A Burning Card Decided Eternity

an A-B-C series of short stories

based off of the game series Left 4 Dead

I do not own any of the concept characters, to include the Hunter, Boomer, Smoker, Witch, Tank, Jockey, Charger, Spitter, or Boomette. I also do not own the zombie apocalypse theme. I do, however, own Immunes and the characteristics and actions of any of the Infected listed above or mentioned throughout the story.

This collection may contain scenes that are inappropriate for young children. Other content may be offensive to others. This is rated M for Mature. Read at your Own Risk.

AGASTOPIA – (n) admiration of a particular part of someone's body

Mario found himself staring across the safe house, gun high on his arm. But he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. Not even on this creature who was just bawling, curled in a ball away from him. He could still hear the Commons outside, clawing halfheartedly at the large red door before them. All the noise outside should have alerted her. She should have turned to investigate, looked at him, and charged like her sisters usually did. But she just continued to cry. Mario shuffled to the left around the furniture, weapon still cocked and loaded just in case. He couldn't see her skin, her long silver hair flowing down her back like a cloak. Carefully, he found a position where he could watch her completely and a hushed "ohmygawd" rushed from his lips.

Her skin was the deepest chocolate brown he had ever seen. It looked like she was wearing a skin-tight suit to hide her true concrete-gray color. Remnants of red hugged her hips and peeked between strands of her mane. She continued to tremble with tears, having yet to shift from her stationary position. Mario lowered his gun and slowly picked up his jaw. She removed a clawed hand from her face and moved hair behind her ear, a strikingly human response. She turned her head slowly, as if finally noticing something out of the ordinary, and her light blue eyes moved in his direction. He froze, stiff as a board, trigger finger tensing but doing nothing more. She rotated her entire body on the spot and sniffled. Could she see him? Her eyes, or he could see of them, did not meet his, but focused lower, on his weapon.

A long, upset moan dripped over her lips and she continued to cry, body trembling. Mario took one step closer. And then another. And another. She didn't stir, but her cry grew quieter the closer he came. Her body heaved sharp breaths as she remained locked on his gun. He couldn't help but to stare as her image finally found its way to center stage.

Her face was young, not even twenty years old. She ran a small hand under her nose to stop her running nose. She stared at his face with her off-colored eyes, but she didn't move. Her eyes darted back and forth across his features, always coming back to his gun. She sniffled once more before placing her hand out towards him, claws curling into small arches. A needy whimper came from her pink lips. When he didn't move, she rose to her feet and he backed away on reflex, gun raising in a natural movement to such an advancement. She stopped and huffed softly, walking away from her corner but to the other side of the safe house, towards the door. He could see more of her: her long legs, her small feet, and her immensely large ears. He found himself staring at her ears. A single earring hung from one as her claws curled around the bars. A Common who had been wandering smelled her scent and charged, forcing the abnormal Witch to push away, more tears dripping down her face. Mario didn't realize he had shot the heartless creature until it fell with a strangled gurgle and the shell casing clinked on the floor.

The Witch turned to him and shuddered, his gun still high in the air. He lowered it absentmindedly, staring the Witch in her eyes. She walked around the couch in the middle of the room and embraced him, her face burrowed into his neck. The sudden shock of warmth over his jugular forced his heart rate up as his arousal grew. She held on tighter, a few inches shorter than his 6'3" body, burrowing her face into his chest, purring contently. His heart was thudding now against his ribs and her purrs grew louder. Her claws danced over his spine and he squirmed out of her grip, a strange sensation running though his veins. She whimpered and lowered her head, a few fresh tears sliding down her cheeks.

"No no no no," Mario began, holding her shoulders. "Don't cry. Please."

She wept even louder, her hair veiling around her face. He brought her into another hug and just stood their, holding her. What had he done? He walked her around the couch and sat her down next to him. Still, she wept, face down to her lap. His heart constricted in inner hatred. Why did he have to make her cry? She hadn't done anything to him. He sighed to himself and placed a few fingers at her hairline, moving the strands from his view and catching a few tears in the process. She was a beautiful creature, he had to admit, thought the reoccurring reminder that she was a Witch, a monster child of the zombie apocalypse, kept him at arm's length.

He stood up and moved to scout the area for food and to check if water was readily available. He needed a bath, and a shave. He opened some kitchen cabinets and saw a few cans of Pork and Beans hiding behind ammunition and the swarm of dead cockroaches. He grabbed a can and went to look for a can opener or a knife when a chain of rapid gunfire sliced the silence. A piercing scream glued him to the spot. It was the angry cry of a disturbed Witch. There was another round of gunfire and the strangled yell of another, an Immune. Everything fell silent.

Mario counted to twenty, waiting for any more shots or noises, but none came. Not even the soft whimper of the Witch. He peered around the corner, in hopes of catching sight of the beautiful chocolate creature, but she had vanished. A body laid in the doorway, gun torn from its grasp and large gashes tearing up through its back. Mario gulped. She wasn't docile, was she? She was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode with righteous anger.

He walked out into the alleyway and noticed nothing but a trail of blood. Every fiber of his being was telling him to follow it, to see if she was alive and all right, but the rising moon forced him to retreat back into the security of the safe house. His hunger had vanished at the sight of the corpse, which he pulled outside and locked out.

The safe house felt colder. Emptier. Exposed. He wandered through the space to find something to distract him when a shining item caught his eye. It rested in the corner where the Witch had been earlier, and something was etched on it.


He stuffed it in his pocket. First thing in the morning, he would go looking for her. She wouldn't go too far, he hoped.

Chapters including Avarice and Mario are for a dead friend of mine who loves the Witch. I expect mucho love from him concerning them and others within my story. ;b