Aaron let out a long, satisfying yawn and rose up. He realized he was still in nothing but his boxers as he looked toward the dumbwaiter and found his clean clothes. He then looked down at the elastic wrap protecting his wound, a dark red streak emblazoned on the bandage.

Relaxing music from a past time faded to a conclusion, followed by a radio DJ's voice. "This is the Matheson Sounds of Hope hits, raising hope through the sweet sounds of music. Never give up, ladies and gents. There's still a beautiful world out there."

"Forgot to turn that off," Aaron said to himself as he stretched his arms.

He lifted himself out of the bed and walked to the radio to turn it off. He grabbed his new clothes and put them on.

He made his way to the bathroom and shut the door. However, once he caught a glimpse of what was in the mirror, he almost freaked out.

He was extremely pale. His face and skin were as white as snow and the cuts and black eye from his beating yesterday had vanished as if he never received them.

"What the bloody hell?" he said to himself. "I've only been without a job for...wait. How long was I out?"

After using the bathroom, Aaron ran back out to his clock. 10:30 AM.

"Shit!" he shouted.

His stomach rumbled aggressively. Hunger had taken over him.

"I missed dinner."

He sat down on his couch and strapped on his boots, planning on gettting breakfast in the Commons. He was about to open up his drawer and grab some Ration Cards, but he noticed a small pile of papers gathered at his door.

He picked up some of the papers, which turned out to be two envelopes. He ripped open one and pulled out a letter:

Hey, bruv, it's Jonah. Sorry about all that shit happening yesterday. I know becoming an infantryman was practically a mission in itself, and I hate to see that taken away. I offered to buy you a drink, but you didn't show up. Nika missed you. But to make up for that, me and her decided you should have a few Ration Cards to make your day and get a nice meal. Don't worry. We've been too busy to eat anyway. Enjoy, mate!

- Jonah, your brother from another mother (if we actually had mums)

The message warmed his heart and amused him in kind of a dark way. He and Jonah had been orphans as long as they could remember. They even lived together in the same orphanage even before the rise of the Deadmen.

Best non-biological brother ever, Aaron happily thought to himself. Definitely owe him some drinks.

He placed the letter on the end table next to his couch and ripped open the next one. As promised, he was awarded with three blue Ration Cards guaranteeing one free meal per card. He was set for the whole day.

He stuffed the cards into his pocket and made his way out of the apartment.

* * *

Several minutes later, Aaron was in the Commons. He ran to the nearest shop and ordered a bowl of porridge, an apple, a glass of orange juice, and a muffin. The whole thing cost him one Ration Card, but he was used to how Matheson's system of equal servings worked.

He carried his breakfast on a tray to a table outside the shop and sat down. Even though he knew it was a new day, he pulled on his hood to avoid the angry looks of any DZI that came across him. He then nervously took a spoonful of porridge and dug in.

Halfway into his meal, a line of DZI soldiers marched down the center of the Commons toward the headquarters to begin their mission. Aaron tilted his head to the side to make sure they couldn't see him, especially because he got a quick glimpse of Jonah and Kat jogging in the line. The line of soldiers disappeared into the headquarters, the door shutting behind them.

As he bit into his apple, he noticed a poster on a bulletin board in the center of the Commons. It was a flyer advertising the memorial for the massacre yesterday.

Normally Aaron would've been overcome with guilt as soon as his mind fully comprehended the poster, but a new thought developed in his brain. Sure, the DZI had shunned him for good, but it would be completely dishonorable to ignore a service praising some of his former allies. Even though he was banned from it, the morally right thing for him to do was pay his respects and prove he wasn't the real monster.

With a proud smirk on his face, he disposed of his trash and made his way to the DZI headquarters.

* * *

Aaron burst through the door of the headquarters like he owned the place. And if it wasn't for that Abnormal bastard, he probably could've owned the place in a few years.

He marched down the corridors, his face hidden underneath the shadow of his hood. He passed by a few unamused DZI soldiers who stared at him like he was the Grim Reaper, ready to take their lives. He casually walked past the locker rooms, gaining multiple looks of confusion from his former comrades. However, since most of them were in a state of undress, he had a new reason to not make eye contact with them.

He was stopped in his tracks by a female DZI. Aaron remembered how he tried to avoid her during missions both because of her superior rank and her lack of charisma.

"Hello, Cassandra."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Cassandra asked sternly.

"Just came to pay my respects."

"What respects? Aren't you the reason those men are dead?"

"I kill zombies, not people. But some people--and won't start naming--make me feel like considering the latter."

Cassandra stared at him coldly. "Just get out of here before you get your ass kicked again."

"Okay, fine. I'm out." Aaron shoved past her and continued his journey down the corridor. "Bitch."

He found himself in front of the entrance to the mess hall. All of the soldiers--or at least the younger, less mature ones--were roughhousing, some tackling each other to the floor and others challenging each other to arm-wrestling and other things. Aaron couldn't find Jonah or Kat anywhere in the cluster of reckless idiots.

