Urban Dead - Story

I am one of the many people who play Urban Dead. I know that there is a site that has stories like the one I'm about to write, but I forgot my password for that place, it's in the name of a different character and I might as well write on this blog some more. So here we go:




"It's been a year since the outbreak in Malton and we need more men on the ground. Those of you who have been assigned to the quarantine zone just have to remember, shoot anything that passes the minefield, you don't know if they are infected or not. The rest of you will be dropped into the city itself. At this time we have no clue about the situation since we have no reliable intelligence, all I can say is good luck, try not to sleep outdoors, and may God protect you..."

GOOD MOR-NING MALTON

I woke groggily and lay there. It would have to be about 0700, that's usually when this show starts. With people finding and repairing generators and a somewhat reliable fuel source meant some electricity. The electricity gave increased the demand for radio transmitters and 80.01 MHz was the station that every man and his dog, if there were any, could talk their mind.

It's a be-yoo-ti-ful day for killing zeds...

I stood up, and gathered my things. There were some things that I had to make sure I had, most importantly was the crucifix that I found after I was dropped into the city. But I did leave a radio. I already have two, and a trip to the armoury might get me some ammo that I need.

Who am I kidding, everyone needs ammo. It's basically money in this godforsaken place.

Leaving the barracks I got some idea of the weather. It was calm, but then again, ever since the army dropped some engineers to fix this place it has become a rather calm place. I've been here the last four days now and not a single zed. One of the few engineers that are left now told me that it was only recently that the fort was in zombie hands, then a group called the 'Creedy Guerrilla Raiders' who killed anyone before something happened.

The fort is now something of a thriving community, survivors having been drawn to the place. Heading down into the armoury I found a clip. Not really what I need, but it would be stupid to complain.

Today I would be travelling.

And for your listening pleasure I've got "Mad World" from Gary Jules, well known for the promo for "Gears of War"...

Great. Just what I needed. It'll be played too many times...

Leaving the gatehouse and heading to the city was like a gloom descending upon you. Desolate streets, ruined buildings, graffiti telling you to join such and such and where to go. There is not a single sign of life on the streets, probably because only hunters go out onto the streets. Passing buildings that were once majestic are now barricaded to the point that you can't see anything.

All around me are familiar faces...

Clambering over the remnants of a house I spot a zed. When you see them you don't know whether they are asleep or awake because they just stand there. I wasn't going to be a fool, my axe is there for when I run out of ammo.

... going nowhere, going nowhere...

My pistol is drawn and I shoot. Right into the chest. There's no blood of course, it's dead, and for quite a while. I missed the next shot, but hit it enough that I was sure that it wasn't awake and I check it. I might be able to help this guy, I have one syringe left, but his brain is gone. My shotgun finishes it off.

...no tomorrow, no tomorrow...

I skirt Giddings Mall. I don't have the strength to fight there at the moment. And it would be suicide.

...look right through me, look right through me...

I reach a church a few blocks to the north of the mall, and find another zombie. I grab a flare gun, and try and shoot the zombie with it. It's such a stupid thing, inaccurate and if you shoot it in the air all you do is bring zombies to you.

...the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had...

A couple of flares are used, and then I waste my shotgun shells on it. An armoured zombie, great...

...I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take...

I forget it and head inside the church. There is a zombie there feeding on a few people who haven't woken up in time. The blood oozes down the aisles to some more survivors who seem unconscious. There's nothing I can do. I have to leave these people to their fate...

...It's a very, very mad world, mad world...

The Necrotech building is far safer. I feel guilty about leaving those people to die, but I'm exhausted and I would have become another victim if I stayed. I still feel sorry when I have to leave helpless people to die, but death is now reversible and in Malton you fend for yourself.

The Pot and the Kettle

I wrote this about a hypocrite. He was accusing someone of distorting facts while doing the same thing himself.

Sorry for the bad prose and plot devices and so on, but this is what I came up with as my first 'Silliness' post.

Wildy Presents, A Wildy Production of Wildy's random idea:

The Pot And The Kettle

SCENE: An Old Style Kitchen.

*Enter Pot*

Pot: Look at me, I am a pot. I sit on the flames and grow pure white. But my purpose here is to insult the sink.

*Pot goes and insults a prop sink*

*Enter Kettle*

Kettle: I am a kettle. I can boil water while I sit on the flames. However I fear that I may one day run into the Pot, and be told that I am while he is not. He doesn't look at himself when he spews forth words, and fails to see he is similar.

Pot (not noticing Kettle): Haha I won. I beat the sink. I shall bask in my victory until my next victim.

Kettle (trying to hide away): Oh dear, oh dear, the Pot draws near.

Pot (notices Kettle): Brilliant. My next victim approaches, I shall defeat him with my perfect wit.

Kettle (sighing): Hello Pot.

Pot: Greetings, I am the Pot. The greatest and best coloured object the kitchen has ever seen. My colour is unmatched for you I see are completely black.

Kettle (annoyed): Considering that you are also a black object?

Pot (taken aback): BLACK?!?!? ME!?!?! NEVER?!?!?! Look at how pure and white I am, how dare you call me black.

Kettle: You aren't white for you fail to see that you, yourself are as black as me. The two of us, look quite the same for we have been darkened by the flame.

Pot: Why I never. I think I will go back to arguing with the sink.

Kettle (feeling somewhat triumphant): You do that yet you will fail to see that you sir stink of hypocrisy. You do not accept that you are black, and run away from that fact.

*Exeunt Pot*

Kettle: And after that small encounter you see, the pot returning to hypocrisy. He will not change although challenged, of the face of his character. He will remain and fight the sink, in circles like the water draining from it. And as he fights he goes nowhere, because he treads the same path with care. For each encounter he will face he will just stand there in his grace and close his ears to any rebuttal while his argument falls and creates a clutter upon the world of discussion but will be rebuilt without a flutter. And become and argument that will be loathed to mutter.

*Exeunt Kettle*