New story! :D

I couldn't help myself. My obsession with zombies has become rather inflamed as of late. I started writing and I couldn't stop. This piece wasn't requested, I just wrote it for me, but I hope you all like it just the same. I don't know if I'll be updating this real often since I am devoting a lot of my time to Asylum but we'll see.

This piece is going to be yaoi and is a Grimm-Ichi piece. There will be some violence and swearing as you can't have a story about fighting zombies without those two things; it's all about survival. Also there will be some OOC moments but nothing too far out of the ordinary. Enjoy where the story takes you and pleeeeeaaaase leave me a review!




Running and running. It felt like all he did now these days was just run and run. His breath came and went in heavy, even pants as he felt the hot sun beat down on him with uncomfortable intensity. Over the last few weeks it had been getting hotter and hotter, which was to be expected when it was becoming summer, but it seemed unusually hot. He idly wondered if it had anything to do with the recent events that had come over the town.

Running through the streets of a nigh abandoned town, the place was eerily quiet aside from his black and white Nike's hitting the blacktop and the steps of those pursuing him. He had gone on a salvage run on his own and was carrying a pack of supplies and goods on his back. He did better when he was on his own. A team had its advantages, but he was much better at slinking through the town unnoticed on when by himself. He was plenty capable of defending himself as well, and truth be told he liked fighting alone better; it meant more fun for him.

Taking in his surroundings, he still could hardly believe how quickly everything had gone to shit. Cars littered the street; wrecked or abandoned. Windows of shops were smashed and here and there were pieces of evidence that there had been people who had met a violent end. A lost shoe, a dropped doll, a briefcase or phone. Blood spatters haphazardly painted the sidewalks, the road or buildings. Despite all of these signs, no bodies of the fallen were seen. That's because they had probably gotten back up to devour the unwary living.

In all his time, he had laughed, scoffed and joked about a zombie apocalypse, but he never imagined he would be experiencing one. Bobbing and weaving past a fallen motorcycle and a wrecked Miata, his lightweight, gunmetal grey, button up over shirt fluttered in the breeze with his agile movements, revealing his black skin tight tank top underneath that clung to his defined abs like a second skin. He knew the rubble and wreckage wouldn't slow down his pursuers, so he continued his running whilst looking for his route that would lead him home.

Over the few months that this had begun, the infected had started changing. At first it was just the shambling Walkers who only responded to sound and nothing else. It didn't take long for a new breed of ghoul to emerge though. Runners were not only attracted to sound but could see as well, and as their name implied, they ran after you. They were quicker than Walkers and a bit more agile, but weren't coordinated enough to climb; at least not yet. And that was what was on his ass now.

His long, denim clad legs covered the ground quickly as he sprinted along. He knew the others at the base would be pissing themselves with anger or worry about how late he was in returning. He was going to get a scolding from Aizen when he got back. He curled his lip at the thought. He knew that everyone had a better chance at survival if they stuck together, but that inevitably meant there had to a be a leader of the group; and he hated taking orders.

Brushing the thoughts from his mind, he set his jaw in grim determination. He had a task to do. Running down the street, he spared a quick glance over his shoulder to see he had three pursuers now versus the two he had started out with. Only three were good odds though. He had to get rid of them though before he could return to the base and even then he had to be damn careful to not be followed again. Checking the colt 45 at his hip, he sighed heavily. As easy as it would be to take the fuckers down, it would only draw him unwanted attention. A gunshot in this mess of a place would be like ringing the dinner bell for all the infected within earshot.

As he dashed down the road, he finally spotted what he had been looking for. Dashing off quickly to his right, he dove into a narrow alley way that allowed his pursuers to enter only one at a time. Reaching over his back he grabbed one of three weapons from an impromptu holster he had made that rested against his back beneath his pack and readied himself for the confrontation.

