Rotten (Working Title---Unfinished---Do Not Read)

Serial killer (seemingly normal) after the zombie apocalypse pays to fuck tied down zombie. . . gender unknown; all limbs chained with a sign over its head saying "NO BLOWJOBS". (This is the introduction. . . unsure to keep killer as a recurring character or a main one. . .)

AIDS= some sort of zombie thing. . . maybe turns you into a zombie. . . maybe the AIDS stays in the blood, preserved after "death".

Either one protagonist dies from the ZAIDS at the end of the story or they figure out that the zombies can you this disease-STD thing.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Raymond K. Hessel walked into the room, but no one noticed. That's the way it always was when Raymond K. Hessel walked into rooms. This room was different, though. No one would have noticed even Johnny Depp or the resurrected Jesus Christ walked into the room. No one would have cared much, either. Even the ones who once watched Pirates of the Carribean religiously, even the ones who actually were religionists in their previous life, they wouldn't have noticed either. In fact, they wouldn't have cared.

Ever since the Apocalypse had occurred, society had become every man for himself. There was no longer the senseless charade where a man might feign interest in his acquitance, asking him how his day was so far, when in reality, he couldn't be less interested. No more of that.

There were no more dating rituals, the silly notion of monogamy, or the polite manners that tended to be the key to unlock one's potential partner's pants. Even pants were optional now.

ISN'T THAT FUNNY thought Raymond K. Hessel, HOW EVERYTHING BREAKS DOWN EVENTUALLY? HOW A SINGLE CATASTROPHY CAN DESTROY HUNDREDS OF YEARS OF SO-CALLED CIVILED RITUALS?

Raymond K. Hessel pushed through the smoke, through the naked bodies pressing, grinding against one another. This place used to a popular Los Angeles strip club. Now it had been transformed into a filthy, throbbing mass of miscreants. As a whole they pulsed together like a maggots in the eye sockets of a rotting corpse.

Raymond K. Hessel reached a gruff hand down to his crotch, trying to shield wandering eyes from the bulge in his tight Hawaiin shorts. Yes, he still wore clothes. He wasn't a complete animal like some of these dirty fools before him. In a couple of months time most of them would be decaying corpses. Raymond certainly didn't plan on being one of those bodies, but he knew that it was definitely a possibilty that he could become one.

Hard rock music pounded heavy beats through massive speakers in the corner of the bar. The sound echoed the rhythym of a hearbeat, making you feel as if someone were inside of you, pummeling your ribcage, trying to escpae. Raymond ignored the music, though. He was here for one purpose and one purpose only. He pushed past a group of three sultry men gang-banging a tiny asian girl on one of the pool tables. They didn't seem to notice him barging by, they only kept their eyes upon the asian, and shifted their positions to make room for him to get by. He nodded to them as he passed, but they still remained fixated on the girl.

Finally, Raymond reached his destination, a steel door at the very back of the room, set plainly in a solid wall of solid concrete. He quickly switched his crotching holding hands and held up the other to knock on the door.

After a while, it swung open, and a lanky skeleton man with greasy raven black hair opened the door. He did not say anything, only looked Raymond up and down, then motioned for him to step inside, closing the door behind Raymond as he did so. Once inside, the man spoke.

"How will you pay?"

"Well, I hadn't really thought about that too much."

The skeleton scoffed. "Did you expect to do this for free?"

"Well, no. . ." Raymond hesitated. "What are your payment methods again?"

Skeleton sighed. "How many times have you been here? Six?"

"Something like that."

"I suggest you learn the rules, then. I'll list them this one last time, and that's it. But if you come again without a solid payment method, then we'll just have to decide one for you, and I can garauntee you will not like what we choose."

"O-Okay," said Raymond. "I won't do it again."

"You could become a volunteer, or a sniper, capture some for us, you could put on a show, you could. . . Do you have anything on you?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that we accept personal belongings as payment, now."

"You do?"

The skeleton stared.

"Well, uh, could I give you a rain-check then?" Raymond chuckled to himself.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"If you are willing to give us your testicles as collateral."

Raymond blushed at this. He hated asking stupid questions. The skeleton man just continued: "You pay on time, or you get the fuck out. We don't have time for people like you."

"I suppose I'll capture a few for you, then, if there's no other way."

"A hunter, then?" He paused. "A hunter it is. You will stay here tonight, then. If you try to leave, you will be killed, and chained up like the rest. You will leave with the morning party, at sunrise. There used to be a brothel near here, and who knows? There might be some loyal customers. . . still. You will capture as many from the brothel as you can, if you can, then come back here and help the rest of the crew chain them up."

The skeletal figure noticed Raymond's worried look. "Don't worry," he said, "You'll be fine. There's a high survival rate around here. Forty percent." With this, his razor thin lips curled in a tiny slit, which passed for an eery smile. "Come with me, now."

