Izaya leaned against the refrigerator, running a shaky hand through his hair as the appliance continued to hum, oblivious to the state of chaos he had just faced.

What happened?

"Oh yeah.." he chuckled, weakly, and looked over to the giant puddle of blood and severed pieces of what once was Namie. "No. Not Namie. A zombie." he shook his head, turning away in disgust.

"Stupid woman, getting infected like that..." he mumbled, unwittingly thinking back.

She had jumped him,and he had thrown an arm in front of his face as protection. Izaya clenched his teeth; she was clawing and mauling whatever she could get her teeth on. Scooting away feebly, he cried out in pain after she clamped down hard. His free arm flailed for something to attack her with, with his flickblade tossed harmlessly to the other side of the room. His fingers slid across another long, deadlier weapon. A kitchen knife. Izaya swung his arm around at her, spinning the unfamiliar blade until it faced upwards and buried it in her neck, flicking it to the side and ripping it out only to bury it to the hilt again. Namie screamed, coughing and spilling blood all over him. His arm drew back to his body before rocketing back and punching her, hard. He hissed from the recoil stretching down his arm, but she flung off him. Now, with both hands on the knife, he brought it down again and again blindly, making sure she would never be able to attack him again.

Izaya drew his good hand down his face in attempts to calm himself. Anything to regain his lost composure. He made the mistake of looking at his ruined arm. He had a vague memory of the old zombie movies where the bitten would become one of the pack, and his blood ran cold. "Ahh, damn. I'm already doomed." he whispered, shaking. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the fridge again and bit his lip. Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths. Keep calm. It'll go through your system even faster the harder your heart beats. His fingers slid up to his neck, checking his pulse. He mentally cursed himself. Of course it'll be beating fast right now, you almost got devoured! Izaya sighed and covered his eyes with his hands.

"... I'm going to die."

"I'm going to become some mindless, brain-eating zombie."

"I'm going to be... just like every other human."

A dark feeling welled up inside him, and Izaya did all he could to keep himself from falling into it. It wouldn't do him any good anyways, falling into depression during his last days (hours, minutes, seconds?) of sanity. With a shakiness only equivalent to knowing your own death date, Izaya stood up and glided over to his desk. "Maybe, if I write, I can distract myself... Keep my sanity, even if it's just for a while longer."

So he wrote. All day. He wrote about Namie, how she died, how she came back and chased him around the apartment, how he could slow her down by turning, how he had ran into the counter and how he had killed her. He wrote about how he had been bitten and how he felt like his mind was slipping. He wrote until his head swam with words and letters and the throbbing pain and bleeding from his arm was too much to bear.

He stumbled into the bathroom and pulled out some rubbing alcohol, painkillers, and bandages. With a towel clenched firmly in his mouth, he poured the alcohol onto a cloth and dabbed at the wound and the surrounding area. It stung, and he stumbled to the tiled floor instantly, tears stinging his eyes and the cloth filling his tightly clenched mouth. Izaya panted, squeezing his eyes shut until he could pry one open, just enough to continue cleaning the wound throughout the rest of the night.

By the time the sun was debating whether to rise or not, he had fallen asleep in the bathroom, leaning up on the tub with his arm mostly bandaged. His dreams were fitful, filled with Namie's worried face before it twisted in rage into a monster that devoured him. Izaya jolted awake and regretted it from the pain. He swallowed another painkiller before he finished the bandaging. His stomach rumbled. Stumbling to the kitchen, he made sure to go around the long way so he wouldn't have to step over the body. He ached all over. Stretching, he opened the fridge and tutted in disapproval. The power had gone during the night. Anything that was perishable was hours past saving. He opted for a bagel.

Izaya had been staring out his large windows for a few hours now, watching for any signs of life (or un-life for that matter) only to find that the city was very, very still. I wonder if Ikebukuo is any livelier... He thought, and his eyes traveled down to his wounded arm.

I should have turned by now.

Maybe that's a lie.

Izaya was done waiting. He stood, strode boldly to the kitchen and picked up the knife, washing it off in the sink before setting it down on the counter. He snagged the painkillers from the bathroom, along with any bandages he still had. With a fresh change of clothes and these new accessories, he stood in the doorway. The knife weighed heavily in his hand compared to how light his flickblade was, a constant reminder of how things had changed.

Taking a deep breath, Izaya opened the door and strode outside.

Author's Note: Okay, so once again, I didn't get as far as I wanted. Oh well, it'll have to be next chapter, it'll have to be. For these first three chapters, I was trying to keep the chapter sizes around the same, but they're so short in my eyes I keep wanting to write more. I'll probably start messing around with appropriate chapter lengths for a few more chapters until I find something I like. Until then, enjoy!