User:RottenImbecile/RottenImbecile
| RottenImbecile | |||||||||||||||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| |||||||||||||||
Character Description
This zombie got the first taste of sweet flesh by eating some harman prankster who scribbled the words "Rotten Imbecile" onto the young zedlings clothings. Needless to say, he never was able to show this poor piece of art to his friends.
Journal
September 4th, 2008
He knew something went horribly wrong when he woke up with a buzzing headache and the pain of fire rushing through his veins. Something definitely was wrong. How did he even come to this place? His clothes were covered encrusted with blood and filth, leaving him surrounded with the smell of death and decay.
As he rose from the pile of lifeless bodies, he nearly stumbled across an arm sticking out of it. This... was... disgusting! To make things even worse, the taste resting on his tongue resembled that of a decomposed cat - not that he ever ate one, right? Right? He slowly passed by a shattered window and froze upon his reflection. His mouth and chin where covered in a dark, crusty flakes of what only could be dried blood.
Hell no...
His legs ceased to hold his weight, and he barely managed a landing on his hands, as his guts took a spin and he puked them out. No chance of denying it - he had been one of those undead creatures for quite some time, and appearently had attacked other humans, eating their flesh. This thought stirred up another seizure, until he felt like choking on his own puke.
The humming sound of a bullet missing him only by two or three inches was followed by the typical crack of an assault rifle in the distance. He prepared himself for a second one - which undoubtedly would hit him - as he heard something heavy falling right behind him. The creature almost had managed to reach him. Whoever the shooter was, he for sure saved him from being eaten while vomiting onto the street.
A distant movement caught his eye. Right upon the roof of a run-down police station knelt a dark figure, reloading its rifle. Could this be his salvation? Possible. But, considering the circumstances, that building might as well be the end of his miserable journey. It did not matter...
He arrived in front of the police station, banging against the door. Minutes later, he was close to give up, as he heard a voice inside:
"School's closed goddamnit! Move your sorry ass away from here, or I'll put a neat little hole right between your eyes!"
Soon, a second voice answered.
"Richard, let the man in. He's totally messed up, can't you see? Besides, we could use every help available. You know damn well that the zeds are gaining more and more ground these days."
"We're doin fuckin' well on our own..."
"I'm not going to discuss this. Let the man in. NOW."
"Fine. But he'd better not fuck with me..."
Apparently, some furniture got dragged away from the door, before a young man opened it.
"Better move your ass inside quick... Before I choose to put a bullet into it."
The confused, revived zedling stumbled inside the building, the doors being closed and rebarricaded behind him.
"Don't touch anything, or I'll chop your hands off."
"Richard, I told you to stop the bullying!"
An man in his sixties showed up at the top of the stairs, looking down at the angry young guy.
"We better change shifts. Go man the post. I'll take care of our visitor."
"Ah hell, whatever..."
As the young man climbed the stairs, the now-alive zedling noticed a patch on his left shoulder reading "DEM". A few seconds later, the sound of a slamming door could be heard upstairs.
"You have to excuse Richards behaviour. Unfortunately, we need all people we can get. By the way, I'm Martin. What's your name?"
"I... can't..."
Finally, the revived zedlings body revolved. Whether struck by the trauma of actually having eaten humans alive, or by some revivication side effect, it did'nt matter. The lights went off.
He woke up in a small, dark room. On a chair right next to the bed he was laying on, Martin sat looking at him.
"Hey Dan, back amongst the living?"
"Dan?"
"Yes, Dan. Dan Smith, that's what your driver's license is saying."
"You've searched my clothes?"
"Well, you pretty much are a stranger, right? And since you didn't remember anything, I thought I might look for some clues..."
Bang!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Yeah! All the zeds are going to HELL!"
Richard stood at the window, shooting at some target outside.
"How'd THAT feel, bastard? Huh? How'd THAT FEEL?! No balls for rotting corpses, you don't need 'em anymore, FUCKER!"
Martin rushed towards the young DEM member.
"Richard, what are you... Oh my god..."
Slowly, Dan stood up and took a look outside the window. His stomach took a jump once again. Richard, in some kind of mad violence spree, hat shot a zombie's foot, nearly severing it from the ankle. With the creatures now severely handicapped movement abilities, he had gone further pumping bullets inside its body, leaving holes all over it. The most disturbing hit, however, was a well aimed shot at the zombies genitals, which now where completely missing.
That was too much for Dan. Once again, his legs weakened. He barely managed to puke outside the window, before he once again went unconscious.
He woke up from Martin shaking his shoulders.
"Dan, we need your help. I know you're still weak, but we need every helping hand on the factory over there."
Dan looked towards the window, still shaken by the memories of Richards rampage. He shook his head.
"I can't..."
