Roleplayer Guild - Roleplay Forum

Splitter · 07-01-2009

OOC Thread
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Quote:

The howling wind pushed its way through the dense brush of oak and pine trees, forcing their branches to bend and crack, ending the midnight silence. The sky was so dark, filled endlessly with thick layers of clouds, that not even the bright full Moon could be seen. Thunder and lightning scattered around the area, giving all within viewing distance, the spectacuar sight of the rehersal for a glorious and yet scary eveny in nature, a severe thunderstorm.

As the storm progressed, two large trucks, or at least their headlights, could be seen driving down the main road of the town. If one could get close enough, it could be noted that these were U.S. Army trucks, the famous "Deuce and a halfs." They drove back to back, no more than fifteen feet apart, heading east towards the exit of the town. The two men in the cab of the lead truck, a private and a sergeant, continuously conversed with a map to find their way out of the town, and out of the storm. In the back of their truck sat several soldiers in full gear, seated on each side of the truck. In the middle of the bed were three large barrels, each one had the giant typical black markings that read out U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. The barrels were somewhat rusted and were obviously weathered. The tailing truck held the same compliment of men and barrels.

In the cab of the lead truck, the private, whom was driving, took a rag and wiped the windshield, as to keep the condinsation from fogging his vision. He placed the rag back down on the seat between him and the sergeant. "Sarge, I can't see shit! Are you sure we're on the right road?" The sergeant dropped the map to look out the windows. All he could see was the windshield wipers going to work on the glass, trying to keep it clear, but was not fast enough. Other than that, there was nothing that could be seen any further. The sergeant sarcastically replied to the private, mainly out of aggrivation. "No, in fact, we're in fucking Panama now, we're all turned around." He then rolled the map up like newspaper, and gently bopped the private on the back of the head. "Of course we're on the right road, this is the only main road that runs through this hick town. Now shut up and keep driving." The private rubbed his head and followed the sergeant's order.

The trucks continued to roll down the street slowly, as to not lose traction or so the men could not lose direction of where they were going. God knows this rain was not helping them in the least. As they moved forward, the sergeant lifted the map infront of the driver, pointing at a split in the road. "Okay look here quickly. The road is going to split into two, you want to go down the right side. The left will bring you up a hill to and old church and back down, so make sure you watch for the right side of the road. We're not far from it." The private nodded in agreement to the map, and just as the sergeant pulled down the map, they both looked to the right slightly and saw that they had already hit the split in the road... and had gone to the left.

The sergeant jumped in his seat in anger. "Son of a bitch! Why didn't you pay attention?!" The private sat frozen, eyes on the road. "I'm sorry sir! But you told me to look at the map, I didn't see we were already there!" The sergeant paid no mind to what the private said. Instead, he folded up the map once more and beat the private over the head agian, but harder this time. "I swear, I've seen blind men drive better than you!" The sergeant sat himself back down, and after taking a few moments to collect himself, and calm down, he gave out his plan to fix the problem. "Okay, we're going to have to go up the hill, loop around the church, and come back down. It'll take some time, but it's safer than backing down with poor visibility. So, take us up the hill and... ah fuck it, wake me when we're back down at the bottom." The sergeant dropped the map and tilted his hat down, the visor covering his eyes. He slouched back and slid down into his seat to rest.

The private pushed down on the gas pedal, trying to force it up the steep and narrow road heading towards the old church. Finally, after much effort, both trucks had reached the top of the hill, just as a bright flash of lightning cast over it. For an instant, the private could see what the church looked like. It was very old, and looked very run down, as if no one had used it in ages. The private started to shake a little. Army training or not, nothing can keep human nature from the fear of something scary and haunting. He calmed himself by putting his eyes back on the road, or what the rain would allow him to see of it. He turned the wheel to follow the curve that went behind the church, and slowly came around the other side of the building. As he did, he started to feel the back right of the truck drop. The soldiers in the back held on as the vechile slid downward on an angle. The truck behind them came to a complete stop and could only watch as the entire truck lost it's balance under a piece of mud and rock that held together the narrow road over the hill.

