Zack Foster Fanfiction- The Color Red // Angels of Death Anime

Scratched Letters

It took strong willpower to force myself out of the elevator once I arrived down on B-6.

This was where it started. When I first saw him and became aware of what true horror was.

Where the hell am I, I once thought when the elevator doors opened and revealed a grey alleyway. Trash littered the ground and...blood.
What is all this? Some kind of cruel prank?

My footsteps thudded against the cracked concrete, a rotten stench filling my nostrils making me gag openly at the air in front of me.

Zing!

What the hell was that?
Sounded like metal crazing metal. The sharpening of a blade.

Another set of footsteps broke the silence, but these were heavy, and they brought a chilling sense of anxiety in me.

Then they laughed.

I pressed my hands against the wall to my right. The bricks cool to the touch beneath my clammy palms. Taking deep breathes in and out through my nose and mouth, breaking out of the sizzling panic attack bubbling around my senses.

How absurd.

This floor brings back a horrible traumatic experience that will haunt my memories forever. It layers a thick blanket of fear and suspense, yet he's not even here. Hell, I am here for him, on my own will. The maniac who nearly took my life on this floor in what feels like ages ago, is the same maniac who I basically grinded on moments ago enough to make him hard beneath me. A maniac who I have now known the taste of and the feel of his mouth and hot tongue...

It's just Zack.

And yet, that thought pins me down into a deeper terror that cannot be put into words.

I do not know my way around this floor. I wonder why it is so different from the others, so bleak and dull- hell the dirtiest one I have seen so far.

Is this what Zack did? When he was out there, before getting stuck in this place? Hunting his kills in dark alleyways and abandoned buildings? Was he a stalker? Surely he has that creepy and haunting stare. He matched every trait of a fucking serial killer.

Stillness holds me as I run into a similar alleyway. The floorboards nailed against a similar door and the small opening where I crawled through. Hell, the large clotted puddle of my own blood still rests in that spot...where Zack towered over me, hand clamping around my mouth and jaw- blade slicing the flesh in my thigh.

It's just Zack.

My nerves are lit up- I grow phobic of the idea of having that Zack round that corner again, and again and again- laughing that laugh of his so evil and chaotic- afraid I would fall into a sick loop of fear and sadistic reruns.
Stuck in a nightmare.

His room is not hard to find, it remains the only thing that is lit. That and the trail of trash from snack wrappers and soda cans led me to it.

The space is air tight, heavy in old energy, and as I welcome myself in I feel so out of place. Bandages and trash liter the floors, along with scraps of paper that holds poor imitations of letters and poorly drawn Z's and K's. Surely Zack was limited to the logo brands and names of empty cereal boxes and chip bags. It must be difficult to be illiterate nowadays. How did he manage to get around and survive out there in the real world?

Then again, Zack probably never applied for any kind of legal forms- hell I bet he never applied for a job. That is way too mundane for someone like him. Maybe he's homeless. It would explain the alleyways and abandoned storage rooms. It was obvious the killers and their floors here related to their outside activities.