Alright, seemed like it went over pretty good, so here's the next chapter.

Thanks to RegularShowMemorabilia for sacrificing a few of his OC's for the cause. Your internet cookie is in the mail, and they will appear in a couple chapters.

[][October 1, 2:59P.M][]

Everything was as perfect as it could get. How long it would stay so was another matter.

The cleaned tables were now laden with trays of grilled food- the hotdogs being a much lower quality than last time, Benson's idea- and chilled two-liters of soda. The second table was a safe distance away and it served to bear the buns, chips, condiments, and several containers of Wing Kingdom wings. It goes without saying, Muscle Man was nearing the end of his patience supply.

"Where are they?!" he shouted, slamming the table with his fists as he did so.

Thomas quickly grabbed his toppling soda can in time to save his laptop from a sugary bath. Moving the can off the table and onto the ground, he returned to his typing.

"Relax," Benson said, looking down at the walkie in his hand, "They'll be here shortly."

Futilely sending another ping, he listened as the static echoed from the handset as it had for the past five minutes.

'I didn't think it'd be that far out of range,' he thought, eventually looking away from it.

As a precaution, Skips moved in between the two tables, hoping that Muscle Man's frantically planning mind would lose interest.

"Yeah, dude, chill!"

As if just recognizing the form of Fives beside him, he leaned in closer, "Okay, here's the plan. You distract Skips, and I'll take the wings."

"No way," he answered, floating backward.

"Thomas?"

Looking away from the nearly finished term paper, he shook his head, "I'm happy with the way my face is configured."

"Fine," he said, a determined look creeping onto his face, "More for me."

"Hey guys, sorry I'm late," Eileen said with a tired voice, "The boss wasn't too happy about me leaving early."

"Glad you could make it," Benson said absent mindedly while he fiddled with the knobs on the handset.

Looking over the neatly laid out party supplies, she blinked, "Rigby isn't here?"

Waving the device, he shook his head, "He went to meet Mordecai and we haven't heard back from him yet."

Slinging her bag from her shoulder to her hand, she began rummaging inside, "I'll try his cell."

"I'm not sure that'd help," Skips said as he awkwardly held up the phone, his face giving the description of a long story.

"Just as well," she said with a sigh, "I forgot my phone at the diner."

"There's still time to grab it," Benson said, yet another ping leaving the walkie.

Giving a nod, she turned to leave, "I'll be right-"

Everyone's eyes flew to the object in Skips' hand, the ringtone being an 8-bit recreation of Summertime.

"Seriously?" Thomas asked, returning to his laptop.

"Answer it," Benson said, "It might be him."

As Skips began to fumble it open, Muscle Man cautiously rose from his seat and began sneaking toward the table.

"Which one?" Skips asked, motioning to the assortment of buttons.

"The green one."

Pressing it, he lifted the phone to his head, "Hello?"

Thomas blinked, watching as the lines of interference on his laptop began to worsen. Tapping the screen didn't help any, and it wasn't long before the color drained and the computer turned off.

"No!" he shouted, "I was almost finished!"

Turning to ask Fives if he knew what happened, he froze as his heart skipped then increased it's production.

The usual off white color of the ghost was now rapidly changing, seeming to pulse brightly and crackle amid the pained look on his face. Along with the appearance change, a pained form of gurgling and grunting began to emanate from his mouth.

Unaware if it was really happening in front of him or his mind was creating an alternate, albeit strange, instance of what was happening, the confused and frightened form of Fives began to disappear.

Thomas tumbled over the bench as he fell backwards, landing in a heap on the grass behind him.

Eileen's scream brought him back to his senses while alerting him to the event happening only a few feet away.

Rigby's phone lay forgotten on the ground, the large yet struggling form of Muscle Man having occupied both of Skips' hands. Amid the shrieks and squeals, an outpour of nonsense was spewing from Skips' mouth. Realizing what was about to happen, he averted his gaze and looked to the ground in front of him, the sun thrown shadow showing the large silhouette of Skips tearing the arms from the second. Thomas watched as the flurry of what could only be blood rained onto the ground.

[][][]

Part 1:

Chapter 1: My Hometown

"I hope this song finds you well.
And I hope that you're doin' fuckin' swell.
I hope that you're back up if you've ever been down.

