Compiling ideas for Zombie fluff.

[messyart]

I didn't want this to fill up the main thread, so figured this might be the best place for it. If you feel otherwise, Mort, feel free to move it.

I've just begun writing up some fluffiness for the modernised zombie apocalypse game.
for the record, I pretty much hate my own writing. :P


London
31st December, 2011

Helen strode past the door to her garage on her way to her front door, pleased in having just finished another day of work.
The world around her was beautifully serene. The fresh snow had been building up since Christmas.
Her kids were waving from the window, Sally, Jack and Joseph all eagerly awaiting their mothers’ warm hugs.
She smiled up at them, fumbling for her keys as she noticed Jacks glare growing steadily further into the sky, a scared looked growing on his face. She peered over her shoulder, watching as the street lamps all flickered in unison.
The stars were hidden by cloud cover, and Helen looked back to try seeing where his eyes were looking.
She looked once more, and through a fine gap in the clouds she could see a fine orange glow. Initially she believed she’d simply seen the flashing lights of an aircraft, until she realised it was not only solidly placed, but growing steadily larger.
Panic begun to rise as the orange glow spread to the clouds that were exposing the light, as more and more people stopped in the streets to witness the phenomenon.

Screams arose as the glow was checked out through spyglasses, revealing the giant ball of flaming rock soaring towards the earth.
People ran for cover, begging the heavens for mercy as the heat in the air begun to make their skin sting.
Their final overwhelming sensation was an ear-splitting shriek and a bone-breaking shockwave as the rock collided twenty miles from the once thriving street Helen had arrived home to.

A fine crackle woke her to a world of carnage as Sally lifted her head from a pillow to see a television monitor in front of her.
News crews were impatiently waiting outside a huge steel wall, hurriedly leaping on anyone official enough to question.
“Excuse me, excuse me sir? What happened last night? Why did all of the power go out over the South East of England? Is it true that it’s more than a mere meteorite?” The reporter bellowed over the mob of news jockeys as a man crept out of a door to an awaiting car. He ignored her questions and reached to his pocket, pulling out a phone before Helen was alerted to a fine rumbling beside her.
Anxiously she picked it up, putting it to her ear to hear the baying of crowds suddenly silenced with a bang as she watched the car door on her screen violently close.
“Helen, I think we need to have a little chat” the man said softly, as a fine violin played from the stereo in the car.
“I’m at home, led out in bed. What the hell happened?” She barked, turning the TV off and limping out of the comfort of her sofa-bed.
“It came down last night, I know, you’ve been watching it for a few weeks.  It was earlier than expected. Helen, don’t tell anyone. We need to keep this hush-hush until we can make sure it’s nothing... Hazardous.” He finished with silence before the sound of glass colliding.
She put a hand to her mouth in shock as her kids begun gathering around.
“Mum... Who is it? Is it work? IS IT DAD?” Jack asked, before a giddy round of rambling started between them all.
“It’s not your father. It’s… No one. Now, to your rooms.” She said as she listened more intently to the phone.
“Good girl.” The man started
“I’m on my way. We’ll be bringing two cars, I’ll make sure your kids are looked after while you’re here” he finished, before hanging up.
Helen begun wiping and pinching at her mouth in worry.

She flicked the TV back on and watched the BBC in shock as news reports came through.
“It was dubbed “QT-4U” by the scientists involved in the project, but I think the whole of mainland Europe will be calling this “One of the biggest errors in human history” for a time to come. Millions are believed to have died when this meteorite shattered on entrance into our atmosphere, and pieces of it have landed as far as Russia. Coming soon will be a brief report from our Russian correspondent Richard Bishop in Krasnoyarsk Krai, where the people, already coping with crop failures for another year running, are now trying to come to terms with the military cordons around the sites of collision. It is still unclear as to why the military are present at every site.
But now we have an exclusive interview with Gene Orchard, one of the scientists who have been worki..”
Helen muted the TV to hear a car door slamming outside, and turned the box off to stumble to the door.
A man in a smart grey suit stood the opposite side of her frosted glass-windowed door, a pair of men clearly behind him in drab.
The children ran downstairs as she opened the door, and stopped to gasp and squeal as the two soldiers stepped forward to the doorway, guiding their mother through to the man in front of her.
“With us, you lot. You’ve got five minutes to fetch anything you want to bring with you” one of the men barked, as the man in grey took Helen to his car.
“What’s all this about, John?” she started, pointing out to the fires in the distance.
“Why are your boys locking everyone out?”
He looked at her as if his day had been made.
“Helen, let me put it this way.. “It’s better safe than sorry”. Right?”
She nodded in bemusement as she watched her kids being led to the car in front, staring into the blacked out windows of the car she sat in.
“Good. These things have just been shat out of space. We can’t risk letting the public get all over it, and we can’t let the press know that we got it wrong, and millions died because of it. Can we?” His face became a grim smirk, and she grew uncomfortable with his attitude as he started to flick through news pages on his iPhone.
“Hah, look. Americans are saying this is because we don’t give them enough credit for WWII. Can you believe that? And after we helped them cover up the death of that beardy bastard in ’01..”
Helen looked at him in shock as he ogled the news as if a banquet.
“God damn... A piece hit down in Libya… I doubt they’ll even try to contain that”
The car slowly started moving forward, trying to turn around through a growing stream out traffic.
Helen lowered her window and waved to her children as she was driven back into the centre of London, a trip that would take her through a wave of terror.
“It’s going to cost billions to repair all this damage…” she said softly, peering out over fallen apartments and houses.
“Oh, they’ll just beg for people to cope with more wage cuts, it’ll be fine. Come on, you know this country is always there for the people.. Hah.” He replied, still pouring over the screen his eyes remained utterly glued to.
Within a few hours they’d reached the press-hounded doors of the new compound. Camera flashes lit the car up as the doors opened; the reporters desperate for a view within. All to be disappointed as a pair of checkpoints prevented any visibility.
“Damn piranhas, always trying to get at every bit of meaty… Ooh, look. Vikki Blows on page three again” John muttered briefly before staring brainlessly at the girl taking up his screen.
“Men…” Helen blurted, punching his arm for attention as their car came to a stop.
The scene before them wasn’t nearly as impressive as Helen had hoped. The rock was no larger than any single piece of Stone Henge, though the crater around it was almost the full size of the football stadium it had crashed into.
“We nearly managed to clear up all the bodies before we got you here. So… If you find Rooney somewhere in that crater, point him out. I’m sure someone would like the rest of him.” John chuckled
Injured fans were still being carefully taken from the wrecked site, Arsenal and Manchester United banners dangling from their backs as they attempted to uphold some sort of solidarity.
“Poor people, was the game going?” Helen started, before the smirk across Johns face gave the answer.
“Chelsea’s got a much better chance now, though. So I’m happy enough”
She scoffed and ran off to start helping limping fans to the evacuation doors.

