Chapter 1: George Dickman
It was night at the City of Bonaville. And while everyone was asleep on their beds under comfy blankets, George Dickman roamed on the streets.
He couldn't sleep. There was nowhere to sleep. It was his first night becoming homeless.
It wasn't until four hours ago that he was kicked out of his apartment and it was already ten.
His landlord, Willy Stroker, won't let you stay in his apartment if you have no money. You need to pay in advance lest he will kick you out.
And that's exactly what happened to George Dickman.
He only had enough money for a four-day rent. And he could only hope he won't die of starvation during those four days.
He was twenty-three. His dark, curly hair reached over his chest. Tanned skin. A high-bridged nose and thick eyebrows combined with a defined jawline painted his face together. Five feet and nine inches tall with a lean muscular build.
His calves were sore from walking and he was famished. All restaurants and bakeries have already closed. Besides, he got no money.
He sighed. Then he sat on the lonely bench under the flickering streetlight. "If anything, I'm grateful it doesn't snow in Oshar."
His family was well-off and George would have an easy life if he lived with them. But he ran away and there was no way he would be going back. After all the big talk about how he could survive without them only to return four days later? Nuh-uh! That would be too embarrassing. His pride would never allow that.
And so, he would be sleeping on the bench tonight with a furious stomach.
He curled into a ball, eyes starting to get hazy as he was about to doze off. But ten minutes later, a burly man approached him and shook his shoulder.
"Rise and shine, sleepy head. D'you know what time it is?" The burly man asked.
Danits Lawman. Forty-eight years old and a patrolling police. His beard made him ten times more intimidating than he actually was.
George moaned and opened his eyes. He saw a black lace up boots tapping on the brick road, facing him. 'Man, that's some chunky calves you got there,' he thought before he closed his eyes.
Danits shook George again but the lad went back to sleep so he kicked the bench. Hard enough to almost flip it.
"If you ain't waking up at the count of three then I'm throwing you at the Magat River. I ain't joking here, kid. One…"
Hearing the threat, George Dickman sprang on his feet. A string of saliva dripped from the side of his mouth and he didn't even bother to wipe it out.
And although he may look like someone with a few chunks of brain missing with that blank look on his face, his mind was actually clear. Then he thought of an idea only idiots would be able to think of.
"Hic! Hehe. Why am I here? Oh! Hi, officer!" He pretended to be drunk while swaying side to side. He thought getting detained at the police station might be a better idea than sleeping unguarded outside. There was also the free meal.
"Haven't you heard of the mandatory curfew at ten to four?" Danits asked, his voice was calm but threatening.
George didn't answer. Instead, he acted like he was about to vomit like the drunk he was pretending to be but Danits wasn't having it.
"Now, before I actually drag you to the station and have you beaten up. Go home and I'll let this pass somehow. I know you ain't drunk. This is a warning, kid. This is a warning. Go before the other sees you. I'm being lenient here."
George sighed. 'I really thought it would work,' he honestly believed. 'Should I work on my acting skills then? Who knows? I might become famous in theaters one day and make my family's jaws drop. Especially that smug older brother of mine.'
Need not to mention. He was a bit delusional.
"Then I'll be on my way, officer. Have a great evening." He was about to walk away but Danits stopped him.
"Wait! I forgot to ask your name."
George paused for a bit, feeling a bit salty. "Dick Suckinlad," he spat before he finally walked away.
***
"And where the heck am I supposed to go now?" He grumbled as he walked through the rows of houses on either side. They all look identical to each other. White walls with blue doors and gray roofs.
Then he plopped on the middle of the road, clicking his tongue, a tic he had whenever he was in deep thought.
"I mean, I could go to the shelter," he said to himself but decided against it almost immediately.
The 'shelter' was the establishment the local government built for the homeless people. A free coffee and bread in the morning and a bowl of arroz caldo in the evening. People with cash to spare donates there.