Normally, anyone else would have just climbed the fire escape he stood next to and just kept going, but he was tired of running. He naturally craved confrontation and violence. He wanted to feel the savage anger and bloodlust as he took the fuckers out and it was a feeling he couldn't experience at the base. While training was encouraged, rough housing and "senseless" sparring wasn't. Choking up his grip on the solid wooden bat, he grinned wickedly as one rounded the corner.

A hideous moan ripped from the attacker's mouth, which hung from her face at an odd angle. Her once blond hair was matted and falling out. She had but one eye left and her nose was a touch askew. She shambled forward at a ragged pace and her moans drew the other two that had been in pursuit but they couldn't get to him since she was in the way. His grin widened further as he took a few skipping sideways steps forward and swung the bat.

He was a powerfully built man and he had put some vicious power behind his swing. That coupled with the decay of the woman's flesh resulted in her head being wrench back as her neck snapped under the force. She dropped from the blow and before he even gave her a chance to twitch, he discarded his bat and reached back behind himself for a tree root cutter. It was a sharpened rectangular piece of metal mounted to a shortened handle that he had modified himself. In one swift strike, he brought the deadly sharp tool down and severed the head from the body.

Wasting no time at all, he swung the weapon like he had the baseball bat at his next attacker and brought the dull edge of the metal into the second attacker's face. He managed to cut into the face on the follow through of his swing, but he knew the deep gash wouldn't be enough.

Spinning the root cutter about in his hands, he delivered a heavy blow to the attacker's head with the handle before bringing it back around to bring the metal clad end down in an overhand swing. There was a loud crunch of bone and a sickening squelch as the attacker's head caved in. The attacker dropped and the man laughed, discarding the weapon as he moved onto the third one.

Grabbing his final weapon from its place on his back, he gripped it tight and watched as the second attacker stumbled mindlessly over the bodies of its comrades. Holding the brush axe in his hand, he knew if he hit the attacker just right, the overly sharp, crescent like blade would decapitate the last attacker. Rotating his wrists, he lined up for the blow. He could feel his pulse in his temples and could hear his blood singing through his ears.

With a devilish and toothy grin, he stepped forward with his right foot and swung with everything he had, never losing sight of his intended point of impact. Time slowed and he felt the blade reaching towards his target inch by inch. He adjusted the tilt of his blade to keep it perfectly on its path. Time resumed to normal and just before the blade hit, he exhaled. In a brief moment of adrenaline and primal satisfaction he felt like nothing was wrong with the world. There was the sucking sound of wet flesh separating as the final attacker's head flew into the air and their body dropped like invisible puppet strings had been cut.

The man stood there panting and regretting the way the excitement ebbed from his body. Wasting no time, he picked up his weapons and hastily cleaned them on discarded newspapers before replacing them in the holster on his back. Turning to the fire escape, he felt the muscles in his arms and back ripple beneath his skin as he hoisted himself up and began his ascent to the roof tops without sparing a second glance for the dead bodies below.

"Where the fuck is he!" A tall, wiry framed man said in grumbling tones. Sitting up on the rooftop of the base, he leaned back into a reclined position, resting his back on the short wall of the roof. Tossing his long black hair and turning his head to the side away from the man next to him, he spat in irritation.

"Calm down Nnoitra. You know him. He's probably thinning the infected's numbers and having a grand old time while he's doing it." The other man said. Nnoitra turned to look at his pink haired companion. Szayel was the medic of their group and was much better at being patient than the brash and loud Nnoitra was.

"Exactly my fuckin' point! He's having fun and I'm bored out of my fuckin' mind waiting for him to show up so we can go back inside. He's got two hours till it gets dark and then I'm just leaving his ass out here for the night." Nnoitra replied grumpily. Szayel shook his head at his hotheaded companion.

Nnoitra was just as guilty when it came to wasting time just to kill a few extra infected. While Szayel had not been tasked with waiting for the deployed man's return, he did want to be here to ask him about the state of the infected. Being a doctor, he was also a scientist of sorts. It was he who had quickly deduced that the infected were changing. He wanted to know if any knew factors had come up to include in his research. Knowledge was his primary weapon, and he planned on being armed to the teeth.