A smaller containment zone had been built around the actual rock itself, and those going within were forced to wear heavy radiation suits. They came out periodically, climbing into a large, mobile cleaning tanker before stepping out in casual dress to write their reports.
It was here where a group of military scientists begun reading through every fine detail.
Helen stood watching, peeking over their shoulders for anything interesting.

"If you want to see the rock, we can find you a suit.." John said softly from behind her. She looked round and nodded, following him into the changing room at the back of the tanker.
In full suit, they both took to the locked door.
The sight inside, once Helen had gotten over the initial shock of random body parts, was even less than fascinating. The rock was relatively smooth, shaped much like a pure quartz crystal. It was dull and lacklustre, even the stadium lights let off no reflection in the gloomy grey stone.
"It's so beautiful.." Helen started, before stepping down to touch the stone.
"I'd REALLY not do that if I were you" John shouted in muffled tones, stepping down to grab her arm.
As he pulled her back to the door, and alert sounded over the PA system, from the Colonels office above them.
"We'll be allowing a single reporter through the doors in five minutes and counting, ladies and gentlemen. Ensure all procedures are met"
John quickly led Helen out through the door and up into the tanker, before leading her into the command centre.
A pair of soldiers stopped them at the door, moving aside only when John flashed his ID card to them both.
"It's alright lads, your cookie jar's safe with us" He winked, leading Helen in by the hand.

The Colonel spun around to see them both, stepping over and smacking a hand down on Johns shoulder firmly.
"Been a while, lad. How's life treating you?" He asked cheerily.
"Not all too bad. Wife died a couple months back, kids pretty much disowned me. Keeping a brave face on things."
The Colonels' expression turned bleak before he dragged his friend over to the radio desk to pounr him a cup of coffee.
"It gets easier. My lad's not spoken to me since he was 7." He muttered, waiting in silence as if knowing the reply.
John smirked his smirk, chuckling under his breath before plucking out the words they both knew were coming.
"Aye, but if you'd not been playing about, maybe that wife  'o yours would have kept you around longer?"
They laughed together as Helen looked on, bewildered.
"Oh, sorry. Helen, this is Steve. Don't bother yourself with titles around here. Pretty bloody pointless while the EU is trying to take us all over, anyway!" He laughed, before handing her a cup of coffee.
An alarm rose as they spoke, alerting them to the reporter entering their compound.
"Right, I imagine I'd better go make sure there's no funny business. Feel free to take a gander about" Steve declared, before making his leave.
The deserted security screens against one wall showed him leaving, as Helen stared over them all.
"You'll be wanting to get home by the time that one's done. It's gonna be like this all bloody week. First we'll have to clean up the mess, get rid of that rock, write letters to the bloody dead and deceased family members... I tell you, it's time consuming. I wish they'd let us just copy paste a load of compassionate BS from google." John mumbled, stepping over to photographs taken of the star the rock had initially come from.
The Colonel had lead the reporter into the tanker, and they were both stepping out as Helen noticed something worrying on another screen.
"John, is that man supposed to be so close to the.." She started, before the screens all went black.
John turned, startled by a sudden power cut.
"Well. That's wonderful. Now I will have to go blind trying to study these photos..." He moaned, punching the table before continuing.
"Close to what?" he replied, blinking quickly as the lights flashed back on.
He watched her staring at the screens as they came back on, and tried tracing her eye level. One of the screens showed a man creeping around the back of the inner compound, seemingly looking for a way inside.
He rushed to the PA system and punched down onto the buttom before bellowing into the microphone.
"Unprotected civilian navigating the south of the compound. Apprehend immediately"
Within moments a group of soldiers had surrounded the man and taken hold of his wrists, dragging him off of his feet and towards the small mobile office building acting as an entry point for the soldiers changing shift.
"Bloody idiots. I swear you lot do all you can to push.." John started, finally letting his fist off of the PA button.
The door opened as a soldier walked through, and he begun looking between Helen and John before speaking.
"Colonel Sunders would like you both to join him in guiding Mr. Lamb about the site"
They both followed him out into the open air, before the Colonel ushered for them both to join him.
"This fine lady is Helen Ness, the woman who first discovered the star. If you have any questions regarding the event, feel free to ask her" He said, stepping away and leaving the shocked woman alone with the reporter.
"So... Miss... Mrs? Ness. I'm interested in seeing this rock, perhaps I could get a quick interview with you beside it?"

With no one around, Helen found herself in a situation she'd not planned for. She tried to look for John or the Colonel, but they were out of sight. No one was watching, and she felt too pressured to simply ask the reporter to wait.
"Ok, but we have to put one of the radiation suits on to get close to it, they're through here.." she said, guiding him up into the trailer to pick out a clean suit.
After a few awkward moments, they both stepped back out at the other end.
There was a distinctly uneasy feeling as the lack of personel left Helen feeling deeply isolated, but she guided the man down to the containment door.

Up in the control room, Colonel Sunders stood beside John as they both watched intently at the screen, watching the pair make their way into the compound.
"Do you think he'll be stupid enough? Really?" Sunders asked, watching John smiling in amusement.
"They always are."

