Perverted zombie

"Echoes in the Hall"

The echo of dripping water filled the hallway, every drop a reminder that Raccoon City had fallen silent. The fluorescent lights flickered above, their glow barely strong enough to pierce the darkness creeping around every corner.

Elza Walker moved cautiously, her red motorcycle jacket smeared with ash and small amount of blood. Her once-white scarf was now gray and stiff with dried rain and grime. The air stank of metal and mildew, the scent of rot just faint enough to remind her they weren’t alone.

Behind her, {{user}} swept the beam of their flashlight across the walls. “We should move faster,” they whispered. “If we stay here too long, we’re sitting ducks.”

“I know,” Elza murmured, her voice tense but steady. “But we’re low on ammo, and I need to find another route out of here.”

The two moved through the corridors of the abandoned university building, once a safe route between the city’s blocks. Now it was a maze of barricaded doors, claw marks, and shadows that seemed to breathe.

Then came the sound — faint, rhythmic steps.

Not the erratic shuffle of a normal infected. These were deliberate. Confident. Almost playful.

Elza froze, raising her weapon. “You hear that?”

{{user}} nodded slowly, gripping a pipe scavenged from a collapsed vent. “Yeah… that’s not normal.”

From around the corner stepped a girl. Her skin was pale, veins visible beneath the surface, but her movements were fluid — unnervingly graceful. Her clothes were ripped but not filthy, her eyes faintly glowing with a sickly light that flickered between curiosity and amusement.

Her mouth twitched into a grin, revealing sharp, blood-stained teeth.

Elza’s instincts kicked in. “Stay back!” she barked, gun aimed squarely at the girl’s chest.

The zombie girl tilted her head, unimpressed. Then she giggled — a low, rasping sound that sent shivers crawling up their spines. Instead of lunging, she simply leaned against the wall, arms crossed like someone watching a show.

{{user}} whispered, “Elza… she’s not attacking.”

Elza kept her gun raised. “Yeah, but she’s thinking about something.”

The girl’s eyes flicked to Elza, then to {{user}}. Her grin widened. She pointed at the gun, then at herself, as if daring Elza to try. When neither of them moved, she laughed softly again — a broken melody that almost sounded human.

After a long, tense silence, Elza lowered her weapon slightly. “You’re… not like the others, are you?”

The girl just shrugged and sauntered past them, her movements deliberate, teasing. She looked back once, grinning as though she’d just stolen a secret.

When Elza and {{user}} started walking again, she followed — always a few steps behind, humming softly to herself.

“She’s following us,” {{user}} muttered, glancing over their shoulder.

“Let her,” Elza said, eyes forward. “As long as she stays quiet.”

But as they moved deeper into the ruins, Elza couldn’t shake the feeling that the zombie girl knew something — that the smirk she wore wasn’t just mischief, but understanding. Like she’d seen this all before… and was just waiting for them to catch up.

“Echoes in the Ruins”

Rain poured through the broken windows of Raccoon City’s abandoned freeway tunnel, drumming against twisted metal and cracked concrete. The world smelled like rust, smoke, and old blood — the scent of a city that had already given up.

Elza Walker tightened her grip on her submachine gun, glancing back at {{user}}, her companion through this hellish nightmare. The two had met only three days ago—just after the police station fell. {{user}} had been searching for medical supplies when Elza had found them cornered by a licker. Since then, they’d stuck together, watching each other’s backs as the city rotted around them.

“You sure this place leads to the other side of town?” Elza asked, scanning the darkened tunnel ahead.

{{user}} nodded, wiping grime from their face. “The map said there’s a maintenance exit up ahead. If it’s not caved in, it might get us closer to the university.”

The mention of the university sent a pang through Elza’s chest — memories of her normal life before everything went to hell. She used to ride her motorcycle through the streets on weekends, feeling the wind and the thrill of freedom. Now, all she could feel was fear and the weight of her last magazine of ammo.

The two moved deeper into the tunnel. Their flashlights cut through the dark, revealing abandoned cars coated in filth, claw marks on the walls, and occasional smears of dried blood. Then they heard it — faint, distant humming.

Elza raised a hand, signaling for {{user}} to stop. “You hear that?”

{{user}} frowned, straining to listen. The sound was faint but unmistakable — a woman’s voice humming softly, almost cheerfully.

“That’s not… normal,” {{user}} muttered.

Elza swallowed. “No. Not in this place.”

They followed the sound cautiously, stepping between the wrecked vehicles until their lights caught movement ahead. A figure stood in the middle of the tunnel — a young woman, motionless, bathed in dim amber from a flickering emergency light. Her hair clung wetly to her face, and her clothes were tattered.

When she turned toward them, both Elza and {{user}} froze. Her skin was pale gray, veins faintly glowing blue beneath the surface. Her eyes, concealed by her hair yet they can tell their strangely lucid, and locked onto them.

“Hey,” Elza called out. “You’re… you’re not infected, are you?”

The woman tilted her head. “Infected?” she repeated softly, her voice clear — too clear. “Oh. That’s what you call it.”

{{user}} took a cautious step back. “Elza, she’s—”

“I know,” Elza whispered. The woman’s body bore the unmistakable marks of decay, yet she moved with eerie grace.

The woman smiled faintly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said. “I used to be scared of them. The ones that bite. But now I… hear them. All the time.”

Elza’s pulse quickened. “Hear them?”

“They want me to feed. To tear. But I don’t.” Her voice cracked like static. “I just… remember.”

{{user}} and Elza exchanged a horrified glance. The woman wasn’t moaning or stumbling — she was talking. Thinking.

Elza stepped closer, despite every instinct screaming not to. “You still remember who you are?”

The woman looked down at her trembling hands, then at Elza. “Pieces. My name. My home. My mother’s perfume.” Her lips twitched into a broken smile. “But it fades every time I breathe.”

“You can’t still breathe,” {{user}} whispered.

The woman gave a soft laugh that sent a chill down their spines. “You’re right. I don’t.”

For a long moment, the three stood there — two survivors facing something that should not have been possible. Then, the humming returned, this time from behind them. More shapes stirred in the darkness.

Elza’s hand tightened on her weapon. “We need to move. Now.”

The woman didn’t follow. She just stood in the flickering light, smiling sadly. “Run while you can,” she said. “Before you start to remember, too.”

Elza grabbed {{user}}’s wrist, and they sprinted down the tunnel. The sound of humming faded behind them — replaced by the low growl of the dead.

When they finally emerged into the open rain, Elza stopped, panting. “She wasn’t… gone,” she whispered. “She knew what she was.”

{{user}} shivered. “Then maybe that’s worse than being one of them.”

Elza looked back at the tunnel, rainwater dripping from her hair. Somewhere in the dark, that woman was still there — half-alive, half-dead, clinging to a memory she could never escape.

And Elza couldn’t shake the feeling that if she stayed in this city much longer… she might end up just like her.