Y Wednesday, February 04, 2009
9:42 pm
Since I'm bored and found Dan's fanfic to be really funny and inspiring, I think I'll try my hand at placing a character into his world and work something out. OMG RP IS GAY GTFO MY SERVER.I have never attempted to write a zombie apocalypse survival situation thingy, so this might suck. But it seems fun enough, so off we go!
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Chapter I: Welcoming
Sssssss
The sound of fingernails lightly scratching concrete echoed down the dark and musty alley.
It was hard to surprise Ian. It wasn't that he was old and seen all that life had to offer. It was that he never really expected anymore from human beings.
Maybe that's why for the first time in years, his eyes actually widened in shock, the only time his heart skipped a beat besides the time he had a bad sneezing spell.
Zombies.
Everywhere.
And he was at ground zero.
Honestly, he didn't know what to think of the situation. Ian never really griped at his luck. It was perpetually bad - he was a walking, breathing example of Murphy's Law. Whatever that could possibly go wrong, would go wrong.
But a zombie apocalypse?
"Fuck, for the first time, my luck's so bad it might actually seem good. Or maybe I'm going fucking crazy."
What the hell was he doing back home anyway?
His family was dead, he lost almost all of his inheritance to some fucking chinaman, they were probably the bastards who brought this smut here in the first place. and he was just officially declared bankrupt.
Only the repo man never got to his belongings. Unless you count a severed appendage gripping a car key repossessed. Yeah, he killed the bastard. But hey, it was only because the chap became one of them. If there's anything he learned from his dad, "it's either them or us." Wonderful way to describe the situation.
At least if this happened elsewhere, he could hang on to a firearm of sort. Home hasn't really changed much. Short of the military and police, procuring firearms was nigh upon impossible.
The hair raising sound of nails on concrete grew more offensive. Groans emancipated from the distance.
"Shit." Ian muttered under his breath. They found him. He regretted not completing his martial arts course back when he was a kid. He regretted not passing his phys ed lessons. He regretted coming back to this shithole.
Oh Ian was armed to the teeth alright - right down to the smooth, lacquered layer of the wooden shaft and heavy, blood-red shaped metal. Because a hammer is the perfect weapon to fend off hordes of the undead, right? Where were the fucking shotguns like in the movies?
The grotesque figure lumbered into view under the dimly lit alley, groaning softly. It was horribly misshapen - bubbly sores erupted in random fashion all over its greyed skin. Spiked protrusions of bone appeared where joints should have been. Ian instinctively spied a pistol holstered on the hip of this once-human monstrosity. Bingo.
Muscles tensing, he readied his hammer. This 6ft frame should be good for something. He thought, and charged.