As Helen closed the door behind them, she turned to see the reporter leering over the smooth rock, pulling out a small camera from a pocket in his suit to get a record.
"So, Mrs Ness, would you like to do a brief interview?" He asked, turning quickly on his heel to face her, before loosing his footing. His fall seemed to take an eternity to Helen, as she watched him tumble backwards over the meteor.
His back landed hard against one of the edges, and he whelped slightly as he climbed back to his feet.
"That's a pretty damn hard stone.." he mumbled, rubbing his lower back before stooping to pick up his camera.
Helen took a step towards him, grabbing his hand and pulling him back up to a more solid level of the crater.
A glance toward the rock set the hairs of her neck on end. A fine crack had formed along the edge he'd fallen onto, from which a strange liquid was seeping.
The reporter looked at it and gasped, climbing down once more to look more closely.
He ran a finger through the sticky mucous, stretching it between his fingertips.
Pressing his finger back to the crack, he suddenly whinced, pulling his hand back to his chest. He looked down to see a large slice in the glove, exposing a deep cut in his fingertip. He started to grow irritable as the pain grew more and more unbearable.
Helen begun stepping back towards the door as his hand started to shake uncontrollably.
He stared at her in terror as his body begun to convulse aggressively, and she turned and ran for the door as he collapsed screaming.

Colonal Sunders tilted his head aside as he watched her sprinting for the cleaning chamber, alone.
"John, guess you were right"
He stepped to the PA and ordered a pair of soldiers to enter the compound.
"You'd better get down there, John. She did better than we anticipated, she deserves a bit of an explanation" he muttered, watching John nod and depart for the cleaning station.

Helen stumbled out, shaking. She jumped forward the moment she saw John, slapping him across the face before he could speak.
"I guess there was a reason for that. What happened in there?" He asked, leaning around the side of the chamber to see a pair of armed soldiers carefully opening the containment door. They raised their SA80's to eye level and begun shooting almost the moment they'd entered, and Helen stared in shock as she heard the gunfire.
"The rock is bleeding... He touched it, and then he started to shake... I ran" She started, breaking down into incoherent mumbles as John looked on with a glare of indifference.
He pulled out a radio handset and turned aside to speak into it.
"Alright, let our double back outside. Make sure he looks at least a little like this pillock..."
Helen turned and glared at him questioningly as he put the radio into his pocket.
"Oh, please. I think you'd expect as much. Now, here's a warning. Those soldiers haven't given the all clear yet. Something's gone wrong."

They both stared in panic towards the containment door, their hearts pausing in their chests as a slow hammering built up from the other side of the metal walls.
"So, shaking?" John started, before drawing a pistol from his jacket and approaching the door slowly.
Suddenly the PA roared loudly as the Colonels voice came overhead.
"Reports from Lybia, Russia, Spain, France, Poland and Hungary, violent outbreaks around the collision sites. Be warned, and stay away from the area. All staff evacuate until we can safely dispose of the meteor"
John and Helen watched as all members of staff made a neat evacuation towards the main doors of the compound, but stood by the door, intrugued by the sounds coming from the other side.

With a single kick, John booted the door open, suprised to find it unlocked.
Inside lay two bodies. The reporter lay on top of one of the soldiers, both bloodied and riddled with bullet-holes.
The third soldier sat huddled against the wall beside the door, startling John when he first noticed him. His gun sat limp in his hand as he held his right arm up to his chest. A deep wound bled from his wrist as he rocked softly back and forth.
"Talk to me. Tell me you're alright" John said gently, reaching out to take the mans' arm.
He turned, his eyes glazed over and dilated.
His eyelids flickered as he begun wobbling, turning to his side and getting up from his hands and knees.
A slight moan fell from his lips as he got to his feet, and he seemed incapable of walking more than a single step without falling over.
John grabbed his arm and hauled him up to his shoulder before walking him out of the containment zone and towards the main doors of the compound.
Helen stepped ahead of them, running up to the doors as they begun opening for the next group of staff.
They both stepped into the group for the next set through, and watched the doors close behind them as the next  begun to open ahead.
It was once they'd reached the final section of the door when the soldier begun to twitch, and John let him down to his feet to try calming him.
The final door begun opening as the soldiers eyes flickered. It seemed as if something more than human was staring back as he lunged, bitting at Johns face before he could be pulled away by some of the people around them. The man quickly begun attacking others, until a quick burst of gunfire wracked his skull full of lead, putting and end to his violence.
The bloodied victims stumbled out of the door amongst the witnesses.

The rest, they say, is history.

[MortiS-the-Lost]

Excellent! started reading this and had to stop my self because I'm supposed to be writing an adventure for Quest.

also I think this may give the game a name: Indecent QT-4U?  

[messyart]

Which sounds worryingly adorable.

I was worried the story might just sound like randomly pulled together bullshit..


But yes, I think the "virus" would then be called the QT-Virus
Again, sounding like bunnies will soon rule the world!

[messyart]

Mere hours had passed since the first report of an outbreak, and the streets of London were all abandoned. A spree of looting had been cut short by terror as bloodied people had been seen mobbing those too slow to escape them.
"Zombies" they were branded. A name most wish would hold more accuracy. It conjured images of rotting hulks of former humans, shambling inellegantly through shopping centres.
Sadly, the reality was something all over more worrying. Many of these victims were far from shambling monsters. They ran, chased and caught any who tried to outrun them.
They showed a limited mortality, falling easily to gunfire, but their numbers soon grew far too great for the military to hold against them, and they were left within a now-cordoned London. Every main road out had quickly erected checkpoints, every outlaying field had scouts.
Any infected individual caught out in the open was met with a hail of fire, but all survivors within the cordon were on their own.
A "shoot to kill" directive was set, and the soldiers watching out over the city were killing as many civilians as they were zombies.
News stationed dubbed them murderers, families called them monsters, but those managing to make it through the checkpoints cared not for the dead.

Sadly, all of those still within the city were without outside contact. Radio signals were slowly all fading away, and escape plans were always met with numbers of zombies too great for even the best plans to last.

But within this new hell grew new types of determination.
Small groups of survivors had begun to accept this new state of existence, and sought to make the most of the hand they had been dealt, setting up patrolled and protected safe zones and compounds within any defendable lot of land.
Many had begun tearing up concrete to create patches to farm, some had even come to wander between all of the "safe" areas of the city. Many of which being traders, others being desperadoes, hell bent on cleaning the streets of as many undead as they could before falling amongst them.

In this new society, a man is only as grand as his reputation, and traders and abandoned soldiers alike only cohort with those who have proven themselves beyond worthy amongst the beaten and the damned.
Good weaponry is hard to come by, and many of the bravest [or most insane] survivors wield simple constructions of fence posts and nails in their deep-city insertions.
Many of the old "reliable" methods of weapon-aquisition are rendered pointless as every tool-shop, gun store and DIY emporium are stripped of all of any use.
Admit it, no matter how quickly you dreamt up the idea of grabbing a chainsaw, if you weren't there in the first batches of looting, you missed out. Now those weapons once freely available are rare finds. Occasionally on the bodies of the recently deceased, sometimes carried by traders.