"You don't think he's been swamped do you?" Nnoitra asked all of the sudden. Szayel snorted lightly as he instantly saw through the question to Nnoitra's true intentions. He wanted to go out on the streets and kill some infected, though there was a hint of worry for their friend's safety in his voice.

"Tch, you know him. I'm sure he's just fine. Besides, he would have let out a gunshot before he let himself go down and we would have heard that. I keep telling Aizen we need to try and find some long distance handheld radios since the cell phone towers are out." Szayel sat forward and arched his back in a languorous stretch. Flashing a smile a Nnoitra, his honey eyes met with Nnoitra's beady black ones and narrowed when a sound caught his attention.

In an instant they both sprung up and were on the alert. Scanning their surroundings they instantly saw the source of the noise. Across the alley to their left, a figure was sprinting across the huge rooftop of the building next to them. Blue hair caught the evening sun's light and shone brightly as the wild tangle was blown back in the wind as he ran. Bright cyan eyes were filled with an almost feral delight and mischief as he ran towards the edge of the building, showing no signs of slowing his pace.

"He isn't gonna-" Nnoitra started out in disbelief before Szayel cut him off, grabbing his upper arm to pull him out of the way.

"Oh yes he is." He said with slight disbelief. Dashing out of the incoming bluenette's way, they watched in amazement as their friend sprinted like the wind and stepped up onto the small wall of the red brick building he was on. Powerful legs pushed off the low ledge and launched him into the air as he let out a high cackling laugh of sheer enjoyment.

Nnoitra and Szayel watched in amazement as the bluenette soared through the air and cleared the good ten foot jump he had made in lieu of climbing down the red brick building's fire escape and back up the fire escape to their building. He landed on his left foot, deftly tucking his body and rolling with the momentum of his jump across the roof of their base. Laughing like madman, the bluenette jumped up without a scratch and walked towards his openmouthed friends.

"Grimmjow you're stupidity never ceases to amaze me." Szayel said in a haughty manner. The pink haired man smiled despite his tone. Stepping forward he gave his friend a quick one armed hug and stepped back as the lanky Nnoitra closed in on them.

"That was pretty beast man. But I betcha I could do better." He laughed with a cocky smirk as he gave the bluenette a manly hug. Grimmjow laughed with him as he slipped off his pack and handed it to Nnoitra.

"The spoils of this run's salvaging. I'm sure Aizen will want to see it. I need some dinner and a damn shower." The three turned towards the door on the rooftop that led inside the massive building just as the sun set on the horizon.

"Any new developments with the infected?" Szayel asked excitedly. Grimmjow turned his azure eyes on the smaller man and shook his head.

"Not that I could see. Walkers are the same and the Runners haven't changed in their response time or their motor skills. The distance at which they can detect movement still seems to be at about fifty feet and their hearing is the same as the Walkers. Nothing new that I could determine." Grimmjow offered a crooked smile as Szayel nodded at the information. While he was disappointed that there was nothing new for him, he was relieved at the same time that there was no change in the threat the infected posed.

Despite The bluenette's coarse and fiery nature, he was still rather intelligent and Szayel seemed to forget that at times because of his wild temper and his lust for violence. That was what differed between Grimmjow and the hothead Nnoitra who always did before he thought. Though Grimmjow had a tendency for that at times as well, he was just better about thinking the situation though as he was in it. That was what made him one of their best salvage agents.

Going single file, following Grimmjow, they entered the darkened doorway to head inside. After locking and securing the door, they descended down the dimly lit stairs into their center of operations. Following the winding, metal stairway down, they reached the top floor of the building which had once been a maintenance floor but now served as a post for the rooftop lookouts.

