AN: Well, I did it again. I'd finished half the chapter, then clicked off of the box and pressed backspace and...

*Poof*

...dammit.

Well, the good news, (for you at least) is that the second draft is probably better than the first. I kinda went a different direction, but I think this'll be better.

My point is, it's not here. So there's no point going any further.

W-what? I'm not plotting to trick him into writing a complete story, and using the fact that he's the leader of WriTE against him! What would make you think that!?

What kinda person do you take me for?

...

Anyway, here it is. *Whisper* P.S. j0nn0, this situation remind you of anything...? *whisper*

I blinked.

In front of my eyes was nothing but red and purple, wavering stripes of flashing color. I jerked my head back and suddenly-

A closed door, a bench opposite me, other people sitting, dozing, or standing.

Then what did I see…?

I looked down again. Ah, that’s it. My skirt is red and purple striped...just my skirt. I felt something twitch. Looking over at my finger, I saw it move slightly as the train jostled me. It wasn’t numb.

I lifted my arm, surprised and joyful at its’ movement and feeling. I could feel the soft fabric rubbing against my skin, and could feel the warmth of blood in my veins. The light that shone on my fingers revealed blue lines running through my hand, and each time my fingers moved I felt as if an entirely new range of motion had been discovered.

After a minute of ecstasy, I looked at my other arm. I tried lifting it. And it did!

My arm rose as I told it, the feeling of muscle sliding over bone and socket rotating in my shoulder left me almost in tears. I flexed my legs and felt the nostalgic feeling of muscles contracting and tightening.

I remembered to breath.

Oxygen filled my every atom and my lungs expanded, absorbing the gas.

I blinked again.

I shifted in my seat. My back was a little sore, and my arms were kinda weak from staying in the same position most of the morning. I checked my hair, but it seemed normal.

Just what happened…?

I picked my phone up from my lap. It brought some memory back. A white place I think…? Maybe an insane asylum? Whatever. My dreams have never made much sense. Probably to do with my parents strange idea of what little girls like. Creepy dolls and terrifying bears...just what kinda abusive father gives their daughter an unblinking china doll that stares at her all night with unblinking eyes and a mouth that begs to eat little girl's’ flesh?

I checked my phone. Another text from someone I don’t know, might as well ignore it. No text from ‘god’ or whatever. Must’ve been part of the dream...but for some reason all of my texts to my friends are still there...damn, did I really send all of those ellipsis? I had to have been half-asleep to send something so stupid. I send another “are you there?” message, but after a minute still nobody had responded. Whatever, I need to check something.

If I showed up in New York at Columbia college with ruined make-up, what kind of impression would I make?

I checked my phone again. Still no new texts. Whatever, if those hyenas aren’t gonna answer me, I’ll just ignore them. If I seemed desperate, they’d probably abandon me. The only thing those bitches know is strength. If they thought for a minute I was weak, I’d be left in an instant.

I got up and headed toward the bathroom. There would be a mirror there, hopefully. I’d have to make do with cleaning it up. I abhorred purses and never carried one, so all of my supplies were in my suitcase. Still, it’s worth it as long as I don’t have to carry that girly piece of shit everywhere.

I passed through several cars, usually getting nothing more than a passing glance, except for teenage boys. But you can’t help those, they’re all pheromone-high-dogs. I guess I make-up isn’t that bad?

When I got to the restroom, it was in use, so I had to take a seat and wait.

I checked my phone again. Still no response. Maybe their phones got disconnected? But all four of them? Whatever. Finicky wifi was nothing new.

“Hi! I didn’t know we had such a pretty young woman on board. I’m Mrs. Cross, how about you?”

Oh god...it’s one of those damn extroverts. Confucius help me.

Still, not responding would be rude. And you never know when you’re talking to some rich, vengeful bitch who would just love to kick your ass. Those people are everywhere.

“Oh hello Mrs. Cross, my name is Tiffany, Tiffany Kaylin. How are you?”

She nodded politely and gave the regular response. She didn’t smile, so I know I didn’t offend her. That’s good. She introduced me to her son Benjamin, and after a minute she turned to respond to a request of his. Nine-year-olds are such a hassle.

I checked my phone again. Seriously, no messages. It’s like they’re dead. Maybe I should do a google search to check?

And what’s up with this guy in the bathroom? Are they constipated or something? Argh, I could just…

Wooh, deep breaths. In, out. Whatever, I might as well check that message I got from this “anon” dude. I opened it up.

Anon: Get off the train in 5 minutes, or else you’ll never leave.

I stared at my phone silently for a few seconds, then checked the time since I’d received it.

5 minutes, huh?

…

“Haha! Hey Mrs. Cross, I just got this hilarious text-”

When I turned around, Mrs. Cross had grown fangs and claws, and was trying to eat me.

...

Well, shit.

My first reaction was what anyone would have done. I grabbed her by the face, threw her on the ground, and stepped on her neck. When she tried to bite my foot, I put all my 90 pounds of pressure on her throat, and crushed her windpipe.

