• I once wondered what it New York would be like if you took it all away...

    The department stores, the thugs, the pollution and the waste. What's left is nothing short of a pretty picture.

    Weeds sprout from every crack, and cars lay abandoned in the streets; the rust already beginning to set in. And let's not forget the bodies. Yes the bodies. Even the Rads coudln't get them all, since new ones appear on the street everyday. Their rotten stench somehow finds their way through the confines of my gas mask. I don't gag. I've grown used to it. Spend a year in a post-apocalyptic NYC and you'd understand.

    I calmly pushed my way through a pair of double doors what was once a Macy's (at least that's what I think it was), kicking over handbags and coat hangers as I began my ascension up to the top floor. The furniture department was completely dark, except for the light that cascaded down from the skylight above. I calmly hung a left straight towards the security room taking care not to drop the precious cargo that sat in my duffel bag. As I reached the door, I calmly set the bag down and performed the ritual rhythmatic knock. There was a small rustle and then a long pause before the door swung open and a double-barrelled shotgun was shoved into my face.

    "Meagan Fox or Merissa Miller?"

    "Neither. You know Jessica Alba is the only girl for me," I responded.

    "Man Nathan...you got a wierd taste in women. C'mon in." The gun lowered to reveal serious-looking a brown haired youth. Probably around 15 or 16. Nobody can tell cause he never talks about it. Likes to be a "man of mystery" so he says.

    "Dammit Jude, must we go over this everytime I knock on this door?" I replied coldly.

    "Hey. It's standard regulation. Be glad Danny doesn't make us strip search you."

    "Whatever," I picked up the bag and holstered my pistol, "So how's our little bag of sunshine going?"

    "Oh I'm fine thank you. Just a little concussed after that b*****d whacked me over with that bottle yestardy."

    A tall, skinny man emerged from the janitorial closet slowly rubbing his head. His thick black hair covered by the signature beanie.

    "How goes it Danny? I see you still look crappy as usual. Here, I got somethin' for ya while I dropped by the store."

    I dug into the bag and tossed him a bottle of aspirin. He caught it with one hand and looked at it with a hint of disaproval.

    "Don't take it with alcohol, I heard it does some wierd s*** to your brains."

    "Gee, thanks Nate...C'mon. Let's say howdy to your bestest buddy."

    I dropped my bag in the living quarters. Not so much living quarters as it was just an oversized storage room with a window. Life wasn't fantastic here, but it was bearable. It IS a Macy's Security room after all. There are five of us. Me, Danny, Jude, Doc, and Eden. Me, Jude, and Danny alternated runs to the outside world to salvage food and supplies. If we were lucky enough and if time allowed it, we'd go hunting for the luxurious stuff. Flat screens, Xbox's, radios, pillows, $100 sweatshirts, that kind of stuff. We were able to route power to the security room through a number of generators that we alternate to save electricity. The security room was home to several smaller rooms: the living quarters, the storehouse where we throw our mounds and mounds of canned goods and other non-perishables, the janitorial closet where various articles of clothing were thrown in, the "living room" which was home to the a sofa, a couple of chairs, a 1080i flatscreen t.v. (donated by yours truly), and an Xbox 360.

    Finally, we have the interrogation room. Good ol' memories. I remember my first time to the security room. Eden had just found me passed out in front of the store while she was leisuring around the first floor. Jude and Danny come down and hoist me up to the interrogation room, tie me to a chair and subject me to an all but suttle examination with Doctor Hisotomi. Good times. Every security room has to have an interrogation room so they can jack slap the hell out of shoplifters and choke a confession out of them, in my case, jack slap the hell out of innocent survivors who are mistaken for Infectee's.

    As of currently the interrogation room has instead switched its motives to holding our very own "bottle of sunshine": Mr. Infected...