It was watched with absolute shock by the two men in the cab of the rear truck as the lead one began to turn on it's side. They watched with horror in their eyes as the men in the back tried to pull themselves out. It was too late. The truck rolled onto its side, and then continued to tumble down the steep hill into the darkened area below. The passenger in the cab of the remaining truck, also a sergeant, ordered his men from back to jump out and see if they could spot the truck. All the men inside the truck including the sergeant ran to the edge of the hill and looked down. Nothing could be seen but the rain drops falling into the endless black. The sergeant placed his hand under his chin and dropped his head. "This is unbelievable." He looked to is men and waved at them. "Okay! Everyone back in the truck! We're going for help! It'll take us some time. We can only hope they're alive down there, and can wait a while." The men pulled themselves back into the remaining truck and began to drive the downward route back to the main road. It was unknown where they would go to get help, but they surely weren't going to ask the town for help. The mission they were on was not to be made public, and they all knew that. The truck came down from the hill and turned left, onto the right road, and slowly drove out of the town, and vanished behind the curtain of rain.

Down the hill, pieces and parts of the lead truck laid ruined and scattered across the ground. Bodies of several of the men lay motionless and unresponsive to the drenching coming from the sky. The truck itself came to a stop as it apparently hit forward into a large, apparently marble, building. The private and sergeant both lay smashed into the console. Blood ran from their bodies and quickly washed away with the rain water. The sergeant's eyes were wide open, and frozen, as if it were a moment in time captured. His head was severely cut and bleeding. The private looked as if he had some how curled himself up behind the steering wheel on top the dashboard. There was no way anyone could have survived the crash, and no one did. Not even the barrels. Each of the three barrels had fallen out of the truck as it rolled, and each ended up at a final resting spot. The first one landed against a large stonehead of a giant cross. It's top cracked open, and a dark orange liquid spilled into the grass and was quickly absorbed by the earth.

The second barrel came to a stop inbetween the base of the large hill, and a smaller hill with more stoneheads. It had lost it's cap and was quickly releasing its contents of more dark orange liquid. The final barrel had apparently flown and landed a top the spiked fencing surrounding the by now obvious cemetary. It was pierced in several areas, and also ran it's contents down into the ground. Around the cemetary, the contents continued to spread. The rain helped push it under the ground, and across the land entirely. The thunder and lightning picked up, as did the rain. For a while, the cemetary laid motionless, even with the wrecked truck and dead soldiers. It seemed for a moment that this was just another tragic accident, but something strange began to happen.

A single small stonehead sat a top the ground, on it was engraved "Matthew T. Werner, 1834-1903" Normally, one would not give a second, or even a first glance to the stonehead or the name. But without warning, something happened. The grass and dirt infront of the stonehead began to shake, the mud moved around and the grass crumpled blow the surface as something came out... a hand. A hand with cuts, peeling, and aging rose from the ground. It held itself upward, extending the fingers, and then balling into a fist. The wrist and below ran down under the the ground, but the hand continued to move, as if it were grabbing for something to pull it up. Things were no longer so normal. The town of Middletown would soon be the focal point of an unspoken point in history...

Fantasyfan28 · 07-01-2009

Marc grabbed the man's wrists, almost gagging as the stench of decay entered his nostrils, the man was smaller than he was but heck was he strong.

Falling back into the club, Marc monkey flipped the guy over him, the man crashed into a couple of stool's and lay still, Marc thought he had ended the fight there and then, boy was he wrong.

A concerned onlooker made his way towards the unmoving man, Marc watched as he approached, not believing what had happened, he was too late in calling out a warning.

As the man bent over to check on the other, the dirty guy literally pounced, he was flailing at the man wildly, Marc heard a snapping sound and the concerned guy fell back, holding an arm that was twisted at a very unnatural angle.

Pushing himself to his feet Marc ran at the dirty guy, he didnt want his shift to be ruined by some looney trying to prove how tough he was, shouting out a warning as he barrelled into the pyscho, Marc bulldozed him into one of the pillars.

Jumping back after feeling the man collapse under his weight Marc turned to see if the guy with the broken arm was alright, he was shocked to find out that the man he had just slammed into the wall was still standing, not only standing but actually coming towards Marc as if he was a glutton for punishment.