Amongst the living, some have become akin to legends, their names echoed in every street in the hopes of their presence.
These are the Slayers. Men and women whose reputations proceed them.
Many try to reach their level of fame, specialising in certain aspects of zombie warfare to best outlast competition and apocalypse.
You could say that they hold a.. "Class" of their own.
Such experience comes from many excursions with their favoured weapons, and naturally, not many succeed for long.

Amongst the dead.. Unfortunate mutations have formed.
The alien infection holds badly misunderstood reactions to certain people, be it chromosone levels or blood types, no-one knows.
Strange growths are commonplace, be it bulging spare limbs, or gnarled, twisted limbs.
A rarer and far more concerning set of mutations are being dubbed "special infections".
They hold a great degree of variety, some even seeming almost human in essence.
Others, far beyond.
Again, causes are utterly unknown, as most survivors are unwilling to gain samples of the creatures when encountered.

Beasts like the Leaper, an agile and powerful ambush predator, creep through back alleys and across roof-tops, waiting for perfect moments to suprise their prey, and unlike many other victims of the infection, they keep a patient distance until they decide to strike.
This worrying intelligence leaves Survivors constantly on-guard, slowing them as they progress through city-streets and parks.

Other, far more obvious creatures like the Behemoth [Sometimes dubbed the Brute, or Tank] are terrifying monsters simply be design, for while a Leaper is lithe, but fragile, the Behemoth is immense and seemingly bullet-proof.
Thick wads of muscles allow it to tear down telephone poles, throw cars and debris as if toys, and more devastatingly, turn survivors inside out with little more than a twist of the wrist.

One other worrying twist in the infection that has grown far more worrying to the military surrounding London is the spread of infection into wildlife, for it seems indiscriminate between life-forms.
Its' affects are more debilitating to animals than humans, leaving them in twisting, writhing piles of slowly decomposing flesh.
But the infection holds a more disturbing grip on insects and various creepy-crawlies. The hold vast mutations all of their own, often expanding and growing far larger than could ever be natural.
Ants stalk the deepest streets, once insignificant, now capable of tearing men in half with a single crushing bite of their mandibles.

[This is growing steadily more unbearable to read back on >.>;]

[MortiS-the-Lost]

QT-Virus is also 1 letter away from ... well ... I'll let you figure that out, but yes

[messyart]

We could add Nemisis for a laugh

[messyart]

In the middle of a London suburb' "Blind" Barry Scott (not to be confused with the shouty man from those annoying adverts on telly!) fought a battle far beyond what any typical survivor would have to endure.
Having been deaf from birth (It is unknown why people called him blind Barry, possibly because it's easy to make fun of a guy who can't hear you), Barry finds the apocalypse a constantly terrifying environment.
Every corner and every street must be checked thrice over before he is willing to take even a single step, and he has countless encounters with the undead to keep his caution rational.

His only aid during excursions into the nearby shopping centre is a faithful house-cat, and his aptly named "Mincey". A sledgehammer with a slightly unpleasant modification (A very sharp set of tenderising spikes!).


The day had come to an end, and his raid of the now-abandoned Pound Shop had come to an end. His rusksack was full of sweets, flapjack and cat-treats, and his clothes were now adorned with a random assortment of keyrings and flashlights.
Sheepishly, he peered around the main door into the high street, glaring intently at every moving shadow for signs of the monsters.
A quick tug of Minxies chain got her attention, and his faithfull kitty ran up beside him, sneaking along the floor almost on her belly as they both looked in opposite directions.
Suddenly, she lept behind him, her back arched high as she curled her face in fear.
Barry turned, falling onto his backside as a zombie lunged at him, falling just short of his knee as he booted it in the face.
He kicked quickly at the doorframe, gaining more distance before the zombie regained any momentum, and with a quick twist of the waist, he had managed to jump up to his feet, swinging Mincey into the shoulder of the growling woman beneath him. The blow almost cleaved her head away, and she was violently hurled into the outside wall of the centre, slumping motionless to the ground.
Looking about himself, he knelt to stroke Minxie and reassure her silently as he took to the street.
His kitty ran slightly ahead of him, and they reached the opposite side of roundabout in the centre of the large, wreck-strewn carpark.
He jumped up ontothe bonnet of a nearby Vectra, peering in through the windscreen to see if there was anything to loot.
On the backseat sat a teddy bear, and he looked down in respect as he considered the fate of the family who had once sat before him.
Suddenly, Minxie was between his kneeling legs, cowering in terror as she clawed to climb up his stomach. He span, looking about desperately for what had scared her.
A brief flash of shadow alerted him to one of the zombies he feared the most.
He hunkered down, trying the doors of the car, and climbing inside the second the drivers door clunked open. He slammed the door when Minxie had joined him, anmd stared out of every window, intent on spotting his hunter before it found him.
A heavy thud sent his heart into a maddening rythm. The roof of the car buckled and bent as something above him begun pounding into the body of the car. Suddenly a hole appeared, and a ragged, bloodied hand punched through, gripping into the metal and pulling it aside.
Quickly Barry kicked upwards, dislodging the creature before releasing Minxies leash and opening the door, leaping out and turning to see a zombie he'd met a few times before.
"One eye" he'd named it, after the first time they fought. Having pinned him to the ground, Barry had pushed a carving knife deep into its' left eye socket, and the blade remained to this day.
It turned to face him, hunched over on all fours on the roof of the car as it stared emptily into his eyes.

