Summary: When the world is about to end, and your only current friend is a supposedly ruthless mercenary who will "kill ya' as soon as look atcha", and you're on the run from mindless zombies, life for Tweek is by no means easy. It's been four years since he last saw a live person other than "The Mole", and Tweek isn't sure he wants to see his friends again. Because if he finds his friends, then he finds Craig Tucker, and that's the last thing he wants to do.

In retrospect, Tweek suspected that his current position was rather unexpected. Even before the happenings of four years ago, not one of his peers would have expected him to become what he was. Was and is.

The douche bags he had grown up with wouldn’t have expected the jittery boy to become a cop, Stan Marsh being one of them. Stan was (was being the keyword. Only God knew if he was even still alive) his partner. And while Tweek had been (had been) a horrible shot, anyone who saw him on the job would admit (some grudgingly) that he could kick ass if and when he needed to. He’d agree with them, but of course, that would be gloating, something Tweek didn’t do. Tweek Tweak (what a stupid name. What were his idiotic parents thinking?) was a fairly modest person, speaking out when the situation beckoned, but mostly keeping to himself. Which was perfectly fine with everyone else. Only a (very) fair few gave a damn, and less than that actually cared to hear what he had to say.

That was then. What was he now? He didn’t even know. A murderer? No, the things he “killed” were already dead, walking around with only the most primal needs and having only the most primal ways of seeing to those needs. Things, monstrosities, beasts, undead, zombies, whatever you call them, walking and yet not alive, their reanimated and yet dysfunctional brains craving flesh, preferably human. So no, he was not a murderer. But then what? He “killed” things, yes, but the things he killed were already dead anyway, so how did it even qualify as killing? Was he a hero? No, most certainly not. Not anymore. Never had been, really. And certainly not now. If he, or anyone else, were a hero, the world would not be on the brink of utter destruction. A mercenary? He snorted at the thought. He did not kill for money. He didn’t even “kill”, technically. His companion was the mercenary. But really, when one thought, was the man even a mercenary anymore? Honestly, the only things left to kill were the monstrosities that lurked about, and it’s not like he was getting paid to rid of them.

He finally decided that he really wasn’t much of anything. Just another guy trying to stay alive in the chaos that was now “life”. If you could even call it life anymore.

This is just the prologue. I'm really proud of it, though! :D