk around the room looking for something long I could slap the body with to check if I had killed it. Would it be killed? As it was already dead when I started shooting at it. I walk to my desk and grab the chair, I roll the chair as hard as I can at the body. It rolls and rolls sorta fast then taps the body.

"Fuck it." I run at the body and kick and hard as I can at the skull. A crunch breaks the silence in the room and I can't quite tell whether it was my foot or if it was the skull. It doesn't move or make a sound. I take off my shoe and examine my foot feeling around the ligaments and bones hoping nothing happened. It starts to swell and feel full but nothing seemed to be broken. I grabbed what was left of the hair on it's head and pick it up; the skull has give and even grabbing at it I can feel that it was cracked. It push the neck into an uncomfortable position and watch it's face. It's eyes were bleeding despite the lack of blood, the iris had turned black and orange and the scent that I'm only now able to smell was like death had took a shit in my mouth. I try and turn the body around but considering it was a fully grown man and he was double dead I struggled. Without him being alive to balance him he felt double the weight he would alive. I struggle for a bit then leave the room. I walk to the kitchen and grab a butcher's knife. It was heavy and cold in my hands. Before this it was mostly being used to break coconuts or fabricate larger animals. Well, I guess it's still going to be fabricating a larger animal, just, just uh, ah human this time. And I won't be eating it, just moving it and robbing it.

Since the start of this, what do I call it. Nothing else in history could be used as an example except for extremely specific pop culture references. Maybe the Harran virus would be a good example, or the Racoon City outbreak? I don't know, I honestly don't really care either. I pull out my phone and put on some music to distract me from what I'm about to do. All but scarlet is a good band to play in this situation, they write about so many things I can just listen to them and try to zone out. I walk back into my room and to my desk, I open the center drawer and look for some prerolls, or really any drug. I find a tube, the last tube and open it. Inside is a king sized joint, it wasn't as fat a blunt but it was a big ass joint. I reach into my pocket and look for a lighter, I dig around for a little while before I find one. It was one I picked up just before this, it was purple and had Dia De Los Muertos designs on it. I place it and the joint on the desk and max out the volume on my phone. It plays a mixture of music styles, from pop to punk to metal core. I grab the butcher's knife and start on the right arm; up, up, and up the knife goes before I slam it down into the arm. It rips through the fabric and makes a squelching noise. I gag and continue going, formaldehyde drips outta the arteries and onto the tile floors. It's lightly tinted red and doesn't stain the floor much. I hit the bone one last time and a sickening crunch makes me vomit. The smell and look of death has invaded my house, I get up and grab the arm gagging once again and throw it out my front door.

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No things are in the street luckily but, they soon will be. I walk to the utility room where I find my cat Assix and a box of kitty litter. I grab the tub and cup I use to spread it and close the door behind me. A song with an eerie tone to it plays when I enter the room, it's almost sex rock but too metal. I pour the ground up clay over the vomit and formaldehyde before grabbing the heavy blade once again. This time I will be taking off his head. I raise the blade up over my head and yank it down onto its neck. A loud squelch and a crunch followed by another squelch and a loud crunch fill the room before his head starts to roll. This time I don't gag but instead I stare; it's not quite a thousand yards it's maybe one-hundred yards but still. Much more formaldehyde comes out of the jugular and the brain. It spills out onto the floor and makes a little puddle of an opaque pink liquid. I pour more of the litter onto the floor to prevent staining, then move onto the left arm. I pull it straight and hear some small crunches signaling a condition that causes joint damage or poor care of his body. A loud click comes from the joint that signals I have made it past the worst of the joint damage. I raise the blade above my head once again and I drop it into his body. I swing fast and hard splattering formaldehyde onto my face and the walls.

The pink spray is going be hard to get out but I don't care I swing the blade harder and faster, the flesh is torn and the arteries destroyed. "More, more, more, MORE!" I start to laugh my grip on sanity loosening the sick joy of taking mangling somebody's loved one is a joy that I need more of. I cut through the arm, and move to the leg. "MORE!" I scream before digging the blade deep into its legs "MORE! MORE!" I keep stabbing the leg till it comes off, the blade dented and misshapen. I laugh a sick laugh and go to my desk. I wipe my shaky hands on my soaked pants and grab the joint and lighter, I bite the filter gently and bring the lighter close to my face before lighting it. I light it then take a deep breathe; it's shaky. I exhale the smoke in clouds and start to laugh and cough. "More" I bite the joint a little harder and grab the blade once more. I raise it above my head and swing hard and fast downwards into its flesh the noise brings me an indescribable joy. I relish the sounds the feeling, the smell. I take a deep breathe and rub my hands on my face staining it pink. I exhale the smoke and cough my mind foggy and filled with the joy of mutilating someone. I grab its torso and drag it to the front door, I open the door and drag the torso into the street. I take another hit before screaming "COME GET YOUR MEAL!" A feeling swells into my chest and I can't help but to laugh; I laugh a sick laugh. I laugh and laugh my mind unable to stay the same. The joy this brings is one I should never have experienced. I walk back into my house taking as many deep breaths in as I can before the joint has ran out. I take the roach and throw it on to the pavement. I walk inside and grab the limbs and head taking them out and throwing them on to the street one-by-one. His body is disseminated along my lawn and I have the sickest smile on my face. I clean the formaldehyde and let my cat out before I shower. The shower's water runs pink cleaning its blood and formaldehyde on me. The steam fogs the windows and I don't bother to clean them.