And I hope you got the fuck out of our hometown."

- Bowling For Soup

[][October 1, 3:47P.M.][]

"So," Rigby said, his voice barely audible over the blaring car alarms and sirens from the city behind them.

Mordecai continued walking, every footstep away from the madness they'd seen a small flicker of sanity returned.

"So," Rigby said louder, increasing his pace to keep up, "Can we stop for a second?"

"What?"

"Stop," Rigby said again, motioning to the side of the road, "Take a little break."

Mordecai turned and risked a glance back, the city of Belmont nothing more than a smudge of oil blackened smoke amid a flare of flames. Several gunshots rang out in the distance, several short pops followed by the faint clunk of a shotgun.

"Alright, but only for a second."

Nodding, they stepped to the side of the road they were walking and crouched into the safety of the vegetation beyond the rusted and battered guard-rail.

As Mordecai slung down his backpack he noticed his right hand had been on the handle of the blade tucked into his pocket the entire time. How far back that was, he couldn't recall, but it was definitely since they passed the gas station.

[][][]

Following the trail of abandoned vehicles, it wasn't long until they reached the neon lit and sun faded sign of the 'AM/PM One Stop' station, it's four rows of fuel pumps now occupied by the burning remains of a mini-van, the stickers in the window informing of three children, a mother and a father that met a fate too horrendous to comprehend.

"Come on!" Mordecai shouted while he read the face of his watch, his voice little more than a croak, "We have to get out of the city!"

Peeking around a pump adjacent to the mini-van, he stared into the darkened entrance of the building. The only signs of light were small emergency bulbs installed along the top of the wall overlooking the counter.

"Who knows what we're going to run into along the way?" he hissed back, moving from one row to the next until he was a dash away from the entrance.

"Rigby!" he shouted.

From his new position beside an ice cooler near the shattered glass doors, Rigby waved for him to move in, "It's clear!"

Mordecai looked back at the trail of carnage they'd traveled, his ears picking up the faint shuffling of footsteps from a side road too close for comfort.

"Damn it," he mumbled as he sprinted across the lot, falling into cover beside his careless companion.

"I don't see anyone inside," he whispered as he began to inch around the cooler.

Grabbing the back of his jacket, Mordecai pulled him back, "You're not going in there!"

"Of course I'm not," he said, pulling free from his grasp, "We are."

"No way, dude! Did you miss everything that's happening?!"

"We have a long walk ahead of us! There might be a gun in there and definitely some water!"

Moving to grab him again, he was too late and the crouching raccoon dashed inside, tripping over a toppled display. Sighing at the amount of noise that was just generated, he followed, stepping over the display while avoiding the scattered remains of the trampled sunglasses that used to adorn it.

"Rigby?!"

No answer.

Against his better judgment, he continued farther inside.

The power had failed recently owing to the lack of lights and the emergency ones being engaged, most likely powered by a battery backup system that was also keeping the wall of drink coolers operational. Even with the lights being low-wattage LEDs, he didn't think the battery would hold another hour, if that.

"Rigby?!" he tried again, this time receiving a barely audible squeak from an interior door.

Diving below the counter, he sat with his back against the plastic advertisement board and held his breath. He heard the shuffling again and looked through the open doorway. Approaching from the road they had just been walking, a man in his mid forties sporting a blood stained T-shirt and tattered cargo shorts stumbled toward him, his attention being occupied by the blinking screen of a twisted fuel pump.

Glancing around the counter for Rigby, he crouch-ran toward the other end of the store, taking shelter behind a cart of motor oil and cell phone chargers.

The footsteps were now at the main doors, the sound of the display being kicked away adding to the noise they'd created only moments before.

The man wavered back and forth, his head darting back and forth before settling on the humming coolers.

Emitting a loud howl mixed with the nonsense talk, he began to approach the far wall when a loud thud from the backroom stops him.

Turning his whole body in the direction the sound came from, his head tilted to the side as he staggered forward, stopping when he met resistance from the folding countertop. Barely maintaining balance, he stepped back and looked at the small door. The noises from the back room continued, prompting him to repeatedly dash forward, the sound of ribs cracking along with the hinges giving way echoing to the back of the store where Mordecai was hiding.

Mordecai covered his ears, but it was useless against the snarling and babbling. It wasn't long before the insane, but determined victim of the day's madness broke through, triggering an alarm that was installed below it.