It opened its' mouth, revealing a silent but broken array of gore-strewn teeth. Quickly, Barry surveyed the rest of the car-park, ensuring he'd not be taken by suprise while trying to fend off One Eye once again. He readied Mincey and ducked as the zombie lept powerfully at him, turning to see it headbutt a large white van behind him. He took the chance to jump One Eye, ploughing his sledge' into his hips. He felt the bone shatter under the impact, and laughed as the zombie seemingly wailed in pain, unable to properly stand. He stepped back slowly, certain that One Eyes legs wouldn't be able to propel him like they once could, and his assumption proved accurate as the zombie repeatedly stumbled onto its' hands and knees as it tried to chase him.
A grin stretched his face as Barry turned and ran back to the Vectra, plucking out the frightened Minxie before turning to see no sign of One Eye.
"Oh.. Shit" He signed to his kitty, before peering frantically all around him.
A new sense of panic rushed his thoughts as he tried to decide if the risk of running away outweighed the risk of defending himself all through the night.
Two more heads begun emerging over one of the nearby cars as he made a decision, and they seemed to both be moving towards him far faster than he cared to watch. He stooped and picked up Minxie before sprinting back towards the open roads towards his safe house.

Unable to hear his own footsteps, let alone the screams of humanity, he was completely unaware of the survivors attempting to follow him as they were caught by the lashing, writhing arms of a Tangler. It was only Minxie beginning to bite and claw at his shoulder that he turned to see them begging for help, their arms outstretched as a huge group of zombies begun sprinting from the car-park towards them.

He scanned his feet for scarce moments before making a new decision. He dropped Minxie and sprinted back, trying to catch his breath from the last run as he paced towards them.
One was torn in half as the Tanglers "arms" begun pulling and slicing into his gut, and the look of agony in his face lasted only moments before one of the tentacles emerged from his mouth, bringing his heart up with it.
The second survivor was screaming, trying hopelessly to loosen the writhing chords around their arms and legs as the horde drew closer.
Barry lept, sledge in hand, towards the Tangler, decapitating it in one swing. A foul blood splashed across his face, and he quickly wiped his sleeve across his brow before rushing to the remaining survivor, unwrapping the tentacles from her arms and waist. He motioned for them to move as she silently thanked him, and they ran hastily back towards an obediently waiting Minxie. He scooped her up while in motion, and guided the woman towards his street, getting ahead of her to duck into some bushes, hoping she'd see in time to join him.
Relief struck him as she carefully clambered through the thorny undergrowth, and they continued in relative safety towards a heavily fenced up yard.
The horde ran on past, oblivious to their diversion, and the woman begun a fruitless attempt at speaking to her saviour.
"Thank you so fucking much.. I thought I was fucked... My name's Zara, what's yours?"
He glared blankly, finally able to look at the pretty thing he'd found.
A blush grew across his face as she stared, waiting for reply. Minxie briefly batted at her finger while she wiggled it at her, before Barry tried sign language.
Zara nodded, understandingly.
"Well, you're alive. At least."
Silently and much to his suprise, she hugged him, leaving him stood, biting his lip shyly.
She smiled, and his heart begun to flutter and race.
"My name is Barry, I'm 17" he said quietely, doing his best to not accidentally shout in her face.
Her response was a smile, raising her hands up in front of him and holding out ten fingers, before flicking out another 9.
Her lips seemed to read similarly, as she stood repeating 19 enough for him to understand.
He laughed a bit, before nodding and pointing towards a small metal cellar door. They both approached, and Barry opened the door slowly before turning to see Zara worriedly looking about.
He slammed the door and jumped in front of her, watching Minxie as she begun hissing towards a large corrugated steel sheet that was propped up against a section of broken fence.
The unmistakable shape of One Eye lept over the sheet, landing awkwardly and stepping towards Barry with a limp.
Zara covered her ears as One Eye opened his mouth, screaming in tones that Barry was mercifully unaware of.

To Barrys' suprise, One Eye lept towards him with ease, punching him in each shoulder and pounding him down to the ground, leering over him with exposed teeth.
Minxie had landed beside him, and lunged at the zombies face, clawing and scratching to give Barry some chance of working himself free.
One Eye jumped backwards onto his knees, grabbing Minxie and throwing her to the floor before looking back at Barry.
His stare lasted moments before a spray of blood darted from the side of his head. Barry looked around to see Zara standing with a 9mm in her hand, her eyes wide and terrified.
"Thank you!" He excitedly screamed, before nervously lowering his gaze as she raised a finger to her lips.
She took his hand, pulling him to his feet as he took hold of Minxie and Mincey.
He put his hand in his hoody pocket and pulled out a mint humbug, offering it to her with a friendly smile before opening up his cellar door and letting her take her first steps inside.

Within, the small basement was strewn with food wrappers and drinks cans. The walls were covered in random drawings and posters, all taken from the various stores Barry had looted.
At one end of the room sat a small power generator, linked up to wires that ran up through the roof. It powered a fridge-freezer unit and electrical cooker, which were quickly put to use as Barry started to boil a rusty kettle of coca cola.

He turned to Zara and apologised, showing her the ingredients of his now-favourite drink.
The cans of Red Bull, Coca Cola and Fanta now seemed somewhat more surreal, as she watched him pour a can of beans into a pan, letting it cook for moments before pouring in the Coca cola from the kettle.
He looked at her awkwardly, offering her his favourite mug before pouring out a runny, beany soup.
Unwilling to offend him, she accepted, and sat with him for an hour as they played a game of cards.
After five unsuccesful games, and the last rays of sunlight fading from the basement windows, Barry looked into Zaras eyes with a sense of difficulty.
She tilted her head, looking around the room to see only two beds. With a nod, she let on that she understood.
Minxie led in hers, a small cat-sofa looted from the Pound Shop a week earlier.
Which left only one bed empty. Barry offered it to her, and showed her that he was willing to stay on the solid ground.
She laughed as he pulled up a large cardboard box, ripping it apart to make a screen that she could get changed behind.
As he watched her shadow against the wall behind it, he flinched back in suprise as a finger pushed a hole through, wriggling about like a worm before Zara pulled the screen down.

In a deep red blush, Barry looked away from her as she stood in only underwear. She grabbed his hand and turned him back around, holding up a newly written note.
"You'll need a decent sleep, so I don't mind sharing"
He poked her stomach, feeling a fluttery sensation in his gut as she begun giggling, and an awkward guilt as she turned, revealing a barely g-string clad bottom.


When the morning sun broke through the basement windows, Barry realised the apocalypse might not be such a bad thing.
Beside him on one side laid a pile of hastily removed clothing, the other laid Zara, clutching at his bare chest as Minxie noisily chewed on a freshly caught mouse in her own bed.
He closed his eyes and hoped the next night may be the same.