"What the hell kinda' crazy are you?"

Marc clenched his right hand into a fist and slugged the guy in the face, the guy's head snapped back but turned straight away to face Marc, a couple of teeth fell to the ground but neither man seemed to notice, and the crazy guy seemed not to care.

With a howl that sounded like something from a horror movie, the crazy guy rushed at Marc, not giving him the chance for another punch, Marc moved backwards to try and absorb some of the force with which the man would hit him with, as he did so his foot caught on one of the bar stools, sending him sprawling backwards.

As he fell his last thoughts were of his wife and son, he guessed he would be seeing them sooner than he thought, he hit the ground, hard, feeling the wind leave his lungs with enough force to leave him stunned, the attacker however, didnt pursue him, instead the crazy guy ran straight out the door.

"What the hell was that all about?"

Marc gathered his thoughts, as well as several gulps of air, standing up he saw a crowd had gathered, shrugging his shoulders, Marc checked on the guy with the broken arm, deciding that he had better get to a hospital, he turned back to the bar.

"Ring for an ambulance would ya!, and were's my dammed beer"

It was only halfway through his shift, and already Marc was sick of the place.

ZombieKiller · 07-01-2009

((lol oops I was posting in the wrong thread))

ZombieKiller · 07-01-2009

The air was very electric, and though it wasn't storming yet, Riley knew that it would be a whopper. He was leaning over the open hood of one of his clients cars, a 1969 Chevy Camaro, a beautiful car. Oil was all over his hands and his blue work jumpsuit was muted and stained with old and new oil. It was part of the job and Riley loved it. Ted, his coworker was walking out the door right now, wiping his hands clean with a stained rag, "see ya Riley, don't stay too late man, remember me and the misses got out wedding tomorrow." Riley smiled "and how the hell are you supposed to pay for that with a shit paying job like this?" he joked. For an odd reason Ted didn't laugh and that made the situation really awkward. ted turned away and walked out of the garage. "later Riley" what the hells wrong with him? riley went back to fixing the vehicle. weird night. Riley decided that now it was time to close shop, he looked to his wristwatch on his left arm. "damn it's late." Riley turned behind him, and picked up a somewhat clean rag from a cluttered rack on the wall. he wiped his hands as clean as he could and then carefully lowered the hood of the camaro. "I'll fix you tomorrow girl." he said. It was raining lightly, when he closed shophehe this'll get my suit clean There was no parking lot, his car was parked at the side and Riley walked over, his boots making crunchy sides on the loose gravel. His car, strangely enough, was a piece of shit. 1997 grand Prix, well the car itself was fine but Riley always thought that it would be fitting for a mechanic to have a sweet ride, oh well. He reached into his right pocket for his car keys, "oh no, ted took mine. then...where is he? and where's his car" riley looked around frantically searching for an answer to either.

MrMystic · 07-01-2009

The bar is quiet at the early hour, but I don’t mind. I’m just havin’ ‘one for the road’, and then never have to see this dump again. A guy and his dog sit at the other end of the bar, wading through a mess of papers. The guy, obviously, not the dog. A smile traces my lips as I gaze around the small tavern, my hand holding my glass loosely. The last time I was in this joint, I had just graduated highschool, and the garage band I played with was doing a show. A long time ago, almost a lifetime ago, it would seem.

I snag my lighter from my pocket, flipping it open and pressing the flame to the tip of the cigarette that rests between my lips. My hand makes the return trip as I draw my first drag, replacing the lighter in my leather jacket. My one suit is already neatly folded in the saddle bags of my bike parked out front. I kick my drink back, suddenly ready to be on the road. I could have stayed in my mom’s apartment, or in the little hotel down the street, but I need to leave this place; the good memories are far outweighed by the bad.