Raymond followed the skeleton man down a shadowy corridor with six black doors on each side. From behind each of the doors emanated sharp, sadomasochistic screams of insane and forbidden pleasure, which, mixed with coarse, mindless moans mingled to create a satanic symphony that not even the depths of hell could muster. The skeleton man stopped in front of the last door on the left.

"Here we are," he said, handing Raymond the small golden key to the door. "Female, I'm assuming?"

"Yes."

"Alright then."

Raymond advanced, making an eager grab for the key.

"Hold on a moment. There are a few rules I must remind you of."

"I know the rules. I've been here before."

"Just the same, it is my job to remind you of them. Her name is---was---Jessica. She used to be bartender at this very joint."

The skeleton man paused, and Ray made another eager grab toward the dangling golden key. The skeleton man pulled them away once more and continued talking. Ray sighed heavily.

"Still not done?"

". . . Some people like to know who or what they're dealing with. And luck for you, we actually know about her past life."

"Are you finished yet?"

"No. Of course, there is no oral stiumaltion allowed, and there certainly is no consumption of the. . . victim's. . . flesh allowed. Whatsoever. If either of these rules are violated, you will be apprehended and fed, at least in part, to the victim, at which point you will be in the same position she is in. Also, if you get yourself bitten, we will behead you immediately, one way or another. Do you understand everything I've said?"

"Yes. Can I go in now?"

The skeleton man handed Raymond the golden key at least. "Twenty minutes," he said.

"Right."

Raymond creaked the door open, and stepped inside. To his left was a dresser with mirror mounted on top. This place had clearly once been operated as a dressing room. Now, the dresser served as another angle, a self-reflecting camera in which eager young clients could watch themselves perform. Raymond went over to the dresser while eery sounds filled the air. They had a single source, but Raymond wasn't paying much attention. He was pulling out the drawers of the dresser and shuffling through its contents: dildos, vibrators, bullwhips, gags, among other grotesque items.

The sound grew louder now, almost latching itself onto Raymond. The sound reminded Ray of what a submarine would sound like if it were at the very bottom of the ocean, about to implode upon itself. An ominous creaking sound, almost. Except this sound had a trace of what could be femininity. Or the remnants of it. Raymond grabbed a whip out of the drawer and turned to face his victim.

Jessica was her name was it? She would do nicely.

* * * * *

Jessica was a zombie. Her flesh was decaying, but patches of beige hadn't fully worn away yet. Raymond looked her up and down, reaching between his legs and grabbing a hold of himself, rubbing slowly at first, and then faster.

Her feet, the color of mold, curved inwards, almost facing each other. Raymond's eyes followed up, up, towards her knees, which were also bent. If she wasn't chained to the wall, her gait would be a very awkward one, similar to that of a mentally handicapped person's.

"Yeah. . ." Raymond said to himself. "You'll do just fine, darlin'. You'll suit me sweetly."

He advanced towards the monster, moving his Hawaiin shorts aside so that he could push his flesh against the rotting hips of the zombie.

"Hmmmmm. . ." they both said in unison. Raymond looked at her, Jessica the zombie, straight into the hollow sockets of her eyes. Now, they possessed no more life thant a stalk bail of hay.

He plunged himself inisde of her, and yellow puss foamed out of her exposed crevaces.

"You like that, Dead Girl? Huh?" He licked her malodorous neck, which was also chained to the wall. She couldn't move a single dead muscle in her body, even if she tried. Her dead eyes could swivel, following her would-be prey, and her muscles could expand and contract, but all other movement was impossible.

Raymond reached around her back, digging his fingers into her flesh, then slowly took them out and pounded the butt of his whip against her shoulderblade. A shred of skin squished out and fell to the floor, exposing yellow bone. He pounded harder, and the whip drove itself into her skin, penetrating her flaky epidermis. His movements became increasingly violent in this manner, until the lashes on his whip were tearing the dead skin from her body. There was no blood to flow from her veins, only clots of hard, black material, resembling tar pitch.

Before Raymond knew it, his time was up. Three hard knocks pounded on the door as Jessica moaned again.

"Just a second, man!"

"It's been twenty minutes!"

"I know, I know! Give me a second!"

The door handle rattled and the door burst open just as Raymond finished up his business.

* * * * *

Raymond was forced to sleep in a confined room that night with seven other grubby men, all smelling just as foul as the next, but collectively, tehy accumulated a stench more potent than sulfur. Every man snored that night, keeping Raymond awake. Even if their snores were not so loud, Raymond doubted if he would be able to sleep. He kept thinking about his previous life, all the women he had slaughtered and raped. But there was no law now, no more rules. He could fuck who he pleased, when he pleased.