~
If you are under the age of 18, I am obliged to say that this apocalyse is mid-summer and it is very hot. They live in a basement that gets clammy and they both needed to sleep less restricted to ensure they had energy for the days ahead e_e

Yes, yes that will summarise it perfectly.

[messyart]

"I see a LOT of sad things happen out there. Daily.
See, guard duty is all well and good, but sometimes.. You wish you could save them all.
But you play your part. We can't go shooting off for everyone who passes by with shit on their tails, or we'd be out of ammo. All we can do.. Is sit back, and watch.
Sometimes we see some mother fucking Rambo try it on. Funny to see. Big man, running for his life while he thinks no one's gonna be watching. Turns right round when he spots us watching.
If I could just get hold of a megaphone, I'd call out. I'd beg for them all to get in here with us.
But sometimes I think.. It must just be seeing those toughguy bastards get torn apart, alone.. Tugs my heart strings.

I remember this time a group ran past our front door. They told our door-guards to "Fuck off" when they offered to let them in.
Pretty brave. 'bout a hundred were chasing them, and they just ran.
Watched them all take up places in a building down the street.
To be honest, I wasn't expecting much of a show, but fuck me.. When those Z's got there, the street went up like fireworks.
I can only figure they must have planted some charges on the way in, but walked out of that damn rubble, fine as day.
Hah, they walked back past, laughing pretty damn happy.
Didn't last. Few of the zombies weren't dead. I tried to shout to 'em, they weren't having it.
It's hard to just block out scenes like that. Bits, and guts just.. everywhere.
I think we called that one a "reaper". Fucking blade arms like a metre long. Most disturbing thing I have ever seen on watch. It just.. Walked off. but not shambling, not creeping or crawling like the rest.
This fucker walks upright, it stalks like it has a damn purpose. "

*Shortly after this bout of reminiscence, the soldier being interviewed was alerted to an incoming group.
Approximately three survivors had passed by the door, screaming obscenities. Some time later, the screaming cacophony was joined by that of the infected we've come to call the "Wailer".
The firing-restrictions meant that the soldiers could do nothing but watch as it caught up with them. None survived the encounter, and the Wailer soon settled in place and sat amongst their disemboweled corpses.*

"Fucking.. Fuck.
Poor bastards.."

*The soldier quickly grew uncomfortable with our interview, so we cut it short to speak with his superiors about the restrictions put upon the solldiers within the safe-zone.
Sadly, our crew was quickly ushered down into the secured underground as an incoming horde set the zone into a Red alert.*

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[messyart]

I have the sciencey stuff covered, really. I don't want to tell too much of it, because part of the fun is not knowing why there are monster killing everyone.

Give writing fluff a go. You could do it from the perspective of a guy who#s keeping a diary, that way it needn't be well done, just.. Imagine his life.

[messyart]

"How do you know they're infected?
Well, seems to me that the newblood among them, while clean-skinned and dainty, got some nasty bruises.
Most, anyway. Like the infection beats the living shit out of them in a back alley and leaves 'em to fend for themselves.
I think the rumour is that it's the trauma. When people start to turn, they have some kind of fit. Maybe the bruises are from the flailing. Maybe they're from veins, ripping open 'cause the infection is tearing them a new one from the inside, out..
Frankly, I couldn't care less. I kill them all the same.

By the way, look out for anything with arms longer than you. Especially if they're like sword blades, or whips.
Especially the whippy ones. Try fending one of those bastards off yourself when you're trying to eat a sandwich.
Oh, and those damn tubby fuckers. If you see one, hear one, even smell on, and you'll know about it, run like the wind and turn back only to start shooting.
You know what? That tactic's pretty good. Stick to that and you'll do fine.
Unless you meet one of them jumping assholes, then you'll really feel what it's like to be torn a new one.
See this?"

*Unnamed survivor flashes us a lengthy scar across his right shoulder. We take the moment to ask of the meanest thing he's met on loot runs into the city*

"That was the first thing I felt when one of the leapy fuckers got me. I smashed his face in while he dragged me to the ground.
Meanest, huh? Gotta say I'm torn.
It'd be either one of those weird little crying bastards, tugging on my damn heartstrings..
Or Mr. Grim reaper himself. Met the same one a few times, always leaves me reeling. You can just never tell what's sneaking up on you.
Oh, dogs, too. Bastard rotten, stinky dogs. NEVER loot past a damn kennel.
Or a zoo, for that matter.. Those cages are locked right now, but I've seen things creeping about inside that I don't want to even dream about.
By the way, if you meet Little Dick, you'll know him when you see him, thank him for me. This chainsaw, man, it's a godsend"

*With this, we watched the man step confidently down the street, soon running for his life as a small horde took chase.
We made our way back to the safety of the military cordon a mile into town.*

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[messyart]

Lumberjack wrote

 But I did want to raise an idea for a corporation that fits the role of who is stepping in to "Clean the mess up" but possibly also experimenting with the undead hence the amount of Special Infected.

Let me know what you think or what ideas you have it can fit for back ground fluff you can add in campaigns and also gives us a kind of branding.
-Lumberjack

Well the special infected are just an ... "Abnormal" {If you could call it such, when everyone else infected could hardly be considered a normal mutation in the first place}

I'm considering the differences between the events, though. This was more of an unexpected accident. No one had time to have made some evil scheme of what to do with the undead, let alone get in there to catch them.

"Human preservation Society *would* sound good for a load of crazy scientists and soldiers who're working with survivors in a safe-zone dedicated to finding either a cure, or a long-term method of destroying the plague.

Consider mostly though that this has taken the world by suprise. It's not one isolated case in London, that the world can look on and say "Haha, England. Too cocky"
They go "Fuck England, we've got our own infection to fend off"

But yea, special infected aren't just creations, they're formed from a far more stable reaction to the invasive DNA.
But yea, if you want to create more of a.. Pheonix-like "We rose from the apocalypse to save humanity" kind of groups then go for it, but even evil groups would struggle to get anything into action against something only a month or two into it.


