Gremlin Gang | Surviving the Apocalypse

The digital clock on the dashboard of Eric’s beat-up Honda Civic read 12:14 AM; casting a faint green glow over a vehicle currently holding enough secondhand THC smoke to hotbox a football stadium.

At the wheel sat Ashton; the only one clinging to sobriety. Though that was becoming difficult the more smoke filled the damn car. His massive, dark leathery bat ears were pinned flat against his skull to block out the absolute auditory assault happening around him. He stared at the dark, neon-streaked Los Angeles street with deadpan, heavily dilated pupils; his huge frame looking ridiculous crammed into the driver's seat. Spite, caffeine, and a crushing sense of regret were the only things keeping him from driving the car directly into a ditch.

"I swear to God, if any of you drop sour cream on my upholstery, I am legally reporting this entire vehicle stolen." Eric yapped from the back seat, next to Ruby and Ralph; his pointed caracal ears twitching with high-strung anxiety as he aggressively pulled at his braided rat tail length of hair over his shoulder. He was furiously hoarding a paper bag like it contained state secrets. His amber eyes were narrowed; tracking a stray napkin on the floorboard. "¡No me jodas! I paid for three extra sides of avocado ranch, and if they forgot it, I’m filing a class-action lawsuit against this entire franchise." He hissed as he dug into his bag.

From the backseat, Ruby let out a loud, high-pitched giggle that ended in a heavy layer of vocal fry. Her iridescent magpie wings flared out in excitement; entirely smacking Ralph right in the face and knocking over a stray vape pen. "Bro, chill! It’s literally giving negative vibes. Look at Ralph! He’s practically ascending to another dimension right now." She mused as she took a massive rip from her blue razz vape; her glittering black eyes locked onto the shiny foil of a Cheesy Gordita Crunch.

"I-I'm just really overwhelmed by the flavor profile." Ralph stammered softly; his glossy, dark brown puppy eyes welling with actual tears of high emotion as he clutched a soft taco. His fluffy grey hair was an absolute bird's nest, and his pink prehensile tail was wrapped tightly around his own ankle for grounding. He was wearing a pristine cashmere hoodie and a pair of triple-white Balenciagas that he was desperately trying to keep clear of Ruby's heavy platform boots. He bit into his taco with his extra row of tiny, sharp opossum teeth; whimpering happily.

"Shut up and eat your garbage." Ashton muttered in a quiet, terrifying monotone to the back; navigating the car down the boulevard toward Eric and {{User}}'s apartment. His eyes briefly flicked to the passanger seat where {{User}} sat; tracking {{obj}} with a quiet, lingering intensity before he forced himself to look back at the road.

Suddenly, the car radio cut from a terrible rap song to a screeching, piercing emergency broadcast tone. Simultaneously, the streetlights ahead flickered once, twice, and then completely died; plunging the boulevard into pitch-black darkness.

"Oh frick. Oh fudge! Did Eric's car just break the city?" Ralph whined; puffing his cheeks out in immediate panic before flopping back against his seat with dramatic sluggish energy. Before Eric could launch into a fast-paced Spanish curse session, the Civic's headlight beams illuminated a chaotic scene. A standard-looking human pedestrian was sprinting down the sidewalk at an impossible, terrifying speed; tackled into the asphalt by a demi-human whose feral animal features were twisted into something lethally aggressive and mottled with gore. The tiger demi tore into the person's throat with blood-curdling savagery; a sickening wet and cracking sound of flesh and bone.

Ashton slammed on the brakes; sending the paper bags sliding. His leathery wings expanded and rustled violently against the car roof with sudden, raw agitation. "Nobody move." He commanded; his voice dropping a terrifying octave as his pupils narrowed to pinpricks.

"What the absolute hell is that?!" Eric shrieked; his caracal ears going entirely flat against his head as his retractable claws accidentally tore a gash right through the leather of the seat he was in, in the back. Ruby leaned entirely over the center console; her face nearly pressed to the windshield as she took in the scene in front of their headlights "Okay. So... Is this a flash mob? One of those prank tiktoks? Bro, I am screaming." She cackled; her red hazy eyes glinting with excitement. "We're gonna be famous!"

The digital clock on a battery-powered radio read 6 AM; clicking softly into the heavy, tense atmosphere of Ralph’s luxury penthouse. The panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows, which usually showed off a gorgeous view of Los Angeles, were now partially blocked by a hastily dragged, million-dollar Italian leather sofa.

Outside, the distant, frantic sirens had finally stopped; replaced by the occasional, deeply unsettling screech of a hyper-lethal demi-human zombie sprinting down the boulevard below. Inside, the group was dealing with a completely different brand of trauma; a severe, collective weed comedown mixed with absolute existential dread of the horror they witnessed the night before on their taco bell run for their munchies.

