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Post by Mr. Anderson on Sept 12, 2009 16:38:15 GMT -7
Unable to breath, trying to calm down his heart and slow his own adrenaline, Mitch comes to a halt outside of Mingles bar. He groans as the pains of a chunk of flesh missing from his lower back start to kick in. Things got to sticky back there, when he seen Branden he almost lost everything. His friends surely think he is a goner, and he would be if he hadn't have detonated that C-4. Luckly he rolled himself and his zombie human sheild over a hill and into a raveen before it exploded. Disorentated and surround he took Jenny's advice and Just ran, like Forest Gump. That was quite a long sprint, and every direction he looked he still seen Zombies. He pounded franticly on the front door of the bar. He yelled out, "Open up you fuckers! I'm alive! I aint one of them!" The door creeked open, and a face presented itself. "What the fuck, how are you still alive.", said the man. His name was Toby, he was a Rig-hand for Northern Productions. Mitch knew him somewhat, but not all to well. "Me and some others were held up in my house, and some shit went wrong. I ran... I just ran my ass off. I dont know if they made it out, and if they did they prolly think I am dead.", Mitch said walking in and helping Toby bolt the door back. There were a few others inside the bar. Around 10 people that had either been here and drinking when Shit hit the fan, or happened to make their way here. Either way Mitch knew he couldnt spend much time here, he needed to get back to his friends and try to move them here. The pain was starting to iritate him as he tried to sit down the wound ripped open more and he could feel the blood running down his back and on his ass. "Well good thing there is alcohol here I supose.", he spat out making himself a drink. He walked over to the front door and laughed to himself as he seen a few of the zombies that chased him try desprately to get inside. "Faggs" he said. Things where bad right now, but he would have to pull threw this. As he sat at the door thinking of the zombies, and the death and destruction that happened atop the hill he smiled. He was proud of the C-4, it did its job. He could only think of one thing as he peered through his mind visualizing the explosion. He grined,"Know that."
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Post by Big T on Sept 17, 2009 20:50:48 GMT -7
With the rain coming down, he shrugs his jacket closer to his face. "They just don't make em, like they used to.", he mutters to himself. Of course, it would probably have been easier if he had actually spent some time avoiding the undead, rather than playing "20 points" with each one he saw. The burnt sweet smell of escaping coolant fills the vehicle even before he steps out. "What a crock.", he mutters before grabbing the axe he had found down at one of the fire stations, and his backpack. With a big sigh, he starts walking, getting himself off the street before some skinless daywalker decides it wants to be another 20 points. The thought brings a grin to his face as he chuckles at his highscore. * * * "Oh rook, it's Hans Brix", he chortles in his best Kim Jong Il impression as a small asian fellow in a McDonalds uniform, complete with drive through headset, walks around the corner of First Interstate Bank. Swinging the axe upwards, he jars the being's head back with the blunt side of the weapon. Bringing the axe down hard with both hands, it brutally crunches through the skull, wedging itself in deeply. With a grunt, he puts his foot against the remainder of the skull, and pulls the blade free. Swiftly looking around, he bolts towards the nearest door trying to find cover before the horde descends on him from the freshly spilled blood. Sprinting across an empty lot, he reaches for a door praying it's unlocked. With a prayer of thanks to Tom Cruise and his voodoo magic, he jumps inside the room, quickly scanning for any sign of an infestation. Seeing several people standing around with a dazed look on their face he fears he has just run into a nest of what he was trying to avoid. Just before he spins to run back out, a voice in conversation chirps up, "know that." With sudden dawning realization, the sound of the voice clicks into a mental image of something far more bizarre than a horde of the undead. "Mitch, what the fuck, you left the damn back door open you lush.", as he turns and locks the door behind him. Walking up the ramp towards the bar, he notices everyone slowly scooting away from him, and glancing down at him every so often. "W-w-what's wrong with your arm man?", stammers a completely smashed man in what looks like fishing waders. Looking down he notices his arm is completely covered in the congealed blood of the previous zombie. Chuckling, he whips his arm hard, trying to shake some of the gore off. The man stares blankly as spittles of dark blood splatter him. "Woopsies", he grimaces to the man, "sorry." Turning swiftly, and pointing with all seriousness at mitch, "And you my anglo saxon rastafarian.........", looking at Mitch's side in wonder,"....what in the name of Sam Hill did you do to your back?!"
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Post by Mr. Anderson on Sept 17, 2009 21:16:08 GMT -7
Confused by Tony's tactics, and wondering how he was still alive, Mitch laughs a bit and says, "Ah, just a scratch. I was playing with some zombies and fell into a ditch when something went boom. Fell on a brick and cut myself open."
Mitch grimaced at the pain a little as he made his way over to the bar and poured him another round of Bud-Light. He pulled the last cigarette out of his pack and sighed as he put it between his lips and searched the bar for a pack of matches.
Things flew threw his head like a Tomahawk missle, for once in his life he didnt know what was next. He was always on top of everything, he knew what he was going to do, and when things needed to be done, but now that most of the world was dead and there was no where to turn, he decided to drown in problems with budlight for awhile and think. The only problem was he couldnt think, things keep hitting him like a tank. If it wasnt this it was that.
"Tony, I cant believe you are alive..... Where's the family if you dont mind me asking?", he let out wondering if he even should have asked, afraid to bring up bad memories.
After searching for more than a couple minutes he found a pack of matches and light up the cancer stick resting in his lips. What a day he thought to himself. There was only one thing he could think of, "Know that."
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Post by Big T on Sept 18, 2009 16:59:51 GMT -7
His face twitches once, before he emits a high-pitched tense laugh. "Heh! Yeah, yeah, heh, fine, heheh, great, you know?, tehe, Oooh! look, pretzels!", as he dashes over and shoves a handful in his mouth. "Roh, ritch, woo wood'n 'ess ow any ahmbees I 'ot!", he exclaims around the pretzels. Finally swallowing his mouthful, "Hey mitch, wanna play zombie tag? Great game I invented. You chain an animal to a propane tank, and then shoot the tank, when you get a group of zombies around the tank, and then BLAMMO!, tag their it.", he grins a little too hard, and leans against the bar. His shoulder's droop a little farther as shadows flee across his eyes.
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Post by Mr. Anderson on Sept 29, 2009 5:08:22 GMT -7
Ponders to himself for a second about the great sounding game. "ah,.... right....", he says giving Tony the stink eye. "Are u sure you are ok Tony, you seem alittle ODD today." Knowing that the only clause for hope would be to get to robb's house he annouces to the room, "well, I am leaving, anyone who wants to join me can. Does anyone have a car out front that works. I need to get back to my house, we have a stronghold set up there."
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Post by Big T on Sept 29, 2009 16:34:04 GMT -7
"I've been borrowing cars from the dealerships as I need them, I broke in and made sure I stashed all the keys for em before everyone went bat shit," he mutters quietly, the forced glee fading from his countenance. "We'll head over and pick one up, just give me a sec," he mentions before walking around the bar to grab the two bottles of everclear and some rags he had spotted for a few makeshift cocktails. Stepping over a few drunks on the floor, he picks up his pack, his axe and heads towards the backdoor. "Any of you are welcome to join, but I swear to all that is holy if you get me killed I will stick my foot so far up your ass you'll think you were born a scarecrow," he grumbles," other than that, you folks have yourself a good day," and he tips an invisible hat before peaking out the door and walking outside.
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