Wasn't Las Vegas supposed to have been the extinction of these abominations?
Dean presumed that after the nuke, such horrors would be at worst a tragic memory to those afflicted - certainly not something that would happen again. Regardless, this was not how he wished to spend his vacation time. Given an invitation from a friend to check out Fortune City, history seemed to be repeating itself apparently.
Looking at himself in the window, he saw a fairly tall, lean-built man in his twenties with short spiky dark brown hair, amber hues filled with malevolence towards his misfortune, tan skin tone, thin eyebrows, slightly concave nose, and oblong jaw shape with a scar traced down from his lower lip to the chin . Overall, he looked like a specimen until it came to tackling his fashion choice. Tattoos occupied his muscular arms, snake bite piercing rested above his chin, and a customized silver skull piercing on his tongue. Clothing was recognizable with a pompous stud like himself, donning a special crimson leather jacket with silver color rhinestone embedded on the back of the jacket, designer black jeans with his initials stitched in crimson, and dress shoes to match the Spec Shades Ozzy sports but in a gold tint.
The young man was certainly in deep shit at the moment, granted it was convenient compared to the other people in the middle of the calamity. Rationality was barely registering through his conceited head, having his heart beat in a frenzied pace while his nerves shot up with the blood curling lullaby of screams echoing in the hallways of the Fortune City Hotel. This luxurious suite of his was now the only sanctuary Dean had to the war zone outside.
Dean Dixon was not particularly a household name in the world, but to the many sexually frustrated or simply horny denizens of the adult industry; Dean was idolized as a sex god. Renowned similarly to icons like Ron Jeremy and John Holmes, it was difficult taking not to pay attention to this Adonis of a man. A controversial figure, Dean is labeled as a bad boy to society and has shown volatile behavior in many disputes broadcasted to the media. Although he was a malicious son of a bitch, even this love god could not be completely callous to the situation. For now he needed to keep his cool, barricade his domain, and when things died down try to make an attempt to escape from this resort.<|im_end|>
Kitty Kat Williams, her common name Katrina, was a dancer, a special kind of dancer, that...catered to clients with particular tastes; usually high paying men of the nerdy types. Trekkies, Video Game enthusiasts; you name it, she had probably catered to that type at one time or another. Rich types, mainly. Or nerds attending some convention of another in Fortune City. She'd made a pretty good living here, in all her years as an entertainer. Red heads tended to be a sought after type these days, giving the lean, ample breasted, supple reared, long limbed woman plenty of clients.
Who knew what the fuck was going to happen here. Shit, just when she had been planning to get out of this lifestyle. Figures the world would go to shit. She'd fought her way from the Arena when the infected had broken out of the confines that blasted show, Terror is Reality, had them in. They should have known it was only a matter of time before those creatures managed to get out, but fuck if they had pretended ignorance. The hotel she assumed was her best bet, at least for a place to board up until the cavalry came stampeding in.
She pulled the slide back, loading the chamber of her .45 pistol, before letting loose the contents of her clip into the heads and torsos of the infected blocking her way to the Hotel entrance; several fell, blood oozing from piercing holes, pieces of heads missing, eyes shot out. Really, it was a disgusting sight, but what choice did she have. She grunted, slamming her boot against the chest of one of them, kicking it out of her way as she busted in through the doors, slamming them shut behind her. She gathered what she could of the furniture and barricaded the door the best she could, before making her way to the stairs as she put another clip into her pistol and made her way to the stairs as she pulled the slide back to load the chamber. Higher was probably better, the fucking things couldn't fly or scale walls; that she could actually be thankful for.<|im_end|>