"All yours!" Nnoitra said to the team of three that waited for them. The team consisted of a big guy with a perpetual sneer named Yammy. He looked frightening as hell, but he was friendly enough. The next member of the team was one of the newer guys that had been found during a salvage mission named Tesla. The final member was a person who had been with the original group since the beginning. She was a buxom blond who was rather reserved and stony faced named Halibel. She was a great fighter and was quiet but she was nice.

The original group had been a bunch of friends that had banded together after the infection broke out. It had just started out as Nnoitra, Halibel and Grimmjow. After that they picked up Szayel, Aizen, Ulquiorra, Yammy and Starrk and his little sister Lilynette. They had all banded together under Aizen's direction and they had survived this far. Eventually they picked up more and more people over time till they had a mini society of sorts functioning inside this abandoned office building. Aizen was a natural leader and he had acted as the glue that kept them all together.

The team of three nodded, and with a few hellos traded they went up the stairs to take the first watch. Continuing down the stairs to the next floor below, Szayel and Nnoitra left Grimmjow as they went to go speak with Aizen.

Grimmjow sighed as he trudged down the stairs for a couple more floors till he reached the floor that held the impromptu kitchens. Going in he found it nearly empty since everyone else had already eaten. Saying hi to the cooks, he grabbed the food they dished up for him and happily scarfed the hot chicken soup down and the roll it came with in mere minutes. Returning the empty bowl, he said a farewell over his shoulder as he headed out of the cafeteria area and back to the stairwell.

Feeling full and sated, he made his way down the stairs to head to the floor that held his own room. The whole building had once been an office building but after some modifications, they had made it a place to live in complete with kitchens, washrooms for laundry and showers. A few people they had picked up had been in the business for construction, plumbing or electrician work so the changes weren't too hard to make. Reaching the floor his room was on, he opened the stairwell door and headed into the dimly lit hall.

Grimmjow's room was on the seventh floor and he was lucky enough to get a room with a window, which he thoroughly enjoyed. The rooms had once been offices for big mucky mucks so they were pretty spacious. It was rather nice. Reaching his room, which was the fourth door on the right, Grimmjow ducked inside. Sighing, he smiled, glad to be home. Slipping his way out of his homemade leather weapons holster, he propped the items up against the wall next to a bookcase that served as his dresser before taking the Colt off of his hip and sitting it on the stand beside his bed. Kicking his Nike's off and freeing his feet from his black ankle socks, he shucked his dark grey over shirt, tossing it onto a growing pile of laundry he needed to do.

Wasting no time, he grabbed a clean towel and his shower bag. Shutting his door behind himself he trotted down the hall on silent feet to the men's room. Slipping inside, he sighed happily when he found it empty. Not that he gave a shit one way or the other, he just was glad for the solitude while he bathed. Treading across the tiles floors, he strode up to one of the stalls that had been turned into a shower. He wasn't quite sure how the guys who had worked on it managed to make it a shower, but they had done a fantastic job.

Turning the hot water on, he shut the handicap stall door behind himself and hung his fluffy white towel on the hook before he began peeling his sweaty clothes off his tanned and well toned body. Grasping the hem of his black tank top, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to drape over the stall door. Unbuckling his belt, he undid his pants and stepped out of the dirty, fading jeans as well as his boxers, revealing the deep navy hair that started in a fine line just below his navel and went lower and lower. Draping his pants with his boxers still inside them over the door as well, he turned toward the water.

Standing completely nude, he reached a corded arm out to test the water with his hand. It felt just right. With relish he stepped under the water and groaned in delight as the nearly scalding water trickled and ran over his muscled form. Bracing a hand against a tiled wall, Grimmjow leaned forward and sighed happily at the feel of the deliciously hot water as it hit his head to stream down his back, over his firm ass, and down his legs.

Licking his lips, he imagined the rivulets of water to be caressing fingertips. It was a wonderful thought. Rolling his neck, he sighed and reached down for his shower bag. Grabbing a bottle of shampoo, he quickly went to washing his violently blue hair. Rinsing the shampoo from his hair, he set to washing the rest of himself whilst savoring the warmth of the water. All too quickly his delightful time under the hot water had come to an end. Grabbing his towel, he ran it through his hair first and then dried the rest of himself off hastily.

