RIGHTOOO!
---
"So, Mr... 'Mimir'"
This comment broke the silence that had plagued the group as they rode on the half track, riding out of atlanta.
"Is that your real name?"
All eyes turned to the middle aged girl, looking intentively at mimir.
"Well, Fraulien, Might I ask what your name is?"
"Scout. My name is scout. Is mimir your real name?"
"Yes. It was a popular name in the 80's. is Scout your real name?"
"Well, I-"
Scout's reply was inturrupted by a crash from the front of the caravan. One of the faceless soldiers stood up, as if to question the situation, and he was grabbed. Before he could utter a phrase, his torso exploded into a display of bright red.
"FUCK!, OPEN GOD DAMN FIRE, RIGHT NOW!"
The other soldiers, who, frankly, had not seen combat in well over four months, raised their weapons. From the houses on the sides of the street, zombies poured from the windows and doors. An endless wave, raised by hell itself it seemed, fell on the cadre of unlikely allies like water on an anthill. tongues of fire lept from the German made rifles, as the ranks of the undead fell quickly. However, it was not long until they overwhelmed the troopers.
"MOTHER FUCKER!"
46 Screamed loudly, intent on finding Mimir.
"You SON OF A BITCH, GET SOME FOOKING REINFORCEMENTS IN THIS BITCH!"
46 frantically looked left and right, blinking from behind his gasmask. It soon became apparent that Mimir had abandoned them. Not one to give up, Forty-Six unsheathed his claymore, and ran to the next car. No more than five of the infected stood inbetween the vehicles. Watching the carnage was like witnessing a ballet. The first was slashed twice on its neck, severing the head. From there, he flipped to the next, stabbing him through the head. In a graceful dance, he added two more heads to his blade. With a flick of his wrist, the heads flew away, leaving only a sickening splat. The last zombie was cut longside, his organs seperating as the two halves seperated and fell. He ran to the next car, and flipped open a chest.
"SCOUT!"
"YEH?"
Scout had a baseball bat, beating the sense out of one zombie, she pushed another away, and turned to Forty Six.
"HEADS UP!"
Like a Swan, Scout's Dragunov flew threw the air. It took one bullet to the stock, and spun several times. By chance, Scout caught it by the handle. The small moment of restive silence was filled with deafening gunfire, as 46's minigun roared to life. It's bullets ripped into the ranks of the undead, proving the sole force keeping the wall of slow death back. more and more soldiers fell, as the squad leader became increasingly frantic due to the cars falling. His voice screamed into the air, calling
"Gde , chert vozʹmi, chert vozʹmi VERTOLET!"
suddenly, the terrified screams of the squad leader stopped, as his vocal chords were ripped from his throat. All seemed lost, Forty-Six and Scout Both looked up, as if instinct called them. Not instinct, so much as the whir of a helicopter.
"'BOUT FUCKIN' TIME!"
Forty-Six shouted as he and Scout climbed up to the top of the Half-Track. Survival seemed so near, until, as the speakers from the helicopte roared to life, a familiar song in mid-stride cranked up. It sounded a lot like...
"NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP, NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN, NEVER GONNA RUN AROUND AND, DESERT YOU!"
More of the song would have proceded, until forty-six boomed out,
"MAVERICK, GODDAMMIT!"
As if on que, a ladder descended from the belly of the craft. Within seconds, The two desperado's ascended to safety.
In the craft, a voice screeched from the intercom,
"glad you could make it"
The door opened, and in came a medium sized man. He had short hair, and his face was covered with a thick beard. Sealing up the retail on his face was a pair of Ray-band sunglasses, with a small tattoo of a fist with a rising sun on his cheek. He wore a red flannel jacket, with several shirts and a white polo shirts to keep out the cold. He wore a pair of blue jeans, and boots that looked to be hastily cleaned. He was about to say something more, but he was interrupted by Forty-Six's shoutin, which is so obscene, it would most likely kill you. Seriously, Your fucking head would explode.
"anyway...", Maverick croaked out slowly, "on to base"
And thus exits a character. OR DOES HE?
Author
Topic: "Darkest of Days" -a zombie apocalypse story game (Read 4117 times)