Momentarily dazed by the sudden drone of the beeping alarm, the man looked around and shouted again.

More footsteps and shouts were coming from outside, and he knew it wouldn't be long before the station was overrun.

"Shit, shit, shit," he whispered as he rushed to the counter and drew the knife.

Lunging at the taller target, he quickly wrapped his arms and legs around him as he repeatedly stabbed the blade into his chest. Growling with what could only be pain, he began to thrash back and forth, bumping into the machines and items behind the counter, but couldn't shake him off. The thrashing began to slacken until he fell forward onto his knees in a pool of his own blood.

Mordecai released his hold and stumbled backward on his rubbery legs, the adrenaline coursing through his veins only serving to numb his body to the point of weakness.

Panting and bracing a shaking arm against an now empty counter, he looked down at the corpse of what was momentarily ago a living, breathing if not sane creature.

The door swung open and Rigby stepped through with a sigh, "No luck."

He froze, his widened eyes flashing from the blood covered and out of breath Mordecai to the twitching corpse in front of him, misshapen pools of blood still forming around his even bloodier T-shirt.

"Dude!"

With a glare as sharp as the blade held in his shaking hand, he removed the last of his shirts and tossed the tattered backpack at him, "Fill it up, quickly."

"Hold on," he asked as he awkwardly grasped the bag, "What hap-?"

"First, you ran into the back without checking, then you make enough noise to attract half the city! Fill the damn bag, we have to get out of here!"

Rigby hesitated for a moment, a mix of scornful realization at the truth keeping him silent.

Without muttering another word, he left to ransack the remains of the havoc strewn shop.

Nausea bubbling up his throat, Mordecai looked away from body. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the deed he'd committed with the stolen knife while he began to use the shirt to wipe the spatters of blood from his face and hands.

[][][]

"Here," Rigby said quietly, handing the still chilled bottle of water to Mordecai.

Looking up, startled away from his own thoughts, he stared at the bottle for a moment before taking it.

The trembling nearly subsided, he turned the cap and felt the soft crack of the seal breaking. Lifting it to his mouth, the churning in his stomach caused him to hesitate, a deep breath succeeding in forcing it away for the time being.

As the cool water poured into his mouth he became aware of just how dehydrated he was. Half the bottle later, he returned the cap and sighed.

Rigby, setting his own bottle aside, ripped open a pack of jerky and pulled a large piece from inside. Looking from the piece in his hand to the pack, he held it toward him.

Knowing that soon his body would begin feeling the fatigue of the amount of work it had been doing to keep up- not only physically, but perhaps mentally even more so- and decided it'd be wise to force down what he could.

Selecting several pieces of his own, he handed the rest back and began gnawing on the smallest he'd grabbed.

The silence remained while they rested, the only noise at all being the far off popping of gunfire and explosions. A fire truck's wail reached them but was gone a moment later.

Rigby chuckled and gulped down more water.

Mordecai looked from the small assembly of ants that had attracted his attention and leveled his gaze onto the raccoon.

Replacing the cap to his bottle he sighed, "Everything goes to shit and here we are, enjoying a roadside picnic."

'Not everything,' Mordecai thought, 'Not yet.'

But still, the more he thought on it- enjoying the reprieve of the image of the dead man- the more he felt like laughing. And at last he did, starting as a series of shaking, eventually progressing to full blown exclamation. Rigby watched for a moment, realizing the reason that he'd all but forgotten in the many years that had passed, and joined in.

Mordecai sighed, the grin remaining on his face, "Is that what we're to become, Burbridge? STALKERS in a world that-" pausing to glance at the cracked dial of his watch, "Only an hour ago used to belong to us?"

"No way," Rigby shouted back, "You're Burbridge! I'm Redrick!"

Shaking his head, "Nope, you're too short to be Redrick."

Rigby crosses his arms, "Figures, the one book I ever enjoyed reading, and I get stuck being Burbridge."

Mordecai shoved his remaining jerky into his pocket along with the water and climbed to his feet, "Well, I guess you could be Monkey."

With a sigh he shoved everything back into the bag and slung it to his shoulder, "Burbridge it is."

Alright, sorry it took so long. I'll have the next one up as soon as I can.

Thanks for reading.