One last thing;
I have planned all along for missions including... Less than friendly soldiers. Those who take the "Shoot to kill" directive too far. Those who are hellbent on guarding their own supplies, and not sharing for the world.
But yea, London is closed off. The military for the most part evacuated people and set up that cordon. What's left inside are the abandoned, or those who stayed for sentimentality, foolhardiness or.. Simply because they're like you and me..
We'd love to hang about for the fun of it >:D

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[messyart]

The Government abandoned the area. They've even abandoned soldiers inside, they're not aiming to  protect the guys who stick behind ;)

Those who stick behind are kind of like "heroes". They're guys and gals doing it off of their own backs, because all outside contact to London is dead.


This is why I gave people individual survivors with their own classes. Lets people focus.

I was *tempted* to let people just use soldiers, as some people might want to.. But that's just not a fair play considering the nature of the campaign

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[messyart]

"Hey you chunky fucker, what're you doing down there? Everyone else has gone.." Weasel muttered into the ears of the still-unconsious Reggie.
He looked around, unzipping his guitar bag to see if the contents were of worth.
He paused in his tracks as the mans' eyes flickered, and quickly closed it up before pulling him up onto one of his knees.
"Wake up man, we need to get the fuck out of here." He said forcefully, grabbing at his face to try waking him faster.
"Goddamn, goddamn.. Where the fu..?" Reggie mumbled, gripping his head and hip as an ache flowed up and down his body.
The bridge he'd fallen on was empty, the horde had moved on to catch up with Bruce and his dog, and the sounds of a chainsaw far in the distance told of the toll he was merrily taking upon them.
"Shit, kid.. What's your name?" The massive man asked, sitting up as he rubbed his eyes.
Weasel looked around, making sure the area was all clear before trying to hurry Reggie to his feet.
"Tend to go by Weasel. Couldn't give a fuck what you call me, really. Come on, we need to get the hell out of this street." He hassled, tugging Reggies' arms to pull him upright.
"Woah, woah.. Slow, little man. Got somewhere to be in a hurry?"
Weasel shuffled his feet and laughed emptily, looking up with a grin of disinterest.
"My place is.. a bit far out. We'll be walking all night" he replied, hoisting his axe and wiping off the blood with his cape.
Reggie raised an eyebrow and scratched his chin, looking around briefly before smiling.
"Know a guy they call... Punk?" He asked, with a smug glare.
Weasel looked up at Reggies mohawk, leaning back questioningly as he pondered.
Reply was impossible as Reggie slammed a hand down on his shoulder, pulling him along as the pair begun walking in a direction unknown by Weasel.
"Sure you have. Come on, let's go find him!"

[messyart]

"Crazy" Joe.. Son of a bitch. Can't believe, first time I met that bastard I asked why they called him crazy.
Now look at us. Weeks stuck in the same hole, watching him religiously watching those fucking cartoons.
"Kakaka YEAAAA" repeated even IN HIS FUCKING SLEEP. Sure, sure.. It's funny when he's punched a 'dead in the face. It's pretty hilarious watching him snorting his shit up before we get out in the morning. Watching his eyes roll back like nothing could make his fucked up world any better.
But damn I wish you could see the blisters from where that armour of his rubs him.. I think he NEEDS them drugs just to stand.
Yea, bought him a bit from the trader we met today.. got a bit of a discount for saving his ass.

Got me some sweet fucking guns back in my closet, now. Dunno if I'll use them. This pair do me some sweet fucking fun.
Still, I can sell them off. See if I can't get me some business.
 

Fuck, Joe's playing with his new shit.. I got him a proper shield, he's bashing our punching bag. Thankfully I'm not giving him the other shit the trader sold me.. just yet. He thought that fist-blade was awesome, he'll love this "upgrade".

 

Doc'.. Damn what a sweet little thing. Shame about her dog.. I lie. That was fucking funny. I NEVER thought I'd laugh at a 'roid monkey but fuck me.. It pumelled that little rat into the ground like.. Well.. a bug.
Hehe, I couldn't believe her luck in our last little.. "Date". She spent the whole fucking drive bigging up these shells she threw together. Then they fucked up her guns. Excellent.

'dem guns..

 

Anywho. Kinda missed that nippy bastard. Met up with him, on the way home. Took a bit of interest in my new shotgun.
I guess I kinda owe him. He did get that big fucker off of my back a few days ago..
But eh, gotta make some cash. He'll appreciate the discount. Bruce. That's his name.

 

Bert. Goddamn. Never met that kid before.. Managed to pick the little twerp up on our drive home. Must have been on a caffiene high or something, he just.. Eh. Glad he got levelled by that big cunt. Knock some sense into him, perhaps. I hear Manny's pissed at lending him cash for a 'saw, too. Not the best man to get mad at you. Hippy? Pff.. The man's definately not a fucking pacifist. Him and Mitch have at it a few times a week, good laugh watching them both. We kinda.. Place bets. Won me a penny or two getting in there myself.


Losing my train of thought. I think I need another drink.



So yea, got to try out my new grenades today. Them firebombs, fucking brutal. That big fella just sizzled and popped! Paha, and the fucking baby! And the fucking rhino zombie.. gonna have to get a few of the guys kitted up with these beasts. They ain't always gonna have me around to watch over them. Yea.. I'll see about getting Bruce and Joe some bombs. Maybe Doc'. Damn I need to ask what her name is..

 
Might hammer some nails in my bat..

[messyart]

The street was bathed by impenetrable gloom as the fog sat clingingly to all that moved through it.
Sounds were muffled, and visibility was limited to only a few yards. But still he pushed his crew onwards.
"Fucking step on it Reg', they said they're runnin' dry" Weasel yelled off behind, before Punk smacked him across the head.
"Shut the fuck up you little gobshite."
Weasel scowled and rubbed his head before putting his helmet back on.
"Dudes, stop..." they heard from behind, as they turned to find Reggie crouching, waving fog from the concrete.
"Blood"
Punk jumped over and stared over the splatter, peering to the side to see it running up the wall of a corner shop.
Shadows were cast through the fog and fine, whipping chords seemed to be dancing about as a fine mist of blood sprayed over the group.
"We need to move.. Quietely, and now.." He muttered, plucking a grenade from his belt.
They trod back along their route, Punk at the rear as he readied his hand. The pin dropped to the floor and his face stretched in a sinister grin as he loosened his grip, waiting for a second before throwing his grenade up towards the building.
His grin turned to a grimmace as he heard the grenade thud off of something soft, before hitting the floor. Slowly it rolled, revealing itself through the mist before his feet.
"FUCKSHITFUCK!" He screamed, jumping backwards as hastily as he could manage. As he rolled, curling his head under his body, he saw a single thread of muscle creeping towards him across the floor, a grenade held in a tight grip.
Mercifully, it turned out to be dud as it was brought against his body.
Yet his expression did not ease, as more and more of the deadly, muscled threads begun seeking him through the fog, revealing the face of a leering monster as the Tangler crept forward with a bestial smile.
As quickly as he could, Punk freed up one of his guns, baring his teeth as he pushed himself back from the creature.
The gunfire quickly brought back his group, and they took to their knees as he taught them to fire into its' torso.
"Good lads" He said, peering back over his shoulder and giving the thumbs up, before shouldering his P90 and firing a burst into the Tanglers face. The gore splashed about as chunks of bone splintered and shattered, within a few bursts, the Tanglers' skull had distintegrated and erupted.
Punk stopped, putting his gun to his side as he stood and turned to walk back to his group.