Taking a step back, I eyed ‘Mrs. Cross’ who had become a beast and started to attack me. She was sputtering and hacking, while holding her throat. And while I watched, her crushed throat slowly filled out, and pure, unblemished skin replaced my shoe mark.

Well, shit.

Benjamin was similarly fanged and clawed, but was instead attempting to eat his way through his mother's purse. I took a step towards the back of the train, keeping an eye on Mrs. Cross. She was coughing, but it had stopped sounding like a dying dogs’ final breath, and more like a wolf clearing its’ throat.

I took a fighter's’ stance. All those years of playing mortal fighting and ultimate street kombat were going to pay off.

I heard a door open behind me, and a very fat, very ugly, and very long-fanged man stepped out from the bathroom. He obviously had been constipated, and hat forgotten to pull up his pants. Sadly, he was also behind me, and I was in a narrow train car.

Well, shit.

Mrs. Cross ran at me. I threw a jumping-spinning-reverse-crescent kick, and knocked her face into a pole. Meanwhile, the fat guy started lumbering towards me. I’d seen this situation in a lot of hentai-

I mean, ahem, ‘research films,’ but I was not animated, and while I may have had a dirty mind, I did not want to become fap material.

Then again, all of those animated people didn’t have 12 years of experience ripping ninjas in half and performing Shruikan yukins.

I gathered all five-feet-four-inches and 90 pounds of myself, crouching low, and then propelled my fist upward.

With the sound of a wooden paddle hitting a large slab of meat, I slammed the fatties head backward, and jumped over him. He didn’t fly into the air with me as I’d hoped, but he still fell over.

Even if this is a dream, damn I feel good.

I run to the back of our train car, and open the door, heading into the next.

Inside, chaos.

I sprint past a screaming man, pushed onto the ground and being ripped apart by two creatures. I jump onto a bench, then vault over the pair of feasting monsters. In front of me stand two thin men, eyeing each other now that the remains of another passenger is only bones. When they see me, however, they’re quite interested.

I feel jittery just thinking about what I’ll do next.

The two come at me with arms outstretched. Come on, really?

I move both my arms outward, knocking their arms apart. Then I grab both their faces, stretch my arms as far as they’ll go, then slam the twos’ skulls against each other. A glorious crack is my reward.

Moving on now that they’re having a seizure on the floor while trying to heal the dents in their skulls, I come to a man dressed like an old-school sheriff. His badge is rusty and his hat has patches in it, but the revolver in his belt looks clean and well-taken care of.

I punch the monster in the gut, then the throat. As he falls over I rip the gun out of his holster. Strangely enough, I can’t see fangs on him, and he isn’t getting up. Oh well, probably just faking.

I spin the chambers. Only one slug in the last one. I click the slug into place, cock the hammer, then point it towards the sheriff's face.

“Come on, mate. It’s the twenty-first century. Get with the times.”

*bang*

Feeling safe now that he’ll take a little to heal, I check his pockets. He’s got a pocket full of slugs, and a larger bag that clinks. Hopefully with more rounds. I can’t check since the two behind are waking up. Strangely, the guy hadn’t moved the whole time. I looked at his face, and my first thought was…

That’s a lotta blood.

I mean, damn. I thought Mortal Fighting over exaggerated the amount, but looking at that huge stain on the ground, I can imagine they probably didn’t put enough blood for when you tear a person in half. Just from the head alone there was enough to bathe a puppy with!

Urgh...don’t think about blood-covered puppies…

I got up unsteadily. Even if there was a lot of blood, that didn’t change that he’d heal from it and probably attack me.

He will get up...right?

I stepped over his body, loaded two slugs into the chambers, and turned around. Attracted by the scent of blood, the two thin men ignore me and start to pig out.

“You bastards, no respect for the dead at all?”

I plug both of them in the forehead.

They fall over and start to seizure again...but like the others, they don’t bleed. I look down at the old guy that I shot.

Still not moving.

“Well fuck me, I didn’t know. Rest in peace, old man.”

Even in a dream, I still feel guilty. Although this dream was fun, I hope I forget about it before I wake up.

Still, this is awfully realistic. The feeling of the gun in my hand and the bullets in my pocket are making me start to doubt myself.

Still, I’m not sure why, but I know this is a dream. It’s almost like someone told me it was. Yeah, I bet I haven’t even left for New York yet. My dad probably said some kind of stupid thing like ‘sweet dreams’ while sobbing. He’s such a weak-willed guy. Cries at the slightest chance.

Still, the knowledge that this is a dream didn’t stop my hand from shaking the next time I shot somebody. I only clipped their cheek. That didn’t even faze the monster as it bared down on my.

I was in the next-to-last train car, almost at the back. Was I gonna lose so close to the end? Would I choke with victory so close?

HELL no.

I brutally shoved the barrel of the revolver into the creature's mouth, to the back of its’ throat.

While the monster gagged on it, my hand getting wet from its’ slobber, I grunted with the effort of keeping my hand between its’ fangs.

I cocked the hammer. “I’ll not be...huff...the one...who chokes!”

