User:Msinivek

AGGH ZOMBIES!

Who would have thought that a handsome, strapping colossus of a fire fighter should end up in a struggle against something far worse than the undead . . . the Urban Dead!

Msinivek is the only name I can remember, after the re-assignment. I don't know what I was called before. All I have left is my trusty fire-axe, a flack jacket from the trunk of the taxi that took me to this miserable existence, this dreadful abomination me and the rest of the survivors are sealed in.

Here I am, axe in hand, bloodlust in heart, vengeance in mind.

Condition Update! May 24 (real-time)

It has been 5 days now, wandering round the small suburb of Roftwood. I've managed to locate the Guiliford Avenue Fire Station where I was re-assigned. The place is in utter ruins, if I arrive long before the moon rises, I may get a metal frame to lay on. Sure beats the bloody pavement and is almost Eden compared to the mindless hordes of rotten flesh, vicious teeth, and scabrous fists.

ZOMBIES DIE

No matter how fast I hack a zombie to the ground, 3 more rise to replace the fallen. My axe is notched now with a dozen zombies. Luckily, the bastards haven't gotten around the sharp edge of my axe to bite a chunk of my flesh. I remain unscathed... for the time being.
While cleaning the streets of the walking filth, I decided to enter what remains of Eligius General Hospital–it actually "ain't so bad" as the old man sitting comfortably behind the barricaded ER receiving room put it. While touring some halls, I had a flash-back to life before Msinivek:
There is a dummy on the ground, a woman in a blue jacket and slacks is saying something to the handful of us watching. She leans over the dummy and places her lips around the dummy's and begins to blow. She then pretends to check a pulse before pumping on the chest of the dummy. This image quickly fades and swirls out of my mind as the old man stands over my unconscious form and dumps a bucket of water over my face. . .