And one of the major contributors was his family. They give 10% of their monthly income.
The reason why George didn't want to go there was because of Owen Dickman, his older brother.
Owen usually goes to the shelter and George would lose his face if his older brother finds out he became homeless.
He'd rather die.
And it would be too humiliating to be proven a failure his father always told him to be.
"Or I could just suck it all up, swallow my pride, and march back to the villa. So what if they say I'm a failure? At least I won't starve."
And then he stared at his hands. He wore thick leather gloves that he almost never takes off. He couldn't afford to. He has to wear it to protect other people from him.
Then he stood up. He couldn't stay there for long, there's a curfew and an officer might happen to pass by.
He decided he didn't wanna sleep in jail anymore. He realized the police might tell his dad and he couldn't imagine the shame he was gonna face if that happened.
He stood up. Stretched a bit and yawned.
He was about to go when he heard the sound of someone running in his direction. He looked behind him and saw a young man in green robe running towards him. Dirty, muddied, and covered with blood.
"Run!" The young man screamed. "Run if you don't wanna die!" Only then did George realize that the young man was being chased.
Behind him was a muscular bloke, about six feet tall, and had a hideous appearance. It resembled a human but George instinctively knew it wasn't. Or at least it wasn't anymore.
It wore tattered clothes. Have open wounds in various parts of his body, his left eyeball was dangling from his socket. Puffing out smoke whenever he exhaled.
"Don't run towards me, you dolt!" George screamed back and began to sprint as well.
George considered himself a swift runner but the young man was inhumanly fast. If the train was a human then it would be this person. The one chasing them was just as equally fast as well.
It didn't take long before the young man caught up to him, snatched him by his waist, and got carried like a sack while running at full speed.
"Forgive me for doing this, sir. But that thing hasn't eaten in days and it will devour anyone it comes across to. My name's Diego by the way," the young man introduced himself.
"Ha?! Why'd you run towards me then? You could've taken the alley on the lef!."
"I couldn't do that, sir. I need you."
"And what would you need me for?" And just when George said that, he witnessed something that would traumatize a normal person for a week.
The zombified man jerked his left arm off of his shoulder. Wriggling flesh and foul, greenish blood splattered on George's face.
He turned his left arm into a weapon!
He raised it over his head. But before he could swing it into an arc, George hurriedly patted Diego's back as he yelled at him to dodge.
*swish!
They avoided it by the breadth of a hair as Diego somersaulted into the brick road while he got thrown to the opposite direction.
Diego got on his feet. George however, got the skin of his elbows scraped. Starting from his forearm to his shoulder. It stung like crazy and it made him really angry.
He took his one glove off, took a deep breath, and crouched, preparing to attack head on. He swore to himself never to do this but it was moments like this that a person, no matter how committed they were, will break their own words.
The zombified man stared at him and stopped. As if it instinctively knew it's dangerous if he gets near George. He was being wary, especially to George's hands.
Diego noticed what George was about to do. So he pulled out one brick from the ground, and with all his might, threw it, hitting the man straight in the head, lopping off some skin and hair on his scalp. "Come at me, you dickhead!" Diego screamed at the top of his lungs.
The man turned at him, anger laced his remaining eye. Even the dangling eyeball exuded vicious insanity. Then he let out an angry roar and swung his left arm like a madman which Diego expertly dodged.
That was all George needed to close the distance then he placed his palms on the man's exposed back, laying all his fingers flat.
And just like that, starting from where his fingers touched, cracks began to appear on the man's body. It spread so fast, turning him into dust in mere seconds.
Then it got carried by the wind. Some went into people's houses, some scattered on the streets.
And at that moment, George met Diego's eyes who was grinning like a champ.
"Exactly like the fool said," Diego mumbled in awe.
Then George's nose started to bleed. A misplaced disgust exuded from his eyes before passing out.
Last thing he saw was Diego scampering to catch him.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone