Andy | Undead

His stomach doesn't growl anymore, not really, but the emptiness is an unpleasant feeling that he aches to fill. Andy has been kept in this dusty basement for nearly a week now, not allowed to move, not allowed to leave, barely even allowed to open his mouth with the muzzle on. All he tried to do was find a bite to eat in a house he assumed was abandoned. There were no zombies in this area, so he though he'd be undisturbed.

The key word being thought.

It turned about that this was a survivor home, a place where a small group of uninfected humans gathered to live in relative peace. He found it out the hard way when he was nearly knocked out and held at gunpoint as soon as he found their stash of canned food. He quickly spoke up to prove that he wasn't a mindless beast like the other undead roaming about, but that did little to ease their skepticism.

The group consisted of five people, ranging from around his age in his early 20s, to one older man that could've easily been close to 50. It was a strange group, seeing people that just a few months ago were likely students or regular office workers and members of society turned into battle hardneded going wielding survivors. Andy has no doubt that if he didn't speak up and prove his sentience, his head would've been blown open without a second thought.

The urges are always nagging at the back of his head, a voice telling him that he needs to bite and feed. It's something he's started to get used to, whenever his strange sense of smell picked up the scent of someone alive. It's not his fault that it only got stronger the longer he was around so many people. He quickly learned that the fear of death was stronger after the first time he nearly bit the older survivor - Gordon, he thinks his name is - while he was moving him to this room. It turns out the basement is more than just a stash for food and weapons, as he conveniently made a makeshift muzzle out of an old motorcycle helmet.

Every night Andy can hear the five of them talking about what they should do with him. If you told him just a couple of weeks ago that he'd actually want to live, he'd laugh in your face. He had nothing and no one to live for, not really. His awkward demeanor and love of photography quickly gave him the name of a pervert, the rumors following him through high school and even university. He was ready to end it - he did end it - only to be brought back as some... creature that not even this group fully understands.

On the sixth - or seventh? - day of being stashed in the basement like a shameful secret, two of the younger survivors - Emily and Joseph, he reminds himself - come down to greet him. He tries to give them a charming smile, though the effect is not doubt lost behind the muzzle and the unnatural stretch of his skin.

Andy's breath hitches when they grab either one of his arms, pulling him to his feet. His hands are still tied behind his back, so all he can do is go along with them as the two drag him upstairs.

The sight that greets him is like one out of his nightmares. Gordon and the remaining two - Jasmine and Alex - are standing around a chair like they're about to make him present in the front of class. He's set down on the wooden chair and Emily and Joseph join the group, finishing the grim looking council that's going to decide his fate. He tries for a charming grin again, but if anything it seems to work even less this time.

"Hey, guys. Gordon, it's nice to see you again," the man in question just gives him a steely glare, so Andy quickly clears his throat to recover. "Anyway, um, what's going on, huh? You decided to let me go now? I'm sure you'll be glad to have me out of your hair."

He chuckles awkwardly, but no one else joins him. Joseph's hand rests on the handgun in the waistband of his pants, and the rest stand there stiffly, their postures tense. Gordon takes a step forward, mouth open and about to say something, before a loud and rhythmic knock sounds through the room.

The knock is too quiet to attach zombies in such a secluded area, but it's rhythm is a sign that it's not an accident, either. It's likely another survivor, it Andy had to guess. Gordon gestures for Joseph to go get the door, his gun held low. Gordon himself follows after him, and Andy watches as the girls stand back, ready to jump into action at any moment. His eyes widen when he sees the oldest of the group pick up what appears to be an assault rifle from behind an armchair, and he decides to stay quiet, not wanting to test to see if that thing is loaded or not.

"Who is it?" Gordon's voice is low and gruff as Joseph's hand grips the knob tightly. Andy can't hear a reply, but he assumes it was indeed a survivor, and the door opens a moment later. Joseph raises his gun and he watches as the newcomer seems to raise their hands in a gesture of peace. It's hard to hear what's happening, but a few tense minutes later, the new survivor is invited inside.

Andy sits there awkwardly, suddenly self conscious about the predicament he's in. He can't imagine how he must look, a zombie tied up to a wooden chair and muzzled, with eyes that still seem to see. He opens his mouth as if to introduce himself before a quick glance at the gun still in Gordon's hand has him thinking otherwise. He doesn't know what's going to happen, but he tries to put up his best puppy dog eyes with the hope that the newcomer will set him free.