There’s nothing that ruins the mood quite like a…

You try to make as little noise as possible as you rise from the floor with your pants bunched up halfway down your thighs, impairing your agility pretty substantially.
After putting your cock back inside your pants and redoing the button again, you eagerly follow the stark-naked Brittney out of the room.

It’s been a truly insane night, mixing the horror of seeing a man being killed and killing another, lesser one mixed with getting to sleep with two of the most desirable women that you’ve ever laid eyes upon.
You realize that there’s little point in dwelling on the less pleasant aspects of the evening, and focus instead on watching Brittney’s pleasing shape as she leads you across the hall to another room.

This sends you both passing through Ashley’s field of vision from where she’s sitting guard, and after first tensing the blonde relaxes and sends a mischievous smile at you.
Apparently, Ashley has decided to refrain from claiming fucking you to be a special privilege given to her only.

The room which you and Brittney now step into, your bodies pressed together since the salacious blonde waited for you catch up before yanking the door-handle down, is one which you checked briefly when your party arrived here a few hours ago. Unlike the one which you’ve made into a home for the night, this one is littered with desks and chairs in various states of destruction.

Her nude body pressed tight against yours so that her large tits are pressed against your ribcage, Brittney kisses you fiercely at the same time as she backs you up against a closet.

All this is extremely pleasant and you can’t wait to get your dick back out into the free, but Brittney pushes you backwards a bit too fast and you bump your ass against the closet’s left door.
This results in a creaking noise as the bump causes the right door to slide open, and the next thing you know Brittney is releasing a surprised cry that’s too close for comfort to your ear.

Looking down at what the cause of Brittney’s panicked reaction is, you realize that you’re suddenly face to back with the upper half of someone’s body.
The figure, which is clad in dark clothing and what looks to be a bullet-proof vest and a helmet, doesn’t seem to move, which certainly is something which you would do if you fell out of a closet and found yourself next to two horny lovers.
Brittney on other hand is suddenly all about movement as she pulls back from you, her eyes wide as she glares at the figure on the floor.

Moments later, Ashley comes barging through the door to the hallway, clutching the shotgun in her hands.

Brittney is soon being calmed down by Ashley, for whom holding a gun seems to have a calming effect in its own and you regain control of your pulse before squatting down next to what is apparently a corpse.

Yellow letters on the back its vest spells out the word “Police” and after opening the second wardrobe-door to reveal its legs you’re free to roll the corpse onto its back.

It turns out to be the remains of a male cop in full riot gear; helmet, vest, holster with pistol and billystick and a pump-action shotgun which has been leaned up against the wall of the wardrobe.

Since the corpse shows no signs of violence being the cause of death, your guess is that cop was deployed during the early stage of the rioting that followed the collapse of the world economy and caught the virus.
You have no idea of how he ended up in an otherwise empty wardrobe though.

“You okay?” You ask Brittney, who has calmed down after being consoled first by Ashley, and then by Erin, who must have been awoken by Brittney’s cry and you get a slightly uneven “Yeah” in reply from her as she makes a shrug to shake the last of her shock away.

The women retreat back to your room while you loot the cop’s remains, noting that the shotgun comes with twelve extra shells and the gun with three extra clips.

Using your sparse knowledge of weaponry, you guess that the shotgun is either of Italian or American manufacture, and you clumsily jerk the gun’s pump-action until seven shells have fallen out of it and no more can be jerked out.

With your weaponry greatly improved, plus the helmet and vest for protection, you wrap the holster round your waist and go after the others.

There’s a pang of guilt that hits you over not even attempting to bury the policeman whose discovery has been of great help to you, but you rationalize it by reminding yourself of all the other dead people that you’ve seen splayed out in the most bizarre of places over the last few days.