The crumpled dollar bill I pull toss as a tip bounces on the stained and scarred bar, coming to rest against the ash tray that holds the remains of my last cigarette. “What a Shame” by Shinedown comes over the out-dated speakers as I walk to the door. It sets the mood perfectly as I adjust my jacket and fish my key from my pocket. The man and his dog are getting ready to leave as well. In a few hours, the regulars will show, taking their seats and ordering their beers, same as every other night. It’s not for me…

ZombieKiller · 07-01-2009

Riley went around to the other side of his business's garage, nothing. No car and no Ted, there was nothing but an overflowing dumpster and a rotten smell . hell, he's probably at the bar, i should get a few brews before I head home. Riley started back to the road. A single, yellow streetlight was the only light source, and Riley's eyes strained to see the vague shapes of houses and parked cars. He walked down the double-lane road and thought of his girlfriend that he had left back in Maryland to go to college, ha, college. Riley's thoughts trailed off, when he dropped out, got this job, he almost forgot about home. home. The bright blue neon light that said "BAR" was in front of him now, and he walked in. A light bell dinged as he entered. A man he didn't recodnize went past him as he entered. The place smelled very thick, and the air was almost tangible. Smoke from cigarettes and cigars was heavy in the air and there was the usual ruckus you would expect at a bar. Riley sat himself down at the bar counter, he place himelf on a small leather bar stool that was ripped at the seems. "hey, give me an ice-cold bud will ya Fred?"

Wolvenhold · 07-01-2009

"Shit Mouse, you got my back? Lets get home. Jesus Christ."
The street wasn't swarming, but in every alley he could see shadows twisting and contorting with mishappen shapes. Slight groans punctuated regularly with shrill screams. he stepped over a pool of blood that was turning the cracks in the pavement into canals.
Elliot walked home hurriedly, clutching his coat tightly around him, faithful Mouse at his heel. Things were getting worse.
From what he observed these things were, slow, stupid and relatively easy to avoid.
He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and a guttural groan.
Shit he thought they're quiet too
He spun and sunk his fists into the thing's guts, it sunk in deeply.
May as well have punched a wall he thought wryly.
Mouse was investigating something on the other side of the road Elliot realized, that why he hadn't warned him. But Mouse's head swung up as soon as he heard his masters distress. Elliot only had to hold it off for a few more seconds.
He grabbed its collar trying to keep its head away from him. Its mouth inexplorably moved closer, viscuous drool and the sickly sweet smell of old blood assailed him. Elliot's throat felt awfully exposed, but he couldn't move without releasing the zombie.

An inch now, an inch away from his throat, the struggle felt like it had lasted minutes, when in reality it had lasted no more than a few seconds.

Mouse came. And not a second too soon. The Zombie jerked as Mouse sunk his teeth into its thigh. The dog flexed his enormous muscles, rippling under his short grey fur, and threw the zombie bodily to the ground, tearing away a massive hunk of flesh. The zombie immediatly struggled to rise again. The good old days, the New York days, came flooding back to both Elliot and Mouse. They worked perfectly together in this darkened street, this was their environment, their world.

Elliot stomped on both its arms, breaking them, Mouse ripped out its throat in a bloody spray of teeth, sinew and cartilage.
"Good dog." Elliot murmured as they stepped away scratching Mouse's ears, now a mix of red and grey.

It didn't stop moving. Arms flopping about grotesquly and its mauled leg kicking it continued to try and regain its feet.
"Now that is interesting." Elliot said. "its been awhile since i did a curb-stomp Mouse. Guess you never forget how."
Elliot raised his foot. "Wish i could sometimes." A spray of brains and skull spread like a dropped melon across the sidewalk as Elliot brought his boot down.

"Lets go boy, its going to be a long night."

Elliot and Mouse stuck to shadows, Elliot's trenchcoat swishing lightly in the night air. They reached his house to find it untouched, though shapes were shuffling around it.
"We run for it Mouse, stick with me. We get inside, i'll get you some food and my gun."

They ran, pushing the zombies sprawling. Elliot threw open the front door, Mouse ran through and he slammed it behind him. A minute later and Mouse had his snout down in a bowl of food (last night's steak) and Elliot was cleaning his gun and checking his ammo. It was the gun that had become his signature back in New York, an old friend of his. A .357 Magnum Revolver. He called her Lola. Back in the day she had been a queen among pistols, Elliots most faithful friend (Mouse Exluded of course.)

"Time for us to get reaquainted my love." He loaded six of her little lead friends into the chambers. Lets go Mouse, see what we can find out.