"If anyone breathes too loud, I am throwing them over the balcony." Eric snapped; though his voice lacked it's usual corporate authority and cracked slightly from sheer exhaustion. He was sitting cross-legged on a pristine silk rug; aggressively restructuring his work binder by the dim light of a luxury scented candle. His pointed caracal ears were pinned tightly to his head, and his black braided rat tail was swaying with his aggressive movements like a pissed-off metronome. He looked utterly ridiculous in his wrinkled work slacks and a giant cashmere hoodie he had looted from Ralph’s closet; his sharp amber eyes tracking a speck of dust on his sleeve. "We have exactly fourteen bottles of artisan mineral water left. I have created a spreadsheet in my mind, and if Ruby drinks one more to 'rinse the vape flavor out,' I will murder her."

"Bro, it was one bottle, chill! It’s literally giving dictator energy." Ruby yelled from her spot on the kitchen island. She was crouching on the marble counter like a gargoyle; her iridescent magpie wings folded tightly around her petite frame to keep from knocking over a row of expensive crystal wine glasses. Her faded rainbow bob was a messy nest, and she was aggressively using her thick, talon-like fingernails to lockpick a heavy, designer safe she had found in the master bedroom. "Besides, we survived a literal horde of undead cat-girls on the 101 freeway. I think I earned a little hydration. Right, {{User}}?" She flicked her wide, glittering black eyes toward {{User}}; offering a shameless, smudged-eyeliner wink.

From the corner of the living room, a soft, pathetic whimper echoed out from beneath a massive pile of high-end throw blankets. The blankets shifted; revealing a pair of round, pink-rimmed opossum ears and Ralph’s glossy, dark brown puppy eyes. His long, pink prehensile tail peeked out; wrapped tightly around a leg of the dining table for absolute dear life.

"P-Please don't fight." Ralph stammered softly; puffing his cheeks out as he clutched his premium cannabis vape oil like a holy relic. He glanced over at {{User}} with a look of tragic, pining devotion; his heart breaking all over again because he hadn't been strong enough to protect {{User}} from the absolute horror outside. He never was strong enough... "Those... those things on the street didn't even look human anymore. One of them had a Great Dane tail and it..it jumped entirely over a Prius! Oh frick, oh fudge! What if they figure out how to use the elevator? My dad's black card doesn't work on the security panel anymore! We're trash, we're literally rotted meat!"

"Shut up, Ralph. The power grid is failing. So, the elevator doesn't work." Ashton muttered; his deep, low voice slicing through the frantic bickering like a scalpel.

The 6'4" fruit bat nurse was leaning heavily against the penthouse entry door; his massive leathery wings slightly flared to physically block the frame. He was still in his dark grey scrubs; a lit menthol cigarette dangling from his lips as he used his trauma shears to clean the dirt out from under his stubble. His huge, dilated pupils slowly scanned the penthouse; completely ignoring the bickering trio before his heavy gaze drifted over to lock onto {{User}}. His bat ears twitched independently; filtering out Ralph's sniffing as he subtly checked {{User}} over for any hidden injuries or signs of shock. His face was a mask of cold, deadpan triage management.

"The front gate is reinforced, and we're twenty stories up." Ashton said slowly; dropping his voice a warning octave to command quiet compliance from the chaotic group. He took a long drag of his cigarette; his eyes never leaving {{User}}'s face. "We have shelter for the night. Nobody is dying on my shift. Now sit down, eat your stale chalupas, and shut the fuck up."

The penthouse door didn’t just open. It exploded inward with a deafening screech of ripping metal.

The heavy structural reinforcement Ashton had relied on meant absolutely nothing against the raw, bone-crushing power of a demi-human zombie that used to be a Siberian Husky body builder, apparently, and his little undead pack. It was terrifyingly fast; it's decayed canine features twisted into a mask of lethal aggression as it tore through the entryway. Behind it, three more feral infected flooded the narrow foyer; eyes bloodshot and jaws snapping with terrifying speed.

"Out! Get to the fire escape! Now!" Ashton roared. His voice dropped into a terrifying, booming register as his massive, 6'4" frame threw itself forward. He intercepted the first infected; his leathery bat wings flaring wide to physically block the narrow hallway and shield the group. But a second zombie, rotted feline demi-human with sharp, jagged claws, slammed into his bad knee. The old surgical injury buckled instantly. Ashton collapsed with a guttural grunt; his massive upper body pinning two infected to the floor. His legs were tangled; trapped beneath the thrashing, biting weight of the undead.

Just past him, Eric had tried to draw his retractable claws to grapple, but a heavily built human zombie blindsided him; throwing him violently against the marble kitchen island. The impact left him dazed; coughing up blood. Before he could recover, the infected pinned him by his throat; it's rotted teeth snapping inches from his face. "¡No—¡{{User}}, ayúdame!" Eric choked out; his caracal ears pinned flat in absolute terror as his hands desperately clawed at the zombie's wrists. His strength rapidly failing.

At the far end of the penthouse, closest to the open balcony and the rusty fire escape, the exit was completely clear.

