It's been a looong time since I played Cata, and I decided to try out martial arts for the first time, went with a Krav Maga Blackbelt build. The game, it seems, decided to give me a Fist of the North Star run.
I was all alone, despite being in what was nominally a shelter for evacuees. It was hard to believe, really; scarcely two days ago I'd been assisting in the training of my dojo's new members, and now I was crouched alone in a cheap FEMA building. "Feh," I spat, standing, "May'swell see what's downstairs."
I am no shrinking violet scared of every shadow and sound, so let it be known that that rough-cut basement must have had prior service as the set for a slasher flick. Worse still, the only light source was this dim blue-white crackling on the other side of the room. As I drew closer, stepping over piles of what looked to be dollar store rejects, I realized that it wasn't a lamp. No, it was a hulking, rotted brute of a zed, bigger than an egotistical bodybuilder, arcing with electricity.
Not being a limpwristed coward, I charged it. It seemed startled, if the walking dead can feel surprise -- can they? Don't ask me, not my area of expertise. Anyhow, it took the first blow like a chump, which is when I felt it. Like static, except GODDAMN THAT FUCKING STINGS. Didn't stop me, though; I cracked it half a dozen times more, striking with quick, efficient blows. That's about when the clumsy thing managed to land a hit on me -- not even a proper one, mind you, just a little graze. Felt like I'd grabbed a live power line, though, and most of my clothes just fucking vaporized.
After that I sorta lost myself, just started hammering the zed as fast as possible, didn't stop until I felt the skull shatter. I did a quick once-over, made pretty fucking simple by the fact that the bastard fried my outfit. I wasn't really hurt, just a few scratches and minor burns, but I hurt like a redheaded stepchild after daddy got wasted. Didn't really have much left 'cept my boyshorts -- and more importantly, my belt and getas, the real signs of my pride as a practitioner. That was good, then. I'll call myself lucky for that, I guess. The shelter had fuck-all for medical supplies, s'great I didn't much need them. Pain? Pain I was used to. Moving on...
I scrounged up a sweater -- a rather poor fit -- and filled my stomach with what I could find, then went back upstairs and set out on my journey. Into snowfall. Wearing a sweater, skintight boxers, and wooden platform sandals. Because nature can suck it.
Perhaps two hours later, I was huddled in one of the guard shacks beside a military bunker. I didn't have an ID card and not a solitary clue of how to 'hack' the console or break down the walls, and I -- already cold -- had become colder while delayed fighting off a horde of giant ants. They weren't a threat, of course, going down in one or two blows, but they'd slowed me down. I could still hear a pack chittering outside the fence. That was when I heard it, that terrifying indescribable sound. But I was no coward, and I opened the door of the shack, just in time to see the Jabberwock barrel through the chainlink fence like nothing was there.
In case it wasn't clear, I am no coward. I charged the beast barehanded and half-naked, skin pale with cold. It was still snowing, yes. I showered the abomination with powerful blows, dodging its heavy swings. My luck couldn't last forever, of course, and eventually it connected with a massive claw, tearing across my chest and- DAMN IT, MY SWEATER!
I redoubled my assault, rapidly growing colder in the unseasonable weather, battering it mercilessly, but taking more hits in return. I danced a deadly dance around the Jabberwock, darting in to strike before skipping out of reach, repeating the pattern again and again. In the end, simple attrition won the day. The last blow was almost anti-climatic, a light tap that by all rights should barely have hurt it. Still, I couldn't help but whisper, "You are already dead..." as the monster crumpled to the ground. Snow began to accumulate on it, melting at first but gradually building up into a Jabberwock-shaped drift. I focused on that, of all things -- the world was gone, swallowed by two dozen farcical horror films and all I could think about was the snow in springtime.
"Hah," I panted, breath fogging the air as I hugged myself in some feeble attempt to preserve my body heat. There was nothing left for me here, of course. Perhaps if I had a blade I could have pulled an Empire, slept warm and safe in entrails, but it was not to be. So, unwilling to die so pitifully, I began limping north.
END PART ONE
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Topic: Cataclysm: Dark Days Ahead - A roaming horde appears on the horizon! (Read 1863079 times)