Then I blew a hole in the back of the creature's’ head. Yanking the gun out, I stood there catching my breath. Six more monsters in here, and I have about thirty seconds until this one gets up.

Bring. It. On!

I ran towards the closest one, a monster in the shape of a girl younger than me. I elbowed it in the face. To my right, a screaming middle-aged man jumped. I ducked under it, and punched it in the gut as it flew.

The girl recovered, and the man crashed, then got up. It seems like knocking the wind out of these guys doesn’t matter. Do they even need oxygen?

I kicked the girl onto the bench, and shot the guy in the knee. Then I shot the girl in the head. Two shots left, three monsters, and twenty-four seconds left. This’ll be tough.

Two guys this time. Perhaps if they weren’t monsters they’d have been going to college with me. I broke the first guys’ knee by stepping on it, and punched the other in the face. I shot the guy on the ground in the spine, then stuck the gun under the chin of the guy who was still standing. Empty. Eighteen seconds left. One monster.

It was a twelve-year-old boy-scout. I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against a pole, but I couldn’t hit hard enough to knock him out. I put him in a headlock, and started to strangle him.

“We’ll see if you need oxygen, you little bastard.”

I pulled hard. But the little guy was strong. I thought I couldn’t hold on. I held tighter. Still struggling, harder if anything. I tightened my grip. He gasped and phlegm flew out of his mouth. I squeezed his throat even tighter. His spine snapped, and he stopped struggling.

I threw him aside, and stood up gasping. I made myself not see that the boy didn’t have fangs.

I’m really starting to hate adrenaline, this dream, and other people. Damn bastards. Making me feel guilty for accidentally killing them.

You would think, that I would be able to tell the difference between someone with fangs, and without fangs. The thing is, eyes play tricks on you. Sometimes you think you see things.

I open the door. Thank goodness, there aren’t any monsters in the caboose. Just an open back door and two corpses. I take the first step, and feel a jolt through my body.

I’d been in this car for thirty-four seconds.

I turned around, and saw a very close, very sharp, very scary fang, right in front of me. I could only raise my hands to grab the monsters wrists’ before I was bowled over. I fell on my back, the monsters’ clacking teeth right above me. I try to throw it off me, but it’s too heavy, and I’m too exhausted.

Will I die here? So close to winning.

Those foot-long fangs sink into my shoulder, and I scream.

But not from the fangs in my shoulder, but from the memory.

A handsome man. A flaming sword.

A regretful smile.

And the searing lightning of a sword wreathed in flame tearing my body in two.

I remembered the feeling of my brain splitting apart, of my insides being set alight. But most of all, I remembered the smell of my own burning flesh.

I was a piece of charred meat, and I meant nothing.

My hands didn’t shake as I pulled the gun towards me. I was bitten three times during the time it took to load a bullet into the revolver. The next time the monster bit into my shoulder, I held its’ head still, and blew a whole from one side of the head to the other. I had to use both hands to pull the fangs out, and fell the moment I got on my knees. I crawled towards the door. Behind me, I heard two more screeches that signified the second and third monster had healed. I crawled past one of the corpses, and kicked it a little closer to the door. The sound of flesh being ripped apart made my stomach clench.

Before, I had thought this was a dream, a game, something to enjoy.

Now it was just a very particular type of hell.

How many of those monsters did I imagine…?

How many people have I killed already?

And if this isn’t a dream, is death the only way out?

I slowly reloaded the revolver, slotting the six shots into their respective chambers. Another two screeches signified that the pair of guys I’d shot had gotten up.

While holding a fully-loaded revolver, I held the barrel up to my eye, and asked one last question.

Do I have the guts?

Screeching continued behind me, and the sound of ripping intensified as the number of feasters doubled.

A shot rang out.

I held the revolver, the barrel smoking. One of the monsters fell.

I am a coward.

Then I shot the other three. I took my time getting to my feet, making certain of the steadiness of my feet before continuing on.

The boy scout did not get up. I made my stumbling passage to the end of the train, and stared out at the track rushing below.

A minute ago, I’d have been scared to jump. I’m a girl straight out of highschool, who spent her whole junior through senior life hailed as the most popular girl in school.

I’d clawed and backstabbed my way there, throwing away pride and dignity and time and friendship. And now, what good did that do for me?

For years I’d done anything and everything I could to hold onto popularity. Which, in highschool, directly translates into power. I destroyed the competition through blackmail and behind-the-scenes bullying. I’d forced more than one girl to change schools. I could be called the scum of the earth, and they’d be correct.

All that time, I hid my true self. I’d done everything I could to assimilate and be someone I wasn’t. For four years, I was miserable, and made others feel that misery.

If I had to be honest, this apocalypse may be the best thing that ever happened to me. But damn it all, I’m terrified.

I’m not scared of jumping anymore. Just scared of dying.

The recorded voice of a woman sounded.

“Arriving in Philadelphia. Next station: 14 minutes.”

Fourteen? I’d be dead in two.

I jumped.

And hoped to god I lived for more than two seconds.