When Phil heard a loud banging noise the next morning, he assumed it was some hotel employee at the door.

"I'm coming," he groaned, getting up painfully from the floor. His face hurt.

As he headed to the door, he was surprised to find dried blood crusted on his lip.

"The hell?" he muttered quietly. What the fuck happened last night? Why couldn't he remember anything?

He opened the front door. No one was there.

The banging continued. Phil realized it was actually coming from one of the closets in the room. A strange voice called out.

"Hey! You assclowns can't just leave me here!"

Phil ventured a little closer towards the closet, eyeing it warily.

"You guys'll miss me!" the unfamiliar voice warned.

Phil didn't even know who the fuck was in the closet; there was no way he would miss them. Well, one way to fix that.

"Come on, I'm trapped in a room, let me out!" it begged.

Room? It was a goddamn CLOSET.

"Hey!" Phil shouted at the locked door. "Quit bitching!"

The voice was silent for a few moments. Then:

"The fuck are you?" it demanded.

"Who the fuck are you?" Phil demanded right back.

"I asked first, wiseass," it snapped.

"Since you're in a locked closet and I'm the person who can let you out, you'd better start answering questions and stop being an ass," Phil informed them.

The voice was silent again, probably sulking.

"My name is Nick," it said finally, with an undertone of anger and impatience.

"Hello, Nick," Phil replied sarcastically. "Mind telling me how the hell you got into a locked closet?"

"I don't know," Nick replied, sounding less angry than before.

"You don't know how you got into our hotel room and locked yourself into a closet."

"No I don't, goddamnit, now who the hell are you? And what's this shit about a hotel room? I already got out of the hotel. We're in the Whispering Oaks amusement park."

Phil decided Nick was on drugs. Or was schizophrenic. Or both.

"Nick, I don't know what pill you took, but I am standing in an expensive ass hotel room talking to some jackass who locked his dumb ass in a closet. So don't tell me any different."

"And I don't know how many paint chips you've eaten because I was just at Whispering Oaks, and no loudmouthed moron is going to jerk me around. Got it?"

"Listen, asshole—" Phil started.

"Wait, WAIT!" Nick yelled. There was a moment of silence. "Did you take my freaking axe?"

Phil blinked.

"WHAT are you talking about?" Phil demanded, bewildered.

"My goddamn AXE!" Nick shouted, slamming his fist against the door. "It's gone! Did you take it!"

"Dude, I don't even know what you look like. I've never seen or met you. If you had an axe and it's gone, it's your own damn fault. I'm glad it's gone. You sound like a psycho."

"Oh ha ha, funny guy, it takes one to know one," Nick snapped. "What am I supposed to defend myself with now?"

Phil scrunched his face up in an attempt to puzzle out what the fuck this guy was talking about. He didn't sound drunk. Maybe he was on E.

"Defend yourself against…what?" he asked finally.

"Oh, you know…bunnies."

Silence.

"Really?"

"Of course not, dumbshit! The axe was for the goddamned zombies and freaks! What the hell else would I need to defend myself against? Your stupidity?"

"Listen, crazy," Phil snarled, "I don't like your attitude OR your crazy. There aren't any zombies, and the only freak here is you!"

"Are you blind or just retarded?" Nick demanded. "Zombies are packing the streets! It's like an undead pride parade out there!"

"I'm going to let you out against my better judgment, but only so you can see how wrong you are. And then I'll laugh in your face," Phil announced.

"OK, I don't care if you're blind, retarded, in denial, or all of the above. I'm going to punch you in the teeth for dicking around so long and pissing me off."

"You probably already did," Phil muttered, feeling his bloody lip.

"Just open the goddamn door already," Nick snapped. "I can't see shit in here."

Phil turned the key in the lock and swiftly pulled open the door.

The man who stepped out was older than himself by a few years and had a fist raised and ready to knock some teeth out, but the guy called Nick froze as soon as he got a good look around. Phil took in the rings on his ring and index fingers, the expensive-looking (and dirty) white suit and blue shirt, scratched face, green psycho eyes, and dark hair.

"See, dumbass, it's a hotel," Phil said. "Zombie free."

Phil watched as Nick's expression went from angry to shocked, then confused, and finally settled on terrified.

