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Cleaning

 The forum will be undergoing maintenance as things progress forward. SMF2 is a little buggy on our forum, and I will be working to iron out some of those bugs, and to restore the forum to a similar and familiar home for us to the one that we used to have.

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Topic Summary

Posted by: CrazyHobo
« on: January 11, 2012, 10:23:18 am »

The sun shined brightly, illuminating the lifeless streets of the city. This day would be pleasant, if the safe house was not under attack.
 A crowd of people were making it’s way to the three story safe house. They were all covered in blood, had completely white eyes, some of them had missing limbs or intestines protracting out of their stomachs.
They were a repulsive sight to behold…
-   Damn these zombies are ugly – said Scalpel, leaving the safe house.
Modem just silently exited, readied himself for the coming battle.
-   Who kills the most gets to pick a bed! – suggested Scalpel
Modem replied by firing his shotgun, killing 2 infected in one shot, then said
-   I have the lead
Slightly irritated that someone started better than him, Scalpel opened fire. Two infected fell down immediately. Vlaew shot one in the head. The zombie march did not stop though, they kept shambling to the safehouse. Scalpel wondered, whether they will be able to defeat this wave. They kept shooting, but their numbers seemed only to increase.
Modem tossed a grenade into the zombie crowd. The explosion amputated the legs of part of the crowd. Some died, but most kept crawling. Vlaew blew off the head of a zombie waitress. Scalpel emptied the last dozen bullets in his clip, moving down some more, then pulled out a .44 colt revolver and started placing accurate headshots.
 Vlaew could see from the roof that this was ending, but a dozen infected were still coming. Modem had ran out of shotgun ammo and didn’t have the time to bring more to the fight with him, so he was using his pistol. He and Scalpel stood firmly and placed shots in the head, but six infected were six meters away from them. Scalpel pulled out a combat knife out of his boot and Modem unsheathed his machete. It was time for dirty melee.
 Modem dropped his pistol, which was empty, and lunged at the nearest zombie, a crippled male, and chopped his head off, but right after that a zombie Hobo grappled him and tried to bite him. Another zombie was about to reach him, but Vlaew blew his head off. Scalpel stabbed a biker zombie in the eye, but an infected soldier was danger close. He made a quick backstep to gain room, then roundhouse kicked the infected soldier. Having enough time to aim, Scalpel readied his revolver and shot the zombie between the eyes. He looked to Modem and saw him finish off the Hobo zombie and then chop an infected nurse. A lone zombie teacher walking to Scalpel, but her head exploded.
 Vlaew had claimed the last kill…
The fights was over. Modem holstered his weapons, then pulled out of his pocket a pack of red Marlboro. He placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. Scalpel asked for one. Modem silently passed the pack and a zippo to his comrade and they both looked at this street, not littered with corpses.
-   Another day, eh? – said Scalpel in a tired tone
-   Yeah – replied Modem.
Suddenly a roaring sound came out of their stomachs. Scalpel pulled out his radio and said:
-   Vlaew, how about that onion soup?
-   Already on it
With those words said, the two returned to the safe house to rest. Another day passed…
Posted by: CrazyHobo
« on: January 06, 2012, 06:08:21 am »

***
The small room was poorly lit, little could be seen. This was due to the limited energy, so common during the troubled time. A bearded man with long hair groomed back was working with a power drill to make a new table. He was of medium height, wore black combat boots pants, a thin red sweater with a tribal on the right chest that went up to the shoulder, on his hands were fingerless black sport gloves. After some time spent on connecting the parts of wood to each other, the man finished building the table. To test it’s durability, he sat on it. Wasn’t shaking, stood firmly. Pleased with his work, gets off the table goes to the large toolbox near the table. Putting the power drill with the rest of the instruments, he pulls out a walkie-talkie out of his pocket, pushes a button and says with a Russian accent into it:
-   Finished building the workbench. How’s everyone else doing?
 A very low pitched voice answers from the machine
- Got two more beds left to build and I’m done.
A different voice speaks
- Sitting on the roof. Watering the plants. Expect onion soup today, fellas.
The man frowns upon this news and says into the radio:
-   Again?
-   Well isn’t my fault onions grow faster then everything else we have.
Making a slight motion with his head from the disappointment, the man replies back:
-   I really need to go loot a grocery store.
-   Well, while you’re at it, could you bring me some more seeds? I’m low on carrot and potato seeds.
-   Vlaew, the grocery store and the “Marvelous Planet” store are in different directions from this place. Go get your own seeds.
-   Hey, don’t be so grouchy.
-   Cut the chatter, you two – replied the very low pitched voice again. – Scalpel, help me with the living quarters.
The man goes to a corner in the room, where an AK-47 assault rifle was leaned to the wall. He picked it up and checked the ammo. Full clip. He slung it behind his back and speaks into the radio again:
-   Ok, Modem. I’ll be there soon.



Modem was a tall man, had long brown hair and a goatee. All his clothes were black: pants, boots, turtle neck sweater, trench coat, gloves, heck, even his socks and underwear were black. He was cutting a piece of lumber with a saw for another bed in the sleeping quarter. It is much safer and easier to sleep in a company these days. Not breaking a sweat, Modem kept working. After some time, the lumber was cut. Modem placed it into another construct, placed a mattress on top of it, a pillow and a blanket. Another bed ready.
 Modem heard footsteps; he could figure that a person was heading here. He rested his hand on a Colt .45 pistol, which was rested on his right leg. A safety precaution. Scalpel entered the room and glanced at where Modem was holding his hand.
-   You knew that I was coming here. So why the phobia? – said Scalpel.
-   Can’t be completely sure these days.
-   True.
-   Last bed and we’re done.
-   Shouldn’t take long.
As they were working, both heard someone running from upstairs. Scalpel pulled out his AK and put the safety off. He took cover behind the large toolbox. Modem pulled out a black machete from under his trench coat and stood near the room entrance. Tension was rising, as the steps grew louder. Someone was in a real hurry to get here. A figure appeared in the door threshold and Modem grabbed him by the collar, slammed him into the wall and placed his machete to the throat of the man. After a brief moment, Modem releases his grip, as he recognizes Vlaew’s young looking face. Still in shock from the welcoming, Vlaew screams:
-   The **** is wrong with you people?
-   Can’t be completely sure these days. – said Scalpel in a mocking tone.
-   Ah, what? Grah, we’re under attack!
-   Yeah, we figured that out by how fast you were rushing here.
-   How many? – spoke Modem, while picking up a shotgun.
-   About thirty.
-   Thirty? Vlaew, you could have handled that yourself. – said Scalpel in a sarcastic tone.
-   With a 5-shot rifle?
Scalpel patted Vlaew on the shoulder and calmly, quietly said
-   Sucks to be you, pal.
Vlaew was angered at this statement, but they had little time for arguments. Modem and Scalpel rushed out of the building, while Vlaew went back to the roof to give covering fire. The safe house was under another attack…

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