A dim led light illuminated a nominally small american abode. There was a computer sitting in a corner, adjacent to a window, where a young man sat. He was prattling about with his mouse and keyboard seemingly playing a game.

"Fuck," the young man shouted. The dim screen barely sufficing to give vision of his pale, pasty, face, "demoted again."

He was playing one of the most prominent online video games, leage of legends, sadly attempting to climb a ranked ladder. To him, the thrill of improvement was less than the potential for easy money if he could figure out a training regiment to improve quickly. He figured if he could 'break the system' and make climbing easy, he could have a successful youtube channel. Unfortunately, he was a bit late and very poor at the game.

Pushing himself from the desk, right as the first light of dawn, the young man lept into bed. His frame was large enough that the old american twin bed didn't suffice to hold his feed. Always slept at a diagonal on the bed, maximising his space, as the bed was rectangular. He realized it would help him to protect his ankles from arthritis.

==

Morning came like usual for Dandy. He rubbed his tangled hair with his hands, flakes of white raining on his dingy sheets, before looking at an alarm clock near the computer screen he stared at frequently.

"Monday's come, and works ariund the corner," he said with a sigh.

His home was a small studio apartment, luckily with the restroom enclosed like a closet, without a bath or shower. His ablutions consisted of wishing his hair in the sink, wetting a towel to scrub his body with, and cleaning uo the mess afterwards. He looked to a stand up mirror across from the desk where his computer lay. His frame was like an cross between an ectomorph and a mesomorph. Generally, he was out of shape. Pockmarked scars stained his back from acne that was left untreated, a consequence of his poor hygiene. He relished the sight of his maligned body and smiled. His solace was that he was alive.

Washing, admiring, and clothing himself took a little less than 30 minutes. An homage to his vanity as clothing himself took less than three minutes and his bath took twelve. He exitted his room in a tan hoodie, a quality tan hoodie at that, black athletic capri joggers from God knows where, tan crew socks that had diamond patterns on the sides, and custom leather shoes that looked like sperries. On his face rested a versace frame he kept from his youth that highlighted his golden green eyes.

"Ready," he said, preparing to open his door.

As he reached for the knob, a strange sense of alarm struck him. His calm facade faded and his mouth parched. He muttered a mantra to push the feeling away and turned the lock. A soft schlack resonated as the door became free. He opened the door and peered into the hallway.

It was quiet. He looked around quizzically at the mute world out of his room. He thought back to the night before. A loud commotion occurred outside. Several people in game said weird shit was happening. He didn't belive it. Looking at the ground, he had to believe.

"Fuck," he hoarsely uttered before retreating into his room. He had forgotten to lock the door in his pabic. What he say severely shook him. His pulils dialated, his throat clentched, his body trembled, but he did not speak anymore. He retreated until he tripped over a line of shoes he kept at the foot of his bed. He continued retreating until he was underneath his computer.

A hissing scrape came from his door as something pressed on it. Dandy bit his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle a scream. A haggard rasping breath was exhaled by what ever was on the door. The young man had pressed himself so far into the corner beneath his desk that it appeared that he wanted to meld into the wall.

Squelch. Squish. Swish.

Sloppy wet foot steps reverberated throughout the 12 foot by 10 foot room. Squelch. squish. The pacing stopped. A rancid and sickly stench wafted towards Dandy. He could hear something sniffling. He didn't know if it was his stifled cries or the creatures, but he hoped it was a dream. He closed his eyes and waited, breath abated, heart beating so fast that it felt like one continuous thrum, and body stilling as if he was dying. In the moment where his conscious was thin, he felt a dreaded sensation.

Thick globules of slime fell off the beings mucosa onto the ground infront of him. A putrid, blood covered hand pressed down infront of him, and a body lowered slowly. The neck was badly torn, hanging on by a few tendrils, and the exposed trachea was emitting a steady gurgle. The head, cocked back on a barely intact spinal cord, lolled to the side. In the face of extreme dread, clarity can be felt, a unified struggle to survive or succumb.

"Z-z-Zombie!"

A blood curtling screech that signaled the end of a young man called the attention of all the undeads hands. Again, those who are late are humbled. For him, It was too late.