He didn't shut the door behind him.

ZombieKiller · 07-01-2009

Riley had had his third beer and he was feeling a bit tipsy. "hey, you know what?I'm going home, yeah that's what'll do ya." His speach slurred a bit since he hadn't had a drink in a while his tolerance was lower than usual. The bar was almost empty, except for a few guys playing a pick up game of poker in the back. "see you Fred!" he yelled as he stumbled out of the door.

*ding!*

It was pitch black outside. Riley thought he could hear screams in the distance, maybe even a gunshot? "whoa thats...wierd." there was a small group of figures moving towards him, Riley could swear that one was Ted. "hey Ted! hey man let's get some drinks at the bar watcha say eh?" The figure said nothing, neither did the others. They were right in front of Riley. "hey do-." A skinny guy with a hood over his face reached for Riley and grabbed his jumpsuit. "hey get off me you prick!" Riley punched the guy in the face, but the man didn't react. Riley then shoved the guy as hard as he could. he wasn't to balanced because he flew back and hit three guys behind him. "oh sorry, sorry." Riley's buzz was wearing off. "hey man are you okay?" the four got up, with deep guttural growls they did. The guy who'd grabbed him no longer had his hood on and the streetlight shown on his face. "oh my god." the guys face was covered in blood, and his eyes... his eyes were milky white and wide-open, just staring at Riley. Riley was truly scared and turned to run, and tripped over a bump in the road, scraping his knee, "ow! dammit." pained, he still got up and ran for his life down the street.

ZombieInvasionForce3 · 07-01-2009

Running full tilt in the direction of his home, Mark couldn't think of anything but his wife and unborn child. Coming within sight of his two story home he looks on in horror as a shuffling man corners his wife against their Hummers door. sinking his teeth into her cheek, he rips the flesh away.

"No god dammit!" He wails in despair.

Still running Mark losses his footing on loose debris and falls hard to the pavement. Looking back he witnesses the death of his wife and child as the man rips into her stomach. Mark gets to his feet and charges the beast, hot tears of anguish streaming down his face.

"You motherfucker!" He screams in rage.

Closing the distance Mark crouches low and leaps bringing his knee into the side of the zombies face. Continuing on it's head slams into the car and the skull cracks as a result of the massive impact. Steping back Mark lifts his boot and brings the heel down full force collapsing it's skull.

"I'm sorry Trish..." Mark whispers hoarsely.

No longer feeling rage Mark falls into a state of numbness. Not wanting to look at his disemboweled wife he walks into his house, up the stairs, and into his room. Putting in the combination to his gun safe Mark produces his grandfather's old M1 Garand and Colt M1911 handgun.

Sliding the 1911 into his thigh holster and slinging the rifle over his shoulder Mark heads out. Making his way to the pawn shop down the street Mark notices mobs of people, he pays them no heed and moves on. Getting to his destination he finds it abandoned, he gets all the ammo he needs and leaves.

"They will not get me..." He says ramming the eight round M1 clip home.

ZombieKiller · 07-01-2009

Riley has no idea where he is,was that a sign for Kiwi street, or Kilo?Damn I'm lost. Abruptly the cries of a woman are heard from over the tall wooden fence of a yard. He decides to check it out walking up to it and after some difficulty, and many splinters in his hands, sees a horrific scene. A dead and mutilated body of a woman, her stomach is torn open and...oh my fucking god is that a fetus? beside her lies a dead man with his head caved in. Riley's beer feels like it's coming up, but he shoves it down and he can taste his warm bitter vomit. Off in the distance, past the scene he sees a man walking determinedly away, with something in his arms. that guy has a gun...I'm following him He hops down from the fence. His Hands burning from the splinters and pressure. Puts aside the pain and runs around the fence to the man. "hey,HEY YOU!"

