Dead Rising 2 Clothes Novels & Stories

The live chat was losing its mind, frustrated beyond belief. 【Lady, open your damn eyes! That’s one of the bosses from the House of Death! That “wet red dress” isn’t wet!! It’s soaked in the blood of her victims!】 【And that smell of blood? It’s not because she’s hurt. It’s because her dress is covered in pieces of the players she’s killed.】 【Just wait till the other one gets home. She’s a goner for sure.】 Unfortunately, I couldn’t see any of that. Still holding the little girl in my arms, I walked into the apartment and gently took off her red dress. From her pretty pink princess room, I found a clean white one and helped her put it on.

I stared at the clothes for a long moment until when I recalled the Alpha's words. My death was pending. The thought made my stomach twist. I sank down onto the edge of the bed, the thin mattress creaking under my weight. The bathroom door creaked open behind me. I turned slightly as the third girl stepped out, wiping her hands on a towel. She’d changed into something far flashier, a sparkling silver dress that clung to her figure, her lips painted blood-red. Her eyes met mine in the mirror’s reflection before she spoke.

She opened the closet to find several designer dresses that she knew very well, they were expensive dresses, as well as shoes, underwear, and silk sets for sleeping. Amber felt a chill run down her spine. She didn't want to wear those clothes, something told her they belonged to her employer's deceased wife, and her mother always told her. "The clothes of the dead are not given away or used because the dead then frighten them." However, she hated sleeping in clothes, and at the same time she hated sleeping naked, so, ignoring her mother's words, she took out a red wine silk outfit from the closet. It was short, the shorts could barely cover half of her buttocks, and the blouse was so fresh t

I might as well have died at sea. My eyes find a pile of clothes and I walk over to them, picking them up. A soft white t-shirt, simple cotton panties, a bra and jeans with socks. I pull on the clothes, finding that the jeans are a little tight and the T-shirt a little too loose, falling to my thighs. I pull it up and tuck it into my pants before putting on my socks. After running my fingers through my hair and drying it as best I can with a towel, I exit the bathroom and head downstairs to see Saffron sitting on the sofa with Alpha Ragnar on the other side, but Trey is nowhere to be seen. Ragnar looks up as one of the stairwells creaks and I hurry to the last step. Saffron waves at me and I

The sun rose up, me not knowing what to do with myself but better do as told and not cause a scene yet I stayed prepared for anything. I went to take a shower, coming back to my closet not knowing what to wear. What do you wear after a horrifying funeral of over five hundred people? Black would be fitting but not too extravagant. I wore a long-sleeved dress that went down near my ankles. It was body hugging with a turtle neck. As much as the sun was up, the air was moist and cool. I pulled my hair back, tying it in a high pony tail. Nothing was done to the face, just natural. I slipped on some flat pumps then walked back to sit on the bed. The windows were opened to let in some fresh air an

“Ooh, fancy! Can I wear explosives?” “No,” Ace and Esther said in unison. I stood, my chair scraping. “I’ll need a dress. Something that screams ‘shoot me, I’m vulnerable.’” Ace’s jaw twitched. “Or something bulletproof.” “Bulletproof itchy,” Sky offered. “Trust me.” Esther sighed. “I’ll handle the wardrobe. You handle not dying.” --- The dress was black, backless, and lined with Kevlar. Valerie zipped me up, her reflection smirking in the mirror. “If you die, can I have your shoes?”

3:17 ticks to 3:18, and I'm already upright, legs already over the mattress edge, bare feet already on the cold floor. This is insane. Normal people don't do this. Employed people don't do this. This is a horror film setup. This is a headline: Temp Found Dead, Billionaire's Penthouse, Film at Eleven. I'm standing. I'm in the closet. I'm yanking out the only decent dress I still own—black, basic, clearance-rack Somerset Collection from three years ago, back when I still believed I'd finish the degree and land the career and become a woman who needed nice dresses.

Did he somehow manage to access Eric’s financial assets? Shutting the door, I move to the next door. I open it and gasp in shock. There are clothes on hangers throughout the closet. Matching shoes, panty and bra sets and lingerie litter the closet area. What causes me the most concern and shock; however, is the wedding gown that is hanging in the middle of the closet. It is a white gown with a fitted satin bodice. The top is sleeveless, and my shoulders will be bare.

Third Person's POV Mortimer ripped open the master wardrobe. He knew Seraphina hadn't slept in this room for months, but the reality of it still hit him like a bucket of ice water. His own clothes hung there in a row—charcoal, black, navy—a monochrome graveyard of expensive suits. Next to them was a massive, yawning gap where her light-colored dresses used to be. The empty hangers swayed slightly on the rod, the faint metallic clink-clink-clink sounding like a chorus of tiny, mocking laughs.

“Ok, we’ll wait here.” When she came back, she found the two of them in kimonos. “Where did...” “They were renting them over there and there are lockers to put your stuff in since you know, no pockets. We got you one too.” He was holding up one that was icy blue with frost-like patterns and faded into a white colour at the hem of the sleeves and skirt. “Only if you admit it.” “Admit what?” “You know exactly what I'm talking about.” “Ok then. Raisins are the disgusting dead grapes that they are.”