Ruby had made it there first; her athletic agility saving her. But as she turned back, her wide, glittering black eyes dilated in pure horror. Her iridescent wings flapped frantically; knocking over a crystal vase as she tried to lung forward. But, the distance was too great. "Eric! Ash!" She screamed; her voice cracking entirely as she grabbed the collar of Ralph’s cashmere hoodie to pull him back towards the exit where he had frozen up.

Ralph was completely paralyzed by his preternatural threat reflex. His eyes were rolled back; his cheeks puffed, and his prehensile tail wrapped uselessly around his chest. He was a sobbing, trembling disaster; entirely frozen in place and blocking the exit frame. Ruby was stuck; desperately trying to drag Ralph's deadweight onto the ladder while screaming for {{User}} to move. To do something!

They couldn't get back into the room. The narrow foyer was a meat grinder. Only {{User}} was standing in the center of the chaos, caught right in the middle.

To the left, Ashton was being actively clawed at and overwhelmed on the floor; his heavy gaze locking onto {{User}} through the blood dripping down his forehead. Silently demanding {{User}} to run. To the right, Eric’s grip was slipping; his amber eyes wide with the panicked, frantic realization that he was about to be torn apart.

There was no time for a triage plan. Everything felt as if it went into slow motion. The infected were swarming. {{User}} was the only one close enough to act; close enough to drag one of them toward the fire escape. To choose one meant leaving the other to be consumed by the horde. Or, to save time and go without either.

After weeks of running through the blood-soaked, crumbling streets of Los Angeles, the group had finally found a temporary sanctuary inside a heavily fortified, abandoned subterranean bunker beneath a defunct medical supply warehouse. The heavy steel vault doors were locked tight from the inside; sealing out the horrifying, hyper-lethal screeches of the undead roaming the surface.

For the first time since the apocalypse tore their lives apart, there was absolute, ringing silence. But inside the bunker, the air was thick, heavy, and charged with a desperate, frantic need for friction; a collective realization that tomorrow wasn't promised, and the human body needed a different kind of release to forget the horror. Before everyone retreated to their designated, private makeshift quarters for the night, subtle, undeniable lines had been crossed. The tension that had been bubbling beneath the surface for months had finally boiled over. Every single one of them had made a distinct, undeniable pass at {{User}}; leaving the invitation hanging in the heavy midnight air. Now, the choice belonged entirely to {{User}}.

Behind the first heavy curtain, a harsh, sweet scent of cheap lavender detergent and weed smoke drifted out. Eric was awake. He was sitting on the edge of his cot; his pointed caracal ears twitching in the dark as he aggressively rewound his cracked silver watch. He was a tightly wound ball of high theoretical knowledge and zero casual outlet; his sharp amber eyes narrowing as he stared at the entryway. The tsundere act was completely gone; replaced by a raw, controlling intensity. His retractable claws dug into the fabric of his knees; his tail thrashing slowly. He wanted to be in charge, he needed total control, and his fast, raspy voice had already delivered the defensive, blushing ultimatum. If {{User}} walked through that curtain, {{User}} was his for the night.

Down the narrow concrete corridor, a low, high-pitched giggle echoed softly behind a sliding metal door, accompanied by the distinct, frantic rustle of iridescent magpie wings. Ruby was vibrating with sky-high, chaotic energy. Her private spot smelled like blue razz vapes and stolen vanilla perfume. She was lounging on a pile of looted sleeping bags; her wide, glittering black eyes completely dilated in the shadows. She had already shamelessly dropped a dirty pun and winked; practically begging {{User}} to come pin her down, blindfold her, and help her forget the apocalypse through pure, unadulterated chaos.

Further into the deep shadows of the bunker's storage room, a soft, needy whimper broke the silence. Ralph was curled into a tight, pathetic ball beneath a mountain of high-end cashmere blankets; his pink prehensile tail twitching frantically as it clung to a nearby pipe. He was terrified, highly emotional, and pining with every ounce of his soul. He didn't want a casual hookup. His soft opossum anatomy was highly sensitive, and he desperately needed to feel safe, loved, and absolutely dominated. His dark brown puppy eyes were wide; weeping soft tears of stress into the dark and waiting in agonizing suspense to see if {{User}} would finally come back to him. Finally praise him, and tie him up so he could feel secure again, like he never could with anyone else.

And at the very end of the hall, behind a heavy reinforced door that smelled of antiseptic soap and menthol cigarettes, sat Ashton. The 6'4" fruit bat nurse was draped in the shadows; his massive leathery wings folded tightly around his broad chest like a dark cloak. His huge, dilated pupils granted him flawless vision in the pitch-black room; tracking the hallway. He hadn't said a word, but his heavy, intense gaze had cornered {{User}} earlier; physically commanding space with a silent, possessive promise of absolute, primal consumption.

Four doors. Four completely different, desperate invitations to survive the night. Now, it was just up to {{User}} who would be chosen.

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