Dead Rising 2 Clothes Novels & Stories

Next I went to the clothes store. In the clothes store there were 3 sections. Women, Man, and Vampire. The women and men section was full of raggedy, old clothes. It reminded me of hand-me-downs. It looked as if they had been passed down 3 generations. Not so bad that they wouldn't cover up your body, but bad enough there were holes in some of them. They did however look like they had been washed. The vampire section was a whole different story though. Everything was brand new and smelled like fresh flowers. I looked through the shirts, pants, skirts, and dresses. I was still wearing my green tank- top and indigo skirt. I picked out a dress that had see through sleeves. The ends of the sleev

Clarabelle let out a sigh as the cold wind blew through her silky, black hair. “The fun is almost over, isn't it?” She said softly, staring at the dead nightwalker on the ground. She rose off her seat slowly, and as she did, her long black dress slowly transformed into something more casual: a black leader jacket, a dark grey shirt, and a pair of black jeans. “Hmmm, I hope she doesn't mind me dressing this way; gowns can be exhausting,” Clarabelle said softly. **** The Unknown slowly stood up straight. His entire body was now covered in bruises, and only the lower half of his armor was left on him. He spat out the blood in his mouth, and a smile formed on his face.

She came out of the secret dressing room to check the closet. "Son of a devil! So many clothes. I hit the jackpot." She laughed as she checked on different clothes. Again, they were no normal clothes. They ranged from a man's to a woman's, dark hoodies, and all-black sweatsuits with full face masks. Zara selected a full bodycon dress with a hoodie. Dark black, just perfect for her disguise for the current situation. Since she had already checked the bathroom— and luckily there was water— she took a bath and put the dress on. Unfortunately, all that was there in the kitchen was rotting, smelling, and decaying months or years old food, and stock of expired canned food.

I stopped at the row of wooden hangers holding Killian’s clothes. I stared at his dark garments. A rebellious, desperate craving pooled in my stomach. I pulled a pair of small black lace panties from my suitcase and slipped them on. I left my bra in the bag. I reached up, took his black silk dress shirt off the hanger, and slid my bare arms into the sleeves.

CHAPTER SEVEN Part of Aleta’s favorite red hoodie turned up in some bramble outside of the city. It was cut, shredded, and stained. Animals had been gnawing and tearing at it, pulling it apart thread by thread by thread with their canines and incisors and grinding molars. From what they recovered of Aleta’s body, she had also been gnawed and ripped, but the animals pulling her apart had been a different sort. Angry Marie made a decision, then, and the impact of that decision would way heavy in her soul for the rest of her life. But seeing as her soul was pretty much tattered beyond recognition anyway, it didn’t seem like that much of a leap.

Liam tossed in a few flashbangs. As the area lit up, scattered zombies were quickly drawn toward the light. "Raarh…" "Raarh…" "Raarh…" It was hard to tell whether the stores had opened early that day, or if some accident had trapped people inside. Zombies began spilling out of the dark shop fronts. Most of them were dressed like clerks or store owners, and they were all pretty young. One female zombie stood out. Her style was fashionable. Her ash-gray curls were freshly done, and she wore a summer dress that hugged her figure and a pair of spotless white sneakers. There was barely a trace of blood or dirt on her.

I followed with the rest, my boots sinking slightly into the soil as I approached the open casket. I braced myself for the sight of her. Prepared to see pale skin. Blood. Stillness. Instead, I was met with fabric. Bloodied. Torn. Shredded. Clothes. My gaze locked onto them immediately. My chest tightened as recognition hit. The backpack straps were frayed and snapped. The fabric of her jacket had become darkened by dried blood. The sleeve was torn clean through like something had ripped it with claws. My hands curled into fists. That backpack.

Just silence and a steady hand that didn’t move until my sobs turned into shaky breaths. “Okay,” I whispered finally, “okay. Let’s get ready.” Shopping for funeral clothes felt obscene. Rows of black suits and dresses hung neatly on racks under fluorescent lights, as if death was just another excuse for consumerism. I wanted to scream at the mannequins for looking so put together.

She laughed, chucking a towel in my direction, "Just take the compliment sweetheart, and be happy I'm not trying to kill you for wearing my girlfriend's clothes." I cocked my eyebrow at her not in the mood for this crap. She exited the room still giggling to herself whilst I began to undress. I shimmied out of my dress and let it pool at my feet. My underwear and bra had been soaked through with water as well which meant I had to discard them. I wiped myself down with the towel before adorning a black tank top and black leather tights. My black stilettos would have suited the look much better if it weren't muddy but this would have to do. I poked my head out and got the attention of Scar, "W

“Let me get changed.” Ellery’s own outfit—an off-the-shoulder jumper that simply said DEAD, a floral skirt, black tights, Docs, and a backpack with cat skeletons on it—didn’t offer much insight into possible destinations. It suggested something fairly casual but, knowing Ellery, that was probably how she’d dress for tea with the queen.