Cross's Story

An expansive plain pans out containing little more than dirt and tumbleweed. It's almost surprising that the theme song from The Good the Bad and the Ugly isn't playing in the background. An old destroyed black top road pulls into view with cracks in it that seem to nearly crack the width of the road. An old restored Volkswagen Bug barrels down the destroyed road passing over a bridge with an old vagrant sleeping under it. On the horizon a facility can be seen. Its pure white paintjob standing in stark contrast to its surroundings. The little car drove past a redundant sign stating the only destination this road had had for the last 24 miles. The sign read -Welcome to Happy Hills Mental Health Home-. It was misleadingly clean and safe looking with it's professional looking font and happy smiley face logo. Inside the facility sat a long haired white boy in a round pair of wire rimmed blind man's sunglasses playing chess with a cat. His name tag read -inpatient #091101- he played in accordance to the rules of the game as the cat randomly pushed the pieces around. He was dressed in a white jumpsuit bearing the same number on the back with a sticker on the right breast reading -Hello my name is Cross-. He was in what looked like a giant waiting room complete with broken televisions and board and card games with half the pieces missing. Other people were sitting around playing these games with one another instead of the supervising psychiatrist's cat Chaplin. The cat was black markings most noticeably a little white Hitler mustache under his nose. Cross went to move his king only to have Chaplin knock over the curious moving object. "Dammit Chaplin you got me again!" Cross said banging his fist on the desk scaring Chaplin away much to the amusement of the handful guards & nurses. "You get back here! We agreed on best fifteen out of twenty-nine you little bastard!" Cross yelled in frustration with a disappointed look on his scowling face.

The baby blue Volkswagan eased to a stop in the Happy Hills parking lot. A nicely dressed couple stepped out, trying to ignore the yelling in the back seat, "You two are nothing but plastic suburban assholes! I'm your fucking daughter!".
The man opened the back seat and pulled out a punk chick with a red mohawk, her hands were zip-tied behind her back, "Honey, one day you'll see that this is for your own good." He explained.
"Ramona, we're only doing this because we love you." The woman followed up.
"You love your petty image!" Ramona spat. The couple lead their daughter through the front doors of the facility and looked for someone to help them. Once they checked Ramona in, they simply left without so much as a 'Goodbye.'
Ramona scowled as the zip-tie was cut off. A man in white approached, "It'll be okay, Dear. Now let's get you-"
Ramona punched him in the face, "Fuck you and your mother!".

Elsewhere, just 80 miles west of Happy Hills, there was a small boarded up house surrounded by 40 feet of exposed landmines, all appearing to be homemade. A corpse was innocently sauntering towards the house when it brought its weight onto one of these explosives, causing it to go off. The corpse flew back and landed without its legs, growling and groaning in anger. The front door slammed open, then slammed closed, "God damn fucking slimy cunt licker!" Yelled Devin, a young man of 24 whose messy black hair covered the right side of his face. He stormed towards the undead, his muscle memory from walking through these mines everyday for the past 2 years allowed him to stomp over without even touching any of the mines. He continued to scold the creature, "Do you fucking know how long it takes to make one of these? Now because of you, I have to go all the fucking way into that God forsaken city and look for more God damn materials!" Once Devin had reached the corpse, he took out his knife and kneeled down in front of it. It grabbed onto his leg and pulled itself towards him, jaws already trying to bite him. Devin brought the knife down into its skull, "Fucking zombies! It's always gotta be fucking zombies at my door!" He cursed, then stood up and kicked the head. The force caused the head to tear off the body, "For the past fucking shitty 5 months, it's been God damn zombies!" Devin yelled and punted the head a good 30 yards. He then gave the body a final kick before turning around and heading back to the house, grumbling, "Why is it always zombies? When's a good-looking horny woman gonna be at my door?" Devin threw his hands in the air as if he were flipping a table, "At least they don't waste my fucking mines!"