"Hey, Piss-taker!" a voice shouted. Aaron turned toward the voice, only to be smacked right in the head with a flying beer can. Lucky for him, it was empty.

He rubbed his head, slightly weirded out by how painless that was. "Hey, Rupert."

"Aren't you supposed to be--I dunno--anywhere else but here? I'm pretty sure killers aren't allowed to attend their victims' funerals."

Aaron slowly approached Rupert and his gang. He had dark red hair and stubble on his chin. He was in his mid-twenties, yet he had the reputation for being one of the least mature soldiers in the DZI.

"And I'm pretty sure you should've graduated a long time ago," Aaron remarked.

Rupert's snarky grin disappeared. "Y'know, you've got a knack for pissing people off."

"Bollocks. I'd say all of you have a knack for getting pissed too easily."

"Well it's kinda hard to stay happy when there's an utterly useless soldier among your ranks."

"I agree. You should really make yourself useful, for once."

Rupert's face turned red with anger. He threw a punch toward Aaron, his fist colliding with Aaron's face. He stumbled back, waiting for the throbbing pain of a new bruise to buzz through his face.

The weird thing was that the punch didn't hurt in the slightest. It was as painless as being smacked with a pillow. And Aaron remembered being punched by Rupert before. The pain left behind often lingered. But not today.

"What kind of punch was that?" Aaron asked. "I didn't feel shit."

"Oh really?" Rupert replied, unconvinced. "Someone's got balls. How about another one? This time straight in the kisser."

"Go crazy."

Rupert threw another punch, slamming against Aaron's lip. He stumbled back again and felt blood seeping out of a small cut on his mouth. Yet he still couldn't feel any pain.

"I swear to God, I didn't feel that in the slightest," Aaron said.

"Very funny, O'Connor," Rupert replied. "Well, since you can't admit you're a pussy, how about we settle this with a game of Knuckle Chompers?"

Knuckle Chompers was a self-explanatory game some of the the DZI would play outside of missions. Two people would catch hands as if they're about to arm-wrestle and take turns biting each other's knuckles. Whoever has the most painful bite wins. And Aaron remembered Rupert had a bad habit of leaving behind deep bite marks.

"Whatever," Aaron replied. "If it makes you feel less depressed about yourself."

The two of them sat down at a table. Rupert extended his arm and placed his elbow down on the table. He opened up his hand and grabbed Aaron's.

"Try not to flinch," he said.

After that, he slowly clamped his teeth down on Aaron's fist, much to everyone else's disgust and amusement. Aaron could feel Rupert's teeth burying into his flesh, like if someone was trying to jab pointy objects into his hand.

Yet through all the humiliation, it still didn't hurt. It felt more like if Rupert was pinning his hand down with his fingers. Like if he was simply squeezing his hand rather than cutting into it.

Several seconds later, Rupert let go. Deep red marks were engraved in Aaron's fist, strands of saliva dangling off his hand. If it weren't for whatever the hell was happening to him, he'd probably be grasping his hand in pain.

Rupert wiped his mouth as he and his cronies stared in disbelief at Aaron's apparent lack of pain. "What the hell!"

"I told you," Aaron said. "I didn't feel anything."

Rupert still had a callous expression on his face. "I'm not buying your bullshit. Besides, it's your turn to see if your bark is worst than your bite."

"Are you taking the piss?! I only came here to--"

Rupert silenced Aaron with a slap to the face, which he still couldn't feel. However, with that slap, a flash of red light filled Aaron's sight. The living beings around him were replaced with terrifying, shadowy figures with glowing white eyes. Rupert was the most sinister-looking, but he was completely red and looked like he was stripped of his flesh and bones, only his muscles remaining.

The image faded back to reality and Aaron found an agitated Rupert staring at him.

"Play the fucking game," Rupert growled, holding his fist out.

With an eye roll Aaron grabbed Rupert's hand and slowly brought it to his mouth, holding it out in front of him. He started hesitating, not just because of how unsanitary this was, but also because he suddenly felt like he was frozen.

Flesh, he thought to himself. The voice in his head sounded like that of a feral creature, yet it was still his voice.

"What are you waiting for?" said one of the DZI watching Aaron and Rupert. "Pretty sure this wanker washed his hands."

Flesh, the thought filled his head again in its sinister tone. Flesh, flesh, flesh, FLESH, FLESH, FLESH!

Aaron soon found himself tearing apart Rupert's fist with his teeth. He had a strong grip on the edge of Rupert's hand, squeezing so hard that blood started spilling out of the new wounds. Rupert himself was screeching in pain and began punching Aaron in the face, hoping to knock him off.

"GET OFF!" Rupert screamed. "FUCKING GET OFF!"

With every punch, Aaron's grip on Rupert's fist only seemed to tighten. His teeth continued digging in, like a bear mauling its prey. Rupert couldn't even shake him off.

Kill him, the psychotic voice said through Aaron's head. Tear him apart. Reclaim the broken pieces of your mind.

