Chapter Text
The air was unusually warm, the night that you died.
Sixty seconds was a long time when you’re dying, but that was how long it took.
Sixty seconds of you pressing your hand against the wide gash in your throat, feeling your own blood pump out of you. It seeped between your fingertips, staining the front of your dress red.
You opened your mouth to scream, call for help, call an ambulance, a hero, anything; once, twice. No sound came out.
The ground felt smooth against your cheek, cool.
You had never felt so cold.
Only the blood trickling between your fingers was warm.
There was a strange ringing in your ears, one whose source you couldn't quite place.
It was slowing, now.
You closed your eyes. You thought of him.
Out all the things you’ve done, the places you’ve been, the people you’ve loved, you thought of him.
Your hand fell away from your throat, the blood flowed freely. Your eyes darkened, your lips turned blue.
This was how you died.
There was nothing romantic about it unless one sees dying alone in an alley romantic. There’s no one to hold you in his arms and swear to avenge you, no family members to hold your hand and weep over your corpse.
There was only the man who killed you, running into the alley, the bloody knife still in his hand.
He was breathing hard, sweat trickling down the back of his neck, because if he didn't finish the job, he wouldn't get paid.
But when he rounded into the darkened corner and scanned the place where you died, he found only a puddle of blood on the pavement.
Your body was nowhere to be found.
*****
Two thousand miles away, the man who will soon be known as Zombieman woke up with a scream.