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Aberrant: Dead Rising - Theses hand will never be clean.


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His hands were stained. His heart was broken. The world had fallen apart and he lost the one person he would died for.The one person he tried to die for.The one person who who he watched die, only to kill again. His hands were dirty. His soul was stained. No mater how hard he tried he could never wash the sin, or pain form his hand mind. He didn't want want to forget her, not one moment of her. Not when she was young,lovely charming and cleaver, more lovely and even more cleaver. Not even when she was grasping for breath, painfully laying there in there bed, his arms around her. He did not want to forget her words of love, nor her please for him to kill her. The world had already fallen apart and help wasn't coming. Not today, not for them. He hated the feeling of being helpless.The feeling of wanting to help his love, his soul mate.He lived with her for about forty years. Knew her for as long as he could remembered. His May. His sunshine. To him she was the start and end of his day.

She was his world, and that was not say he did not love his children, but his son was a lost cause a total my country right or wrong. He was thankful Dilan never had to go to Nam, that boy would have signed up for the and Wesson would have to most likely bury him. His daughter never really hit off, she grew up, they grew part. He truly love them both of them, but his May. His may could make him happy, and send to into heaven just by smiling, but that was not reason enough to forget about them.

All the pain and shame. Still he knew his hand would never be clean again. He had washed them for hours. May's blood would never come off.He watched her die, unable to lift his hand in anger, or mercy to end her pain. He could only kill her when she was already dead. When she rose up again, he saw that she was gone, his hand made short work of her head..He ruined that lovely face.He tried to wash the gray mater from his skin, the hair, the blood the bits of bone. They would not leave his hand, they would not wash off, the water parted over his skin, and he could see it no longer picked up the taint of flesh, but he still saw blood on his hands.He still felt the stickiness between his fingers.He couldn't wash it away.

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The sun was sliding behind the that horizon. The light was fading, and his heart was heavy.He looked down at what was left of his wife, his life, his hopes, his dreams and he saw all his fears. He heard the rumbling and ruckus of others that were once human.Others that were once alive as they moved to him. Other people he once knew. People he once with.People he saw grow up, move out, come back, move here.He was a stone here.He had helped so many of these people .They were dead now. So as he balled up his fists and took to swinging, tears came down his eyes.

He was a killer. He killed people for his country when he was younger. He killed for vengeance. At one time he lied to himself saying he killed them for freedom.Still that was a long time ago, he was different man now.Or was he. His hand tore the bodies part of Dylan, that humble runner who he helped cut threw the bureaucratic paper work to get him into a school where his feet wouldn't need to do all the work.Why couldn't he be faster? Wesson killed Susan as well, Dylan mother.He didn't have to deal with Dave. Dave being more of a son to Wesson than his own blood. What made it so he could help others, and connect more with others than his own blood.He killed his mailman, his preacher, the young lady that bagged his groceries, the friendly old man.Well older man down the street.He killed them all. When it was done, he stood there in torn cloths, cuts all over his body, blood dripping down.His eyes painfully dry and blood shot.He had moved to the back of the little mark, the bodies all around him.

His will to move was gone. He leaned in not to what was left of a car, and did nothing. He didn't move, he didn't cry.Most of all he tried to think, or sleep.He wanted it all to end, but he would never just lay there and die. He could never let May down.Even if she was dead. He could never sell himself that short.He just couldn't will himself to move.The sun rose.His mind lost in nothing, his body healing. His wounds were closing.His heart was still beating. His body still living.Yes he did not want move.He was not hungry, nor thirsty.He was just waiting.Just waiting for something. He was not day, and that was something.The sun sat.Nothing came to him.No one.This part of the world was dead. He did not move.

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Movement caught his eyes. His eyes focused on the sound that soon followed. A a humve is rolling down the street. He stood up, covered in blood, torn cloths, some of the blood was his, but he had no wounds.The cuts and tears had closed already.The scabs either fell off or were stuck onto him from dried blood. When stood up after the days of sitting, he was more than little stuff, but he was an old man, stiff was something he was used to. You got used a lot of things.Something he would have to get unused to. He made his way tot eh road, as the suped up jeep drove to him. He saw it stop, and a the man gunner on top swivil the turret him. He stood still. A voicecame over a mega phone.A voice he knew.It was min. Or was he hearing things. He never knew Min that well after all.

"Have you been biten, or cut?"

He looked at his body and well. Wesson couldnever lie.Saw no point in starting now.

"Yes, bu..."

He replied with a swift yell. A loud band, a sounding snap in his neck.His feet were no longer on the gorund.He really saw the slug as came to him and hit his forhead.He heard them start to roll by. He stood up

as they rolled by. The bullet fell off his head. They stoped again.Panic, or at least that is what he thought he heard in the loud speaker.

"How the fuck did you do that? Garcia did you hi"

The loud speaker was cut off, no need for them to board cast fear.Not that Zombie played by the normal rules.Or at least by those rules.Four people in comabat fatuiges got out the humvee, and he saw something spoke louder than the megaphone could.He paid no mind to the guns when he saw it.A neckless, one that May made for his daughter when she was going to colledge. He hadn't seen that neckless in 10 years but he remebered those beeds anywhere. He sank to his knees. And yelled with all he could

"Min, is that you?Is She dead?"

Min took a step back and spoke to the other. Wesson couldn't hear what they spoke. One the men spoke up.

"Rudy Wesson.Is that your name?We have a few questions"

"Yes.Like what?"

"Like how come your are not dead. We saw you take a 50 cal slug to the head, and why haven't you turned"

"I don't know. I know if I was going to to turn I would have by now...But please is the Min Cooper?Is Lucy Cooper dead?Is my daughter dead?I need to know."

The soilders talked a bit.He could see the female wearing the neckless was shacken a bit and he though was most likely a lose for words.The same man spoke up.

"Wesson, from what we can tell Chicago was a total lose, your daughter was killed before turning. Seems to have been well a suicide pact.Things were really ugly there."

With that he was standing, and running towards the nearist thing he could break.Some over priced SUV that just didn't get put to use. Not that it was going to be useful to anyone after he was done.His hand landed on the metal the windows popped out.The frame was jsut not built to deal with an angry nova.

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