The disease spread like wildfire. The initial outbreak was described as a scene of "civil unrest" in some third world country that no one knew existed. It didn't even make the front page.

The second outbreak was one day after the first, at an airport in Asia. Experts would later assume, correctly, that an infected person had carried the disease onto an airplane. By the time it had landed, all of the passengers were carrying the disease, and were more than eager to spread it.

It reached Tokyo International Airport within the week, and that was all it took for the disease to be considered a "pandemic." Before the governments of the world had time to discuss their course of action, it was already in Chicago. Detroit. London. Moscow. Brussels. Paris. Johannesburg.

The news stations managed to stay up and running for about a week after the disease took over America. In that time, scientists and sociologists and other sorts of experts were consulted on the cause, the spread, and the effects of the disease. Hardly anything came out of those desperate interviews, because those "experts" were just as clueless as everyone else. However, they did provide one bit of information that was priceless to those who were still trying to survive - a name. The Lazarus Virus.

Now, be careful, the experts had said. The Lazarus Virus is not to be confused with Lazarus Syndrome. What we are describing is not a patient who miraculously revives after failed attempts at resuscitation. We are naming the disease in which, after the disease has been transferred from one infected person to another - usually by way of biting-, a person dies. All brain and organ function comes to a halt. That same person, usually within one hour of being bitten, will revive. We have deduced that they have no cognitive ability, and that they react only to sound. They will then begin feeding on the flesh of the living, thus spreading the disease.

Then the news stopped. Not that it really mattered - by that time, everyone knew what was going on. The central government had dissolved. The President of the United States was being hidden in some secret location, along with several of the other world leaders. At least, the ones who hadn't contracted the Lazarus Virus.

The moment people realized they could no longer rely on their government, wide scale panic occurred. Hospitals were flooded with those who had been attacked by the infected, and quickly became not centers for help, but a means of spreading the disease. Churches and mosques and other places of worship were packed far beyond their maximum capacities with believers, praying to their deity that they would survive. When the infected came and began feeding on them, the rush of people trying to escape killed those - the lucky ones - who wouldn't fall victim to the virus.

Within a month, most everyone had contracted the Lazarus Virus and become infected. What few survivors there were sought shelter. Acquired weapons. Stocked up on food, water, and other supplies. Some decided to wait it out to see if any help would come and take them away to a place where there was no infection. Others took a more proactive approach - killing as many infected as they possibly could. All it took was one clean shot to the head, and they were down. For good.

183 Days After Initial Outbreak

Axel peered through the scope of his rifle and guessed that there were around five to six hundred of the infected within fifty yards of his hotel. They were dragging themselves along, listless as ever, running into each other, not even caring, waiting for potential food to alert them.

He sighed, set his rifle down next to him, and kicked his feet up on the railing of his balcony. Really, he thought, Lady Luck had to have been on his side when he decided that he would hole himself up in the St. Regis New York regardless of how many rich assholes he had to plow his way through…and it had been abandoned. Who in their right mind would abandon the St. Regis New York?

What a silly thought. Of course, the people fleeing from the hotel hadn't been concerned with how much money they were paying a night, so much as saving their lives. The redhead laughed to himself, looking down at Fifth Avenue. What had once been a bustling center of shopping and commerce, a place where people of all backgrounds and nationalities could melt together, was now empty. The large, interactive adds still blinked their messages at the undead. Of course, Axel knew, there were thousands of those things on this street alone, but most of them were busy wandering through empty buildings and mindlessly navigating the back alleys of this and that business.

Ah, to be so carefree. At least Axel was able to relax in the little paradise he had created for himself. The undead making their way into his Presidential Suite wasn't really an issue, since he had taken out and/or blocked the stairways to the first and second floors (obviously, God gave man flamethrowers for a reason) and if he needed to get out for any reason, there was always the service elevator.

Over the last 183 three days, he had become a professional at wasting time in the aforementioned paradise. He managed to create quite the wonderful little game center in the living room, which had become host to the 127 DVDs he had looted when everyone was going crazy, along with the Xbox 360 and 45 games that he had stolen. He had played 276 games of solitaire with a deck of cards that he found, played through Candy Land so many times it hurt, and wrote a mini-novel.

"Booooring, boring, boring, boring…" He muttered, standing up from his chair and walking back into the suite. He glanced at the calendar, where he was marking off and counting the days as they went by. He glanced at his laptop, humming from its position on one of the million desks in the room. He glanced at his journal, which he had been keeping since everything went to shit.

Then he glanced in the general direction of the bedroom. The nice, big bedroom, with its flat screen TV and its king sized bed with a memory foam mattress. Oh, how it beckoned! No matter that he had only just gotten up about four and a half hours ago. He could watch some of the complimentary movies, or a few of the TV shows that he had recorded before all of the channels got fuzzy and stopped broadcasting their regularly scheduled programming.

He stopped in the middle of the room and looked around, feeling that same loneliness he felt whenever he realized just how alone he was. When he considered that he hadn't seen another talking, thinking, feeling human being in half a year. When he thought that his life would most likely come to an end in the Presidential Suite of the St. Regis New York, that no help would come, and that he would be alone for the rest of his life. For the love of God, he was only twenty-two! How depressing.

Well, nothing for it. He trudged toward the master bedroom (because the Presidential Suite had three bedrooms) and picked up some odd DVD on his way there, intent on falling asleep halfway through it so that he could re-watch it at a later date.

And as he laid in bed with the blinds drawn to block out the sunlight and the TV volume on low so he could ignore it, he noticed the moaning. The constant, lifeless moaning that had practically become a trademark of the infected. They did it all day, every day, and it was enough to drive a person mad. Groaning, Axel reached over for his remote and turned the volume up a bit, and tried his damnedest to tune it all out.

A/N: Okay, so, originally, this story was going to be for AkuRoku day, which I MISSED (got, I deserve to be shot) but then it sort of felt like it should be a chapter fic...so it's going to be my belated AkuRoku Day chapter story. xD;

I promise swear to God on my life that there will be lemon and fun things in upcoming chapters. I guess this chapter is sort of like a prologue. Like, setting the scene and what not. I apologize for its badness, because I haven't written anything in foreeever and I'm a bit rusty. ^^;

Please enjoy, and review!
~Sara