"GET OFF!" Rupert continued to shout.

One of the other DZI soldiers grabbed a rifle and slammed the stock against Aaron's head, finally knocking him off Rupert. He crashed to the floor in a daze. A rather painless one.

Rupert continued screaming and swearing in pain. "My fucking fist!"

After the world stopped spinning around in his eyes, Aaron's vision restored. He stared at the damage he had done to Rupert's hand. Deep, messy incisions covered his fist and some of the skin seemed to dangle like it was being peeled off. Blood streamed down his hand like miniature waterfalls.

Aaron tried to speak, but he stopped as soon as he felt the tiny pieces of Rupert's skin lodged in his teeth. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he moved around his tongue. He turned to the side and spat out most of the pieces along with a spray of red mist.

"I win," he said nonchalantly. His teeth were red.

"You're dead," Rupert growled, clenching a towel to his mutilated hand. "You're so fucking dead!"

Before Rupert could get his hands on Aaron, Commander Shaw entered the room along with three other men. One of them was Colonel Troy Schaefer, the most feared man in Matheson. He'd killed more Deadmen than any other DZI and was rumored to have never been injured before in his entire career. Next to Schaefer were Hugh Richmond, his second-in-command besides Shaw, and Vaughn Vega, a forensic pathologist who assisted Matheson's research lab in finding the source of the Deadmen's reanimation.

"You!" Shaw exclaimed, pointing to Aaron. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Aaron rubbed some of the blood off his teeth. "Well I'll tell you one thing. I didn't come to play a game of Knuckle Chompers."

"Is that what happened to you?" Vaughn asked, pushing in his glasses as he looked toward Rupert. "You look like you fed your hand to a Deadman."

Rupert wrapped multiple layers of gauze around his wounded hand. "Probably did. This asshole kept holding on like he was having my fist for lunch."

"Shut it, Cromwell!" Shaw said. "Head to the infirmary and leave us be. I'll deal with O'Connor myself."

Rupert and some of the other DZI exited the mess hall, the gauze still wrapped firmly around his hand. Most of it was dark red now. He disappeared around the corner with a bitter look on his face.

"So, O'Connor," Hugh said. "You've got some nerve coming back here."

"Believe it or not, I came back for the memorial service," Aaron replied.

"Oh, I definitely don't believe that," Shaw said. "Especially considering the service ended an hour ago."

"I--" Aaron stopped himself. He didn't think about the actual time. He face-palmed himself out of embarrassment.

"Imbecile," Shaw muttered under his breath. He slammed both of his hands on the table and raised his voice. "GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

"Shaw," Schaefer said in a softer voice compared to Shaw. "Quit your bawling. You sound like that Cromwell kid you just banished earlier."

"I ordered this fool to--"

Schaefer stared at him threateningly. "Now."

Shaw cleared his throat. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Schaefer approached Aaron. "O'Connor, do you mind if we take a walk?"

"Whatever you say, sir," Aaron replied with a nervous gulp.

He stepped out his chair and followed Schaefer out of the mess hall. Schaefer looked back at the other three and made a hand motion telling to wait.

"O'Connor," Schaefer spoke as they disappeared from the others' views. "Tell me. You know of the epithet these people give me, right?"

"Yes, sir," Aaron replied nervously. "Some of the DZI call you Immortal Troy."

"Because of my seemingly impossible accomplishment of never sustaining harm during our missions. I even have a hard time remembering what the inside of the infirmary looks like."

"I'd also say you're quite brilliant, sir."

"Well, everyone's brilliant in one way or another. But my point is that clearly no one is truly immortal. We've learned the hard way during yesterday's little incident."

"I know. And I swear, sir, I didn't mean for it to end the way it did."

"Of course you didn't. Nobody wanted things to end as violently as it did. But sadly, even with those idiotic creatures roaming about, this world and the things that happen to it are still unpredictable."

Aaron soon realized Schaefer had led him to the exit. The door was wide open and Aaron was already outside. Schaefer, however, remained inside.

"To conclude this, I forgive you for the tragedies that struck, but sadly someone has to be held responsible for at least a portion of what went wrong," Schaefer continued. "The Deadmen might be a bit dodgy, but they're probably the least unpredictable things corrupting this world. And I absolutely hate it when someone can't see those predictions."

"But sir!" Aaron replied. "No one knew an Abnormal would be there! That wasn't my fault!"

"Of course no one knew." Schaefer seemed to be growing slightly agitated. "But that's what preparations are for. And that, you poor lad, is where you have failed."

Aaron gave up trying to save himself. He was defeated.

"I can tell Rupert Cromwell inflicted his own form of punishment on you. You've got bruises and cuts around your mouth. So I'll spare you the physical pain. But if you ever show your face in the DZI headquarters again, I will kill you."

Aaron fearfully walked away from the door.

"And don't worry about your pretty little girlfriend, Nika Koslov. I'd keep her alive so she can learn something from your death."

The door slammed shut, officially erasing the DZI from Aaron's life.