07-01-2009	#2
Fantasyfan28 Legendary Sage Join Date: Apr 2009 Location: England, near London	Marc grabbed the man's wrists, almost gagging as the stench of decay entered his nostrils, the man was smaller than he was but heck was he strong. Falling back into the club, Marc monkey flipped the guy over him, the man crashed into a couple of stool's and lay still, Marc thought he had ended the fight there and then, boy was he wrong. A concerned onlooker made his way towards the unmoving man, Marc watched as he approached, not believing what had happened, he was too late in calling out a warning. As the man bent over to check on the other, the dirty guy literally pounced, he was flailing at the man wildly, Marc heard a snapping sound and the concerned guy fell back, holding an arm that was twisted at a very unnatural angle. Pushing himself to his feet Marc ran at the dirty guy, he didnt want his shift to be ruined by some looney trying to prove how tough he was, shouting out a warning as he barrelled into the pyscho, Marc bulldozed him into one of the pillars. Jumping back after feeling the man collapse under his weight Marc turned to see if the guy with the broken arm was alright, he was shocked to find out that the man he had just slammed into the wall was still standing, not only standing but actually coming towards Marc as if he was a glutton for punishment. "What the hell kinda' crazy are you?" Marc clenched his right hand into a fist and slugged the guy in the face, the guy's head snapped back but turned straight away to face Marc, a couple of teeth fell to the ground but neither man seemed to notice, and the crazy guy seemed not to care. With a howl that sounded like something from a horror movie, the crazy guy rushed at Marc, not giving him the chance for another punch, Marc moved backwards to try and absorb some of the force with which the man would hit him with, as he did so his foot caught on one of the bar stools, sending him sprawling backwards. As he fell his last thoughts were of his wife and son, he guessed he would be seeing them sooner than he thought, he hit the ground, hard, feeling the wind leave his lungs with enough force to leave him stunned, the attacker however, didnt pursue him, instead the crazy guy ran straight out the door. "What the hell was that all about?" Marc gathered his thoughts, as well as several gulps of air, standing up he saw a crowd had gathered, shrugging his shoulders, Marc checked on the guy with the broken arm, deciding that he had better get to a hospital, he turned back to the bar. "Ring for an ambulance would ya!, and were's my dammed beer" It was only halfway through his shift, and already Marc was sick of the place.

07-01-2009	#3
ZombieKiller Krispy Kreme>Dunkin Join Date: Jun 2009 Location: Maryland,America	((lol oops I was posting in the wrong thread))

07-01-2009	#5
MrMystic Glad we had this talk. Join Date: Apr 2009	The bar is quiet at the early hour, but I don’t mind. I’m just havin’ ‘one for the road’, and then never have to see this dump again. A guy and his dog sit at the other end of the bar, wading through a mess of papers. The guy, obviously, not the dog. A smile traces my lips as I gaze around the small tavern, my hand holding my glass loosely. The last time I was in this joint, I had just graduated highschool, and the garage band I played with was doing a show. A long time ago, almost a lifetime ago, it would seem. I snag my lighter from my pocket, flipping it open and pressing the flame to the tip of the cigarette that rests between my lips. My hand makes the return trip as I draw my first drag, replacing the lighter in my leather jacket. My one suit is already neatly folded in the saddle bags of my bike parked out front. I kick my drink back, suddenly ready to be on the road. I could have stayed in my mom’s apartment, or in the little hotel down the street, but I need to leave this place; the good memories are far outweighed by the bad. The crumpled dollar bill I pull toss as a tip bounces on the stained and scarred bar, coming to rest against the ash tray that holds the remains of my last cigarette. “What a Shame” by Shinedown comes over the out-dated speakers as I walk to the door. It sets the mood perfectly as I adjust my jacket and fish my key from my pocket. The man and his dog are getting ready to leave as well. In a few hours, the regulars will show, taking their seats and ordering their beers, same as every other night. It’s not for me…

