You see a zombie outside your bedroom window...

*wakes up, realizing that flying zombies levitating at the height of a second story exist only in dreams*
 
>>Suddenly, flying zombies outside Mikael's place...hundreds!
 
This juice is really good. I usually hate cranberry juice, but this is good. Must be the pomegranate mixed in; breaks up that tangy flavor with something sweet.

I haven't gone shopping in a few days. Got enough perishables to last me for maybe a week, two, three if I really stretch it. Got some canned goods: peaches, peas, all kinds of beans. Chicken noodle soup. Got a few boxes of mac and cheese. Those will last awhile.

Ran out of bottled water. That'll cost me. Don't know if tap's safe to drink.

Internet still works. That's funny. News barely broke and everyone's in a goddamn panic. Bunch of people on forums and imageboards taking up arms and talking about organizing or trying to come up with hastily-made bug-out plans that don't work in a situation like this. Heading to the grocery store. Or the mall. Internet toughguys taking up their katanas bought from places like John T's or the goddamn renaissance faire; stub tang swords that are decorative pieces and will break with a hard enough impact after two or three swings. Though it's not a big difference even if you had a quality blade; slashing weapons don't do shit to a zombie. Not unless you take off the head. Maybe 90% of the people on the internet couldn't muster up the force in their arms to sever a head if their life depended on it.

Which it does.

That's funny.

Close blinds, dim lights. Put couch and dressers and beds and whatever else isn't bolted down in front of the door. Wish I could break off the stairs; cement stairs with metal supports, got nothing to cut through 'em, would take too much time anyway. Goddamned stairs are a hazard. Could do with just the balconies and a rope ladder. Where the hell would I get a rope ladder? Shit. I'm really going to need to get water.

It's quiet outside. Anyone who was alive has long fled. I don't hear anything. No groans. No screams. I know they're out there, though. I don't know how many, but I know they're out there. Maybe enough to take on, long enough to get to a car.

And where the hell would I go? Roads are unsafe. Probably packed end-to-end with cars left abandoned or filled with remains. Like goddamn canned goods for zombies, all prepacked in a nice aluminum wrapper.

Beats walking though, I guess.

Should've invested in that bus I was always talking about. Should've invested in a whole shitload of steel bats and MREs and earthquake kits for the little flashlights and medical packs they come with. Should've bought a gun.

For them, or for me.

Instead, wouldn't you fucking know it, I've got swords. A broadsword 3/4 my height; it'll break on the first hit. A jian, really beautiful sword. Forged for combat, not a showpiece. 2,500 year history in this sword. But a whole lot of good the flowing, dancing combat will be against a zombie. I try to use it and I'm gonna get fucking bit. Zombies don't appreciate flowing like water. I'm gonna get mobbed and bit.

I've got my sword, the one made just for me. 20lbs. of steel; a rectangular block with a square edge. Three sides, three sharp edges, and nothing but two slabs of wood drilled through and bolted to the steel serving as a handle. A 20lbs. cleaver, that's what it is. Most swords are maybe 2lbs. Already that's more than you'd think to swing around for protracted periods of time. A 2lbs. sword is going to be cumbersome and feel like you're swinging around a lead weight if you're trying to fight a group of zombies. A katana is 2lbs. And I've got a 20lbs. cleaver.

That's fucking irony. Darkside's got swords.

Or maybe it's just unfortunate.

I don't want to step onto my balcony storage to fetch any of them anyway.

Phone still works. Lot of voicemails. Don't want to hear them. Scared to. Think I'll just stay on the computer for awhile, look at some old images. Laugh a little. Not too loud. Not loud enough that they'll know I'm here. Just enough to take the edge away. Just enough before I eventually have to go outside and face whatever the fuck is out there. Test just how good I really am at surviving this shit now that the day has come. In a way this is what I always wanted. The part of me that thinks that wants to strangle myself.

Going to have to step outside that door sometime.

But for now, the internet's still working, and this juice is really fucking good.
 