"Where the fuck AM I?" he whispered.

"You're in Vegas," Phil said, almost feeling bad for the guy.

"No. No, no, no, no. It can't be," Nick moaned, digging his fingers into his face. "I was—that damn amusement park—"

He spun towards Phil, who instinctively took a step back but still got grabbed.

"IS THE HOTEL ON FIRE?" he demanded, crazy-eyed.

"NO, it's NOT, get the hell off me!" Phil yelled, pushing him back.

"Are you sure?" Nick asked again. He looked a little calmer/saner.

"YES, I'm sure. Jesus, what the hell are you on?"

Nick rushed over to one of the large windows and cupped his hands around his eyes, peering down into the street below. Phil cautiously approached and stood next to him.

"Looking for 'zombies'?" he joked.

"Yes," Nick replied seriously, not even sparing Phil a glance as he continued his sweep of the street.

Phil shifted his weight from one foot to the other and folded his arms. Maybe there was something genuinely wrong with this guy.

As he was about to ask if Nick had dementia, turrets, or both, the man slowly lowered his hands and stared straight out the window.

"No zombies," he said blankly.

"No shit," Phil replied.

Nick remained in the same pose, looking shell shocked (and dejected, but that could have been wishful thinking on Phil's part). He opened his mouth to say something then immediately closed it, swallowing hard. He frowned suddenly and turned to Phil.

"Are there any Infected in the surrounding cities?" he demanded urgently.

"What, like infected with herpes? Or are you back on zombies again?" Phil asked.

"Zombies, damnit, this is important!"

Nick was genuinely angry. Phil was startled to realize that Nick actually believed there were zombies somewhere in the world. How paranoid.

"We came here from LA and didn't see any, so I'm guessing no," Phil replied. "Unless you count that one old lady behind the wheel."

Nick still looked perplexed and scared.

"What, I thought finding out there are no zombies would be a good thing, psycho!" Phil said.

"It is," Nick replied distractedly, staring off into space, "but…"

Phil watched him rub his thumb compulsively over the ring on his index finger.

"But?" Phil prompted.

Nick blinked and looked at Phil as if just noticing him for the first time.

"Where are the others?" he demanded.

Phil stared at him. "What others? You mean my friends?"

"No, my friends. There were four of us," Nick explained. "Coach, me, Ellis, and—"

He stopped to swallow hard again, and Phil noticed he looked pained and worried as he named the last person.

"—and Rochelle," he finished quietly.

Phil shrugged and spread his hands. "You were the only person in that closet. I can go see if anyone else has magically spawned inside during the past ten minutes. I'm sure it's jam-packed."

"This is serious, you asshat!" Nick snapped angrily. "I don't know if they're here, there, alive, or…dead. No, of course they're alive. They can get along without me. They know what they're doing."

Those last three lines seemed to be spoken more to himself than to Phil.

"Ro can handle herself," he said quietly, but Phil saw that he was rubbing the ring with his thumb again.

"Listen," Phil said, trying to sound reasonable and not pissed. "You are the only person here, other than me, Doug, Stu, and Allan. No one else is here. I don't know if you staggered in here sometime last night or what, 'cause I don't remember anything, but—"

"I didn't 'stumble' here!" Nick shouted, clenching his hands into fists. "I was at that goddamn amusement park in the South when a Tank beat the shit out of me and I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was in that closet with your stupid ass jerking off instead of opening the damn door!"

"I should have left you in there," Phil replied.

"I agree, the company was better," Nick retorted.

"All you're doing is crazying up the place," Phil complained. "I can't make any sense of what you're saying. What the fuck were you doing that some guy in a tank beat you up?"

"No, it wasn't someone in a tank, it was a Tank," Nick explained, as if that made perfect sense.

Phil stared at him.

"A big ass zombie?" Nick said.

Phil continued to stare at him.

"Has no lower jaw, looks like a pink version of the Incredible Hulk, chucks slabs of concrete and cars, is a real bitch to take down?" Nick continued.

"Sounds like your mom." Your mom jokes were a knee-jerk reaction of Phil's. Right now it was the only thing that made sense to him.

Nick closed his eyes for several seconds and took a deep breath.