Dead Rising 2 Clothes Novels & Stories

I wonder. People usually described ghosts to be ugly in their stories. With torn and worn out cloths. I seemed rather different. My black Heathens t-shirt, with which I died, was still new and clean. No blood stains. My black jeans and black trench coat was still crisp with newness. My hair was well combed.

"They just mean you didn't die." On the third day she brought a basin of warm water and a cloth and a clean shift and said "you need to wash" and helped me sit up on the edge of the bed. I peeled the dress off, the same dress I'd been wearing since the night I walked out of the gathering at Blackthorn, and it was so stiff with dirt and dried blood and sweat that it crackled when I pulled it over my head. Maren took it from me without looking at it and dropped it in a pile by the door.

After Two days Alex walked to Dysis’s room. He knocked one time and then entered without awaiting her response. She sat at her vanity, brushing through her hair. She looked at him, astonished; Dysis wore a beautiful lilac dress that gracefully conformed to her figure, the soft color accentuating her delicate features. The gown featured a stylish silhouette, with elaborate intricacies that enhanced its elegance. She teamed it with plain white shoes, matching the gentle hue of the dress. “Follow me,” he ordered. "You require new clothing, footwear, and accessories."

A bunch of white towels were waiting for me at the edge of the jacuzzi; I picked one up and dried myself with it. The dresses Ricardo had mentioned hung from a clothes hanger that was against the wall. I padded over and checked out the clothes; none of them were to my taste. They were all in shades of black and dark gray, all drab and plain and fit for funerals. Sighing in resignation, I picked one of the dresses—a black, ankle-length affair with a bow at its waist—and prepared to do it. But as I was about to wear it, the door of the bathroom burst open.

A scent diffuser so fancy I assumed it had a PhD. He nodded to the double doors near the hall. “Yours now.” I stepped in. Walk-in closet. Not huge — but curated. Color-coded. Custom-fitted. I ran my fingers along a soft black button-down and frowned. The clothes weren’t me. Not the tech hoodies I usually wore. Not the old anime tees with pizza stains. These were all... dark. Structured. Deliberate. There was leather. Chains. A silver ring choker hanging beside a zippered shirt I was too scared to touch.

It's only the weakest among you that died, so may they rest in peace. So go out there and make sure Paul and his family never see daylight again. Am I understanding? Yes sir. The girls chorus in unison. They all went to their changing rooms to get prepared. They selected the coolest dress there. It was actually their own creation—a sleeveless top with a rope at the back to tie it up. A lethal body hug trouser and jacket. With lethal black boots. All these dresses are all in one color, black, with a light necklace around the neck. A necklace that is worth a few pounds each.

Everything seemed fine. Was this what death was like? No heavenly chorus to sing her to sleep and when she woke up, she would be surrounded by her loved ones who’d gone before her? Was death just this huge, empty room with floor to ceiling windows and white curtains gently billowing before them? Where were the ones who would carry her to the next stage of her journey? Rachel stood up, straightening the dress she was wearing. Why was she wearing a dress? She looked down at herself. It was long, reaching to her ankles with a tight fitting bodice, all in a lusterless black. She reached up to touch her hair. It was pulled back in a tight, severe bun and there was something else too.

Which was not going to help in eradicating arousal. Regardless, she used the body wash, soaked in blessedly hot water for twenty minutes, and toweled dry. The t-shirt was dark blue, had the Fallen Veterans logo on the back, and fell to her knees. It covered more than the dress she'd had on, yet she felt naked. She contemplated the thick gray bathrobe hanging on the door, and snatched it on her way out.

I bite my tongue keeping my potential gag from exiting my mouth. The collar of the dress she died in peeks out first, then her neck, then the tip of her nose and the hairline. With each swipe a sliver of skin is revealed. My excavation suddenly becomes frantic. I stare down at Tabitha, specks of dirt on her cheeks, half of her body still buried. She looks like she’s sleeping, which is impossible. She should be decaying and eaten by bugs. Not have a head full of hair and perfect creamy skin.

Kristi could see how nervous her question made Rori, so she left it alone, at least until they were both dry. After half an hour the contents from four bags were laid out all over the closet floor and spilling out into the bathroom, but both girls were now wearing sundresses. Rori’s was black with short sleeves and large yellow sunflower print, Kristi adorned a thin strap, wine red dress, the entire time the two young women looked through the suitcases they didn't utter a word to one another, even after dressing and walking into the living room they remained silent and Kristi hoped it was because Rori was still a little shocked she almost drowned in the tub.