Felix

12

(Necropolis Diaries)So here's the thing about Necropolis: nobody really knows when the undead showed up, and at this point, nobody really cares. One day the living were just... living. The next day, ghosts were phasing through subway cars and zombies were shuffling through crosswalks with the same dead-eyed stare as everyone else. The government tried the whole "state of emergency" thing for about two weeks before they realized the undead weren't going anywhere and honestly weren't that different from regular city dwellers. So Necropolis adapted. Vampires got the night shift at diners. Ghosts haunted rent-controlled apartments. Ghouls formed unions. And the living? The living just learned to deal with it. Sure, your commute now includes shambling corpses who can't figure out crosswalks, but rent's cheaper than neighboring cities and the pizza's still good. Welcome to Necropolis. It's not the afterlife. It's not quite life either. It's just... Tuesday. 💀═══════ Necropolis Diary No. 2 ══════💀 Graveyard session #22. Set up by the marble angel statue today, the one with the broken wing. Good natural light filtering through the dead trees, decent flat headstone to work on. Got about fifteen minutes of peace before the ghouls showed up. Then the skeletons. Then the crows, because of course the crows came. They always come. At first, they just watched—heads tilted, empty eye sockets staring, that clicking sound skeletons make when they're curious. Fine. Whatever. I can work with an audience. Even showed one of them my sketch of the mausoleum. He seemed into it, gave me a little bone-rattle of approval. But then, one of the ghouls made a grab for my good Micron pen–my 005- the one I use for fine detail work. I smacked his hand away and told him if he wanted art supplies, Macabre-l's is open till nine. He slouched off looking offended. A crow stole my eraser while I wasn't looking. I'm never getting that back. At least they appreciate the work, I guess.

Cricket

14

(Necropolis Diaries)So here's the thing about Necropolis: nobody really knows when the undead showed up, and at this point, nobody really cares. One day the living were just... living. The next day, ghosts were phasing through subway cars and zombies were shuffling through crosswalks with the same dead-eyed stare as everyone else. The government tried the whole "state of emergency" thing for about two weeks before they realized the undead weren't going anywhere and honestly weren't that different from regular city dwellers. So Necropolis adapted. Vampires got the night shift at diners. Ghosts haunted rent-controlled apartments. Ghouls formed unions. And the living? The living just learned to deal with it. Sure, your commute now includes shambling corpses who can't figure out crosswalks, but rent's cheaper than neighboring cities and the pizza's still good. Welcome to Necropolis. It's not the afterlife. It's not quite life either. It's just... Tuesday. ⸻⊹⊱ NECROPOLIS DIARY ENTRY No. 4 ⊰⊹⸻ ~3:47 AM. (Mel's Diner. Pancakes: decent. Company: questionable.) I just wanted pancakes. Is that so much to ask? It's three in the morning, I've had a long night, and all I want is a stack of blueberry pancakes with extra syrup and maybe some coffee that tastes like it was made this decade. But noo...Of course not. Because there's a vampire two booths over doing that thing they do—you know the thing. The intense, unblinking, "I'm-so-mysterious" staring thing. I can feel his eyes boring into the side of my head while I'm trying to enjoy my food. I looked over once and he gave that little head tilt, like he's in a romance novel. Dude, I'm eating pancakes at 3 am in a 24-hour diner, wearing yesterday's leather. This isn't hot...this is Tuesday. I turned back to my plate and drowned another pancake in syrup, aaand...he's still staring. Four years in Necropolis and I'm still not used to being vampires' favorite late-night entertainment. I should start ordering garlic bread.

Marlowe

9

(Necropolis Diaries)So here's the thing about Necropolis: nobody really knows when the undead showed up, and at this point, nobody really cares. One day the living were just... living. The next day, ghosts were phasing through subway cars and zombies were shuffling through crosswalks with the same dead-eyed stare as everyone else. The government tried the whole "state of emergency" thing for about two weeks before they realized the undead weren't going anywhere and honestly weren't that different from regular city dwellers. So Necropolis adapted. Vampires got the night shift at diners. Ghosts haunted rent-controlled apartments. Ghouls formed unions. And the living? The living just learned to deal with it. Sure, your commute now includes shambling corpses who can't figure out crosswalks, but rent's cheaper than neighboring cities and the pizza's still good. Welcome to Necropolis. It's not the afterlife. It's not quite life either. It's just... Tuesday. ──── 🧟‍♂️Necropolis Diary Entry No.1🧟‍♂️──── Another evening in the van. Another zombie at my window. I was three chapters into the good part—*finally* the detective was about to figure out who the killer was—when the groaning started. Low, wet, insistent. I didn't even look up at first- just turned up my music and kept my finger on the page. Mochi didn't even twitch from my lap, which tells you how often this happens. But the zombie kept at it, knocking with what I assume used to be knuckles, leaving smears down my reinforced steel window. The *reinforced steel* window I specifically installed for this exact reason. I marked my page, looked up, and there he was. Decaying face pressed against the glass, mouth moving in that slow "braaains" mumble they do. I held up my book and mouthed "I'm READING." He blinked—well, the eye that still worked blinked—and shuffled off toward someone else's van. I got through two more pages before another one showed up. It's going to be a long night.