It's already starting to set in. I'm beginning to feel a little strange from the extreme isolation. At least I have my pets.

And then it hits me. Oh god. What an oversight. I have no girls! NO GIRLS! The horrifying realization quickly subsides as I dust off the key to 'the pr0n room.' And it was bad to masturbate on 9/11? What about during the zombie apocalypse, is that okay?
 
Mrrruuuuuuuurrrrrgh ...

Mutoid Man's zombie smelled the odor of complacent brains creeping out of a vent protruding from a lawn. A complacent, peaceful brain, content wherever it was hiding.

Scared brains had been his favorite, and this zombie had consumed many of them in the past. It seemed so recently that the supply was abundant. Overturned vehicles from accidents, hospitals, house basements ... it seemed like everywhere he turned was a cowering, trembling body with that especially delicious organ waiting inside. Lately though, the trail had run cold. The air didn't have the ripe flavor it once had, now only filled with the rotten smell of his comrades, similarly shambling through the streets, seeking out the few survivors that remained.

It was unlike anything he had smelled before.

The vent was covered by a hard, well-thought-out steel grating. The grating was far too well secured to remove, and far too thick to rust or erode through in the lifetime of any occupant who might be residing beyond it. The lone zombie tried it anyway, and lost a finger or two. This elicited a whimper, but the smell had already hopelessly captivated him. The zombie picked up a nearby stone, holding it above his head.

He drooled.

With a grunt, hurled it downward. The boulder bounced off the grating with a reverberating CLANK, followed by its echo a second later. Unfazed and determined by the sickening aroma of this newfound, carefree prey, he picked up the boulder again. No progress was being made. He didn't care though; he was a f***ing zombie.

And he had an eternity to spend.
 
What is that ****ing banging noise? I've been discovered. It's terrifying - did I think of everything? There's no way a zombie can fit in the air pipe. It's only about 8 inches in diameter. A little relieved, but it's hard to think with that racket!

I've got to think. How can I make it go away?
 
Should've installed soundproofing. The zombies should eventually starve though.
Meanwhile

>> Finished digging series of tunnels with a master chamber...being building super anti-zombie lazor
 
Reassured by the strength of my shelter I become emboldened and just turn up the volume on my sound system. The incessant banging is drowned out by the sound of my generator and the music of Skies of Arcadia.
 
Just one zombie? At the window? I stop looking out the window and wait for it to leave, i live on the second floor, it wouldn't see me.

AN APOCALYPSE, **** that, get me a rope, a hook, and hardest of all, a ceiling.
 
>look window
There is a zombie floating past your eighth floor bedroom window. Zombies can now fly.


Ruh-roh!

>close window
You slowly close the blinds as the zombie floats out of sight.
>look door
The door is locked.
>rest
 
God damn it.
Damn it all. The world can **** itself. Betrayed by people I belived to be friends. Left for dead. I guess that everyone is just looking out for themself... They where afraid. Afraid I whould turn. So they left me. I'll make the basterds pay. My arm is bleeding. The basterds bite hard. I need to keep moving. Fight this. I have seen people with blood loss turn in a matter of hours. I need to stay human for days to finish what I started. Is that even possible?
My metabolism might be strong, but I need new blood. It won't save me, but it might buy me some time.

I see a clinc. Burnd out cars and some bodies on the streets around it. Survivors are barricaded inside. I call on them. No answer. Basterds try to act like no one is in there. But I need to get in there. I need that transfusion. I tell them that if they don't open the door I will break the door, and then no one will be safe. A small hole opens, and someone aims out a gun. Not really big enough for the person to be able to aim.
I grab the arm, and here the panicing voices inside. After some debating, the door opens. Inside are a handfull of ragtag survivors. Some children. They won't last long. Not when people like me breaks their barricade at least. I keep them in check with my new found handgun. Not really my stile. I ask for the doctor. They tell me Dr. Pinkerton is bussy, and that Dr. Sanders is, well... No longer amongst the living.
I make some noise, and the good docter comes out. I tell her what I want and she orders the nurse to set it up.

