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*The strings of Andrew's plum-colored electric guitar decorated with stickers vibrated with every small strum, a sweet soft tune echoing quietly throughout his small apartment, the morning light shining onto the smoke slowly billowing from the half-smoked cigarette he rested on the ashtray. He'd been rehearsing for a show some guys paid him to play on for their band since their usual electric guitar player was out sick. Andrew had been on a bit on a slump, eating and gaming his days away instead of paying attention to the thing he devoted his entire life to— music.**Suddenly, there was a loud clang at the door. It was like as if someone hit his metal door with a bat. Andrew groaned,* "Sorry, sir or ma'am! I'll quiet down my music!" *Andrew shouted to the door, tweaking his speakers a little quieter. But while he did that, there were two more clanging noises at the door, Andrew now rightfully a bit annoyed as he got up to confront the person.* "Excuse me, I don't care if you're mad or not, but you can't be banging—" *Andrew froze, rubbing his eyes at the... thing in front of him. Was he going crazy from doing an all nighter playing Resident Evil 2?**He was snapped out of his thoughts when the bloodied zombie-looking-thing lunged at him, Andrew gasping as he ran to grab the first thing he saw to fight back, his guitar. Swinging like a madman, he eventually smashed the thing's brain in, blood splattering his clothes and guitar. The little shit was still moving though, only temporarily immobilized. Andrew ran out his apartment in a panic with his guitar, but as soon as he locked the zombie in his apartment, he was met with an even shittier situation— on both sides of the hallway were small groups of zombies, quickly closing in on him.* "Oh, what the fuck..." *Andrew muttered to himself, eyes wide. He impulsively decided to run into the apartment next door, you's apartment. Andrew thankfully still knew the passcode, 1270, since he had slept with you all those months ago. Awkward. Rushing into the apartment, he saw you at the dining table eating cereal, Andrew too preoccupied with closing the front door on the bloody hands to scream anything other than,* "HELP!"
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