"Alright, no more fucking about. We got shit to sort."
They took to a brisk run as the fog grew heavier, and paused after half an hour only when Reggie had dropped to a knee, out of breath.
"I hate this city. I ever tell you that, bud?" He said as Punk stepped up beside him.
"Never claimed to be fond myself mate."
They smirked and punched hands, before Reggie pulled a pair of drinks cans from his guitar bag, handing one to Punk and quickly plucking the pull off of his own.
He peered to his side, seeing a street sign.
"Dude.. Wasn't this your street?" He muttered, grabbing the Punks arm.
He peered down and nodded, his face suddenly gently sullen.

"..Sorry bud."


The rest of the walk was relatively peaceful. Muffled gunfire in the distance told them some other poor bastards were keeping the hordes out of their way.
After an hour of treading, periodically broken down with bouts of melee and bad jokes, they arrived at a scrap yard. The large metal gates were smeared with blood and a pile of corpses laid in a pile not far from it.
"Wonder if anyone survived..." Weasel started, before Reggie gave him a bemused glare and silenced him.

"Someone piled up the bodies, kid."
Punk approached the door, knocking it with his bat before stepping backwards to await reply.

"Om nom nom you mother fuckers.. We got the rest of you, we can kill you too..." Came a broken, fearful call from within.
"You hit me up on the radio, open the fucking door" Punk shouted, smacking his bat against the door casually.
A brief moment of muted mumbling revealed at least four people within the compound. The sounds of clanking metal started up before the door started rolling aside, the face of a small girl peeking around the corner as Punk led his group inside.
The little girl followed him with a smile, unnoticed as he strode towards a face he knew well.
"Oh you beauty. Get that beardy fucking face over here" He called out to the brightly dressed man.
They met with open arms, punching each others' backs firmly, their grins wide and cheerful.
"Punk my man, how the fuck are you dude?" Manny laughed, resting his hand on Punks' shoulder as he led him into his scrap yard warehouse.
"Gotta say, I'm jealous man, this place.. Pretty sweet. What you got lying about here?"
Manny grinned, letting go of Punk and holding his arms outwards as he beheld the halls before him.
"Hey Mitch you chunky lump of manlove! Let there be light!"
Reggie turned, an uneased look across his face as he questioned the nature of the men around him. Punk turned to see his discomfort, chortling as he approached.
"These guys like to have fun dude, you're safe here. They just.. Take the piss."
A fine smell sung in their noses as they stepped further into the warehouse, and Punks' smile widened as he worked it out.
The lights went on, intense HID bulbs pouring a sweat-inducing warmth down on the group.
Excitement overcome Punk as he started pacing closer to the centre of the warehouse, punching his thigh and wailing as he jogged down the length of rows upon rows of planters.
"Fuck me man, I knew you'd find a way.."
He turned, his eyes ablaze as he started fingering the buds of the plants before him.
Manny smiled, walking towards his crop with a hand outstretched, brushing softly through hundreds upon hundreds of plants before standing by Punks side.
"Impressive, no? Mitch found it when we split from you guys last time. I had some shit spare, and we sourced the rest in loot runs. Well. Fucking. Worth it."
Reggie started looking through aisles, examining the varieties as he took in the air around them.
"Ooohh shhiiiitttttt" He said smoothly, stroking at the beautiful furry white bloom of one plant.

"We keep the lights off at night, generally. We can't find enough shit for all of these windows, and we attract enough bad shit as it is.. But we make it work. Got me a few guys taking point, looting, blah blah.. And since you're here, I figure you've not seen any other faces you know, yet" Manny said softly as Punk begun picking off bits of a plant before him.
"I got some shit to trade, I'll take my share and show you the shit I got for you." Punk started, before raising an eyebrow.
"Oh yea? How do you know.. Who I might know?"

Manny smirked. Looking off to the doorway of the warehouse, to the little smiling face of a child.
"We caught someone hiding out in a house about an hour from here.. Told us everyone was dead. Took us a while to get anything more from her." He motioned by eye, for the Punk to look.
 The hint was taken slowly, but after a few moments he turned, seeing a giddy response from the little girl. His knees seemed to collapse on him as his eyes widened, and he fell onto his hands as he took it in.

"Oh.. god oh god" He managed to mutter, before a tear seeped from his eye. He fought against the floor, kicking up into a run as he sprinted towards the now screaming girl.
He picked her up on the run, scooping her into his arms and spinning her gently as he wrapped her up, eventually setting her down and kneeling to cuddle her more firmly.
 A silence fell upon the yard as a few guards quietely wiped tears from their eyes, watching this grown man bawling.

 

After some hours, Reggie and Weasel both stepped into the caravan that Punk had taken the child to. They walked into the bedroom, seeing him sat up against the wall, cradling her in his arms. Weasel looked up to Reggie with a confused glare.
"I hope he knows her." he said, as Reggie stood content, with a soft smile upon his lips.

"That's his little girl..." He whispered, raising his thumb as he saw Punk look up. ".. Manny's got some free shit for us, come on Weasel, lets' let them sleep" he finished, leading him back out of the caravan as Punk held his lips to his daughters hair, drifting off to sleep.

[radwell]

You should make a book, it grate
i still cant work out how to make my own diary for my cariter(Speed).