I begin to relax, but then I hear someone behind me, I try to move fast, but the basterd pricked me. Sedative? I answer with a quick slash with the sword. I examine the ressult of my action, and realize i severed Pinkertons fingers. All exept the thumb and pinky. She looks apathic. Just staring at me. I hold them at gun point. Try to hurry it up. The nurse finish the procedure under stress. I try to calm her, tell her I won't hurt her, but don't think she feels reasured.

As I leave I hear them rebarricade the doors. Cires. I want to apologize. But fail to see the point. Hopefully for them they can reattache Pinkertons fingers. Atleast now I have bought some time. And a flyer inside the clinic have given me hope. Reminded me of something. Someone is working on a cure.
I need to get there. Find out if it works. Ironic. The cure I dissmised now holds the key to my survival.
I need to move. Not alot of time. I feel changes inside...
 
I meant "OH NO YOU DI'N'T INSULT SKIES OF ARCADIA MUSIC"

DON'T DO IT
 
I am going to set off a car alarm near your house. That will teach you.



Edit: Also goddamn you I wasted my 10,000th post. I'm going to quote 6Three because he asked me to when this day came.

6Three said:
<3 Darkside.
Click to expand...
 
Ha, like that would do any good. I live in a nearly all black neighborhood. They'd just run away.













Oh did I mention my neighborhood is nearly all black.
 
Farrowlesparrow said:
They cannot swim, but they can walk across the seabed.

They are strong and can tear you limb from limb.

The zombies hear you laughing and start walking across the seabed towards your boat. Whilst you relax, they build an underwater zombie pyramid beneath your boat.
Click to expand...

Hmm... I smell

2902643161_b32c32b070.jpg


But it seems you are going for the supernatural "living dead" zombie, instead of the "infected" zombie. So it's bullshit from the start.

However even if they are reanimated corpses, explain to me why they would have superhuman strength, if anything they should be weaker.
 
Darkside55 said:
You forget, there's a zombie invasion.

The AI director has now spawned more zombies.
Click to expand...
Zombie or human I'm pretty sure a black person's first instinct is to run away from car alarms. They're like the opposite of white zombies.









Also Virus sucks dick. Yep.
 
Darkside55 said:
I am going to set off a car alarm near your house. That will teach you.



Edit: Also goddamn you I wasted my 10,000th post. I'm going to quote 6Three because he asked me to when this day came.
Click to expand...

Awesome. Where do I mail the check?
 
I detonate the 10,000 nuclear bombs I have stored in the earths core and wipe out everything on the planet.
 
Madagascar would already be sealed off.
 
Some people have their bedrooms upstairs and therefore a zombie would have to be flying in order to be visible from it. Has anyone mentioned that yet?
 
Yes, people have mentioned it. However you could just, y'know, be looking DOWN outside your window. Or if you live across the street/next door to someone and see a zombie on the second floor of their house.

Also, Riom survives.
 
the first thing i'd do is probably get a dumb blond chick who screams and panics at the mere mentioning of danger, find a young kid who always does things he shouldn't be doing, make sure i always send someone out to do something alone and then when he doesn't return send another one, always give something really important to some person who looses his keys every 5 minutes, always risk your and everyone lives for someone who did something really idiotic, trust anyone despite having teeth marks all over his body and first and foremost always make sure your group is comprised of people who never heard of zombies in their file.

nah...i'll rather stick to being a zombie, much less stressful.


edit: but...ok on a more serious note. how would you really deal with a first encounter. i mean would it occur to you that it's a zombie or just an injured man. how close would you approach him, what then?

i'd inspect the man for any zombie signs (like rotting flesh, inability to reason/talk,...), then i'd check my immediate surroundings for any potential threats. call everybody i know and warn them. head for home and arm myself...then comes the looting part, yay! :D
 
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