User:Mold/Jantrit
Though his appearance suggests a much wilder and more exotic past, Jantrit is a rare creature: a stay-at-home zombie. Like many zombies he started out wandering wherever his battered legs would take him, eating brains some days, bullets others. As time passed, gradually, he noticed a pattern. More and more frequently, he ended his day's shamble at the Daubeney Building. Occasionally he'd chase an active survivor there, but other days weren't so easy to explain.
Maybe it was his game leg making him shamble in circles. Maybe the NecroTech facility exerts some sort of strange gravitational pull. Maybe Jantrit had grown lazy and didn't want to shamble so far anymore. Or maybe he'd just grown fond of the place through familiarity.
Whatever the reason, Jantrit began to focus an unhealthy obsession on the building. He spent long hours tearing at the barricades, shouting at the survivors within, demanding access to the interior. One survivor, two survivors, ten, it didn't matter, he doggedly ripped and clawed at their obstructions. In his fevered and deteriorating brain, the Daubeney Building had become his home, and it was his right and obligation to dwell within it. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he gained access, and settled in for a long stay next to the water cooler.
Until the survivors noticed him there, shot him in the balls, and threw him out into the street! Dutifully, Jantrit picked himself up, struggled his way past the new obstructions, and settled back into home. He made sure to explain his situation to the survivors this time, so they wouldn't be unduly nervous about his dwelling there. This time, the bullet caught him in the eye.
Now Jantrit was a reasonable zombie, he was perfectly willing to have roommates even if they did keep him awake sometimes with their noisy breathing, but the survivors just couldn't share. So he began to strike back directly, rending their delicate flesh beneath claws made hard and strong by countless hours' conditioning on their barricades. He called for help from any other zombies he could, rattling passionately, and a few other zombies saw what he was doing, and saw it was good, and came to his aid. They tore the survivors asunder, and the amenities that supported them, ransacking the building into squalor. Their goal achieved, home found, the zombies rested.
And the survivors kept coming back and throwing them out of their house! Lone wolf hero hopefuls, and rampaging death squads, some of whom looked strangely alike, ran a continual campaign of harassment and terrorism against Jantrit and his friends and neighbors. It was obvious by now that these selfish survivors couldn't be reasoned with -- they respected neither an offer of peaceful coexistence, nor his name on the lease (forged though it might have been), nor right of conquest.
Maybe the only way to keep home secure was to keep the invading survivors busy, and scared for their skin. Along with his friends, Jantrit began to take frequent walks around his neighborhood, watching for signs of concentrated survivor presence, letting himself in, helping himself to a snack and inviting the homeless in for a free meal. Sometimes he'd explain his actions as stemming from the territory dispute over his property, but often he didn't bother, most of the survivors had already shown themselves unwilling or unable to listen. As more and more pressure was put on, survivor presence at his house fell off out of lack of resources, and it was good. A few always loiter around, like rats in the walls scratching away, but mostly they serve only as a minor nuisance.
Jantrit spends most of his time in his home nowadays, sitting in a rocking chair by the fireplace reading the paper, smoking a pipe, chattering with his friends, or playing with himself. He takes a lot of naps, and sometimes forgets to wake up for a long time, but that's okay. Home is always waiting for him, and if the survivors get gutsy and block off the doors, he's had plenty of practice at opening them back up.