Wrapping the towel around his hips, he groaned in disappointment when he realized he had forgot to bring a clean change of clothes. He had been in such a hurry to shower, that he forgot them. Making sure the towel was snug around his hips, he picked up his shower bag and his dirty clothes. He didn't really care about wandering about in a towel, but Aizen had this rule about nudity or anything close to it in the halls. His room was a short walk away, he'd be just fine.

As he had suspected, he made it back to his room without anyone else who lived on the same floor seeing him. Once back in his room, he looked out the window. It was dark now. Checking the time on a clock on the wall across from his bed, he saw it was almost ten. Knowing he'd need to sleep and rest up for tomorrow Grimmjow looked to the large pile of laundry and then to his shrinking set of clean clothes folded up neatly on the bookshelf.

Deciding he would have clothes for tomorrow, he put off the laundry till another time and turned off the light in his room. Casually discarding the towel around his hips, he sluggishly walked over to his bead and collapsed onto it. Throwing a white sheet over his naked and still slightly damp form, Grimmjow dropped off into a deep sleep in moments.

The moans of the dead clamoring outside the barricaded door grew louder and louder as the night slowly wore on. The ginger haired young man knew it was only a matter of time before the infected broke through. He had been stupid to try and gather supplies this close to dark. Holed up in a small building that had once been a store, he clutched his only weapon closer to him. The small chain on the end of the hilt of his black katana gave a soft jingle.

He had been trying to find supplies when he had accidentally made a huge racket when a rickety shelf full of canned goods collapsed. In no time at all, the infected were at the doors of the store, attempting to flood inside. Through some quick thinking and ingenuity, he had blocked the doors and covered some of the windows so the creatures couldn't see inside.

Gritting his teeth, he knew this was probably going to be the end. From what he had seen there had been over twenty of the walking dead out there. Thinking on it, he knew there had to be more now, as the moans of the ones already here would have drawn others in.

No matter what though, when the dead broke through, he would die hacking them to pieces. The faster infected had been the first to arrive and they had seen him blocking the doors. The faster ones seemed to be growing smarter. Once they saw you, they knew you were there even if you disappeared from sight. This whole expedition of his had turned into an utter disaster.

Figuring he might as well die with a full stomach, he set to gnawing on a package of jerky he had found. It was pretty delicious when compared to the cold Spaghetti-O's he'd been living off of for a while now. Shaking his head as he chewed, he thought back to how this all came to be.

He didn't remember the apocalyptic plague beginning, he only remembered waking up to it. Like some horrific nightmare straight out of Hollywood and directed by the devil himself. Lying in the middle of a field, he had awoke to a world ravaged by the walking dead. The dead roaming around him and signs of violent deaths were the first things to greet him when he woke.

He didn't even know who he was. The only possession he had was the katana, and even then, he didn't know if it was truly was his, though he knew he was skilled enough to kill the dead with it. All he had known was that there were creatures that hungered for his flesh. He had yet to see another living human being and as the month wore into the next, he began to believe he was the only person left alive.

A rattle and the shattering of glass reached his ears and he knew the dead would come flooding inside in minutes. Picking up his almost empty bag of jerky, he sealed it and stuck it into his pocket. Standing up he dusted off his torn and filthy blue jeans. Holding tightly onto his katana, he readied himself for his survival. Inhaling deeply, he quieted his mind. This was merely another battle for his life, another bid to survive. He would make it through this just like all the fights before.

Ever since he had awoken and killed the first of the dead that had attacked him, he had known one thing about himself. Killing these abominations was his calling of sorts. Nothing felt more right to him than when he felt his razor sharp blade piercing the flesh of the dead. He was a reaper, a slayer of the dead.

He was death.



Sooooo... what do y'all think? I'm rather excited about this piece and I am seriously considering continuing it. Please let me know what you think! ^_^