̃”*°•. ̃”*°• It’s tough to be a God! Tread where mortals have not trod. Count your blessings, keep’em sweet! That’s my advice. •°*” ̃.•°*” ̃

I was gone for an unprecedented amount of time. Whoops. Where have I been? Working. Believe it or not I do have gainful employment and my dog needs a several thousand dollar surgery lol. Don't get too ambitious for the upload schedule for the rest of the year. Anyways I love zombies and I love Graves so here have this while I'm lucid enough from my own illness to write.

ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴏᴛꜱ

DarkestDays!John Price

DarkestDays!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Prompt

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It was good to be a king.

And Phillip Graves was the closest thing one could get to being a king in the lawless, zombie infested city of Walton City, Texas. Wouldn’t be entirely incorrect to call him a king. Maybe even a god, but that felt a little ambitious. Even for him.

It was easy to secure a nice, fenced in neighborhood as a base of operations when you had a whole small army under your wing. Even easier to take the previous, uncooperative tenants and make them cooperate... and those who didn’t? Well, putting them out to pasture was pretty damn easy, too. Restoring peace in this part of the city was a fuckin’ cakewalk. They should name a street after him when this was over. Or maybe a football field. That’d be real nice.

His rumination was cut short as a gust of hot air blew on him, giving him a pause on his patrol of the fence. It was getting hot, not to mention awfully humid. His men were getting quite cantankerous about it, some of the civilians bordering downright mutinous (and making a public display of some of them only temporarily fixed these problems). Not much he could do about the heat, though.

What he could worry about was the things in his control. This whole place was under his command. Lock and key. The whole works. His pause made him notice something he’d failed to before; a hole in the fence. Just big enough for a person to slip through. Now why the hell would there be a hole in the fence, and why the hell did his Shadows neglect to tell him or do anything about it?

In the sandy grass next to the hole, he could just make out footprints. If it was an infected, it would’ve definitely already attacked someone, or made an awful racket trying to get through the hole and alerted someone to its presence. They weren’t smart enough to be sneaky, which meant this was a living, breathing human.

Maybe not breathing for long, Graves thought, his eyes following the footsteps to the cracked back door of an otherwise unused house on the street. The walkie-talkies ran out of battery a couple weeks ago, and he didn’t want to alert whoever was inside of the fact that they were caught.

“Guess I’m goin’ in solo...” he muttered under his breath, gripping his gun tightly as he walked toward the door opened askew.

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