07-01-2009	#7
Wolvenhold Myrkridia Join Date: Aug 2008 Location: Tasmania	"Shit Mouse, you got my back? Lets get home. Jesus Christ." The street wasn't swarming, but in every alley he could see shadows twisting and contorting with mishappen shapes. Slight groans punctuated regularly with shrill screams. he stepped over a pool of blood that was turning the cracks in the pavement into canals. Elliot walked home hurriedly, clutching his coat tightly around him, faithful Mouse at his heel. Things were getting worse. From what he observed these things were, slow, stupid and relatively easy to avoid. He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and a guttural groan. Shit he thought they're quiet too He spun and sunk his fists into the thing's guts, it sunk in deeply. May as well have punched a wall he thought wryly. Mouse was investigating something on the other side of the road Elliot realized, that why he hadn't warned him. But Mouse's head swung up as soon as he heard his masters distress. Elliot only had to hold it off for a few more seconds. He grabbed its collar trying to keep its head away from him. Its mouth inexplorably moved closer, viscuous drool and the sickly sweet smell of old blood assailed him. Elliot's throat felt awfully exposed, but he couldn't move without releasing the zombie. An inch now, an inch away from his throat, the struggle felt like it had lasted minutes, when in reality it had lasted no more than a few seconds. Mouse came. And not a second too soon. The Zombie jerked as Mouse sunk his teeth into its thigh. The dog flexed his enormous muscles, rippling under his short grey fur, and threw the zombie bodily to the ground, tearing away a massive hunk of flesh. The zombie immediatly struggled to rise again. The good old days, the New York days, came flooding back to both Elliot and Mouse. They worked perfectly together in this darkened street, this was their environment, their world. Elliot stomped on both its arms, breaking them, Mouse ripped out its throat in a bloody spray of teeth, sinew and cartilage. "Good dog." Elliot murmured as they stepped away scratching Mouse's ears, now a mix of red and grey. It didn't stop moving. Arms flopping about grotesquly and its mauled leg kicking it continued to try and regain its feet. "Now that is interesting." Elliot said. "its been awhile since i did a curb-stomp Mouse. Guess you never forget how." Elliot raised his foot. "Wish i could sometimes." A spray of brains and skull spread like a dropped melon across the sidewalk as Elliot brought his boot down. "Lets go boy, its going to be a long night." Elliot and Mouse stuck to shadows, Elliot's trenchcoat swishing lightly in the night air. They reached his house to find it untouched, though shapes were shuffling around it. "We run for it Mouse, stick with me. We get inside, i'll get you some food and my gun." They ran, pushing the zombies sprawling. Elliot threw open the front door, Mouse ran through and he slammed it behind him. A minute later and Mouse had his snout down in a bowl of food (last night's steak) and Elliot was cleaning his gun and checking his ammo. It was the gun that had become his signature back in New York, an old friend of his. A .357 Magnum Revolver. He called her Lola. Back in the day she had been a queen among pistols, Elliots most faithful friend (Mouse Exluded of course.) "Time for us to get reaquainted my love." He loaded six of her little lead friends into the chambers. Lets go Mouse, see what we can find out. He didn't shut the door behind him.

07-01-2009	#9
ZombieInvasionForce3 Keeper of Peace. Join Date: Jun 2009	Running full tilt in the direction of his home, Mark couldn't think of anything but his wife and unborn child. Coming within sight of his two story home he looks on in horror as a shuffling man corners his wife against their Hummers door. sinking his teeth into her cheek, he rips the flesh away. "No god dammit!" He wails in despair. Still running Mark losses his footing on loose debris and falls hard to the pavement. Looking back he witnesses the death of his wife and child as the man rips into her stomach. Mark gets to his feet and charges the beast, hot tears of anguish streaming down his face. "You motherfucker!" He screams in rage. Closing the distance Mark crouches low and leaps bringing his knee into the side of the zombies face. Continuing on it's head slams into the car and the skull cracks as a result of the massive impact. Steping back Mark lifts his boot and brings the heel down full force collapsing it's skull. "I'm sorry Trish..." Mark whispers hoarsely. No longer feeling rage Mark falls into a state of numbness. Not wanting to look at his disemboweled wife he walks into his house, up the stairs, and into his room. Putting in the combination to his gun safe Mark produces his grandfather's old M1 Garand and Colt M1911 handgun. Sliding the 1911 into his thigh holster and slinging the rifle over his shoulder Mark heads out. Making his way to the pawn shop down the street Mark notices mobs of people, he pays them no heed and moves on. Getting to his destination he finds it abandoned, he gets all the ammo he needs and leaves. "They will not get me..." He says ramming the eight round M1 clip home.

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