"Dan, please, you don't need to kill someone. We just need you to keep the barricades at a strong level..."
"I CAN'T!"
Dan screamed. Then he rolled over to the other side of the bed, moving into a fetal position.
"Alright then... maybe you still need some time. I'll be in the factory for some time, trying to keep the zombies outside. If you change your mind, you know where I am..."
Several hours later, Dan woke up from the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The door flew open, and Richard marched inside, covered in blood and with a mad grin on his face.
"Look what we have here... You goddamn coward. Hiding in OUR shelter, while we risk our lives for scumbags like you? YOU FUCKIN' TRAITOR!"
Richard pulled his gun and aimed it at Dan's head.
Gonna show you how we deal with scum like you..."
CRACK!
"What the-- Oh, fuckin' shit! Don't tell me those zeds just broke in. Gonna deal with you later, bastard. I've got some targets to practice on!"
Dan did not move while the mad DEM guy yelled at him. Nor did he move, as the man ran down the stairs and started shooting at the zombies that had managed to break into the hideout. And he also did not move, as - at some point - he suddenly heard Richards swearing change from plain outraged madness to severe pain.
"Yeah, motherfuckers!" - BANG! - "Take this, asshole!" - BANG! - "Fuck you, you piece of sh... Oh, no... LET GOOOAAAAAAAARRRGH!"
The sound of a body being ripped into peaces was followed by slow, but steady footsteps moving upstairs. Dan prepared for the inevitable end.
Several hours later, Martin opened the door to the small room. He had returned from an exhausting battle inside the factory, found the doors of the hideout smashed open and the remains of Richard right in front the stairs. Should he feel sad or relieved about this guy's death? Well, it didn't matter. He had to look for Dan, though.
"Dan?"
In the darkness, he could barely see the scared young man laying on the bed, coiled up in nearly the same fetal position as he was in when Martin left.
"Dan? Are you alright? Dan, get up, we need to move out of here, now!"
He almost violently shook the young man's shoulders. Finally, Dan moved, mumbling something in a low voice.
"What is it, Dan? You'll have to speak louder..."
In an attempt to better understand what the young man was saying, Martin brought his head next to Dans lips.
"GRAAAAGH!"
--RottenImbecile 16:56, 12 October 2008 (BST)
August 31st, 2008
And food he got. Plenty of it. Another two days it took him to reach the source of those irresistable sounds. Once there, he found a suburb in chaos. Whole groups of his brethren broke into houses where the prey hid in countless numbers. Screaming in panic, the were dragged onto the street, already bearing lethal wounds, and left outside to be torn apart and eaten. What a rich buffet he found. One of the nearly dead victims had been dragged and left right before him. That was an offer he'd not refuse. He grabbed the prey's head and smashed it to the ground to crack it open and reach for the delicious treat hiding inside. Exhausted from his long march, he fell asleep, right next to the group of elder zombies who let him participate in their feasting.
This day, however, had only been a small glimpse of things to come. The next day they broke into one of the houses where the prey hid when it was injured. The house was filled with food - far more then he and even the whole group could eat at once. The air filled with the smell of blood, as they fell into a rampage of tearing, ripping, feeding and devouring. And still - there was enough food left for the feral zombies roaming the streets. Finally, he felt strong enough to keep with the pace of his brethren while hunting. This, he now knew, was his calling.
--RottenImbecile 16:46, 1 September 2008 (BST)
August 28th, 2008
It had been two days now, and the still inexperienced zombie barely found something to eat. His first victim had been an easy one, but most of the prey he now encountered was too smart to get close enough for an attack. Once during his hunt, he senselessly banged on a closed door for hours, his frustration growing with every minute he didn't get into the building. He knew his prey hid behind that door. He could smell it. He even could hear it. Unfortunately, he didn't remember how to open doors anymore. He knew he'd once entered buildings using them. He knew that this was the way in.
In the midst of his mindless rage, he suddenly stopped. The callings of his brethren had changed. From a monotone noise in the background to several outbursts of anger, then rage, then triumph. And he could hear the prey yelling, too. Screams of surprise, of fear and agony flavored the midnight air. This was the place to go. There, he would find what he now was craving for.
--RottenImbecile 16:15, 1 September 2008 (BST)
August 26th, 2008
The mangled, lifeless body slumped onto the street, a frozen expression of surprise on its face. Standing above it was the zedling which just had risen for the first time, catching the prankster in the act of scribbling some words on the undead's clothing.
The creature felt satisfied. It was fed. But that feeling wouldn't last long, and with the first taste of human flesh came the hunger for more. Allover the city he could hear his brethren groan, calling for him to join them... Join them in their hunt for food.
--RottenImbecile 15:22, 1 September 2008 (BST)
|
Ridleybank Resistance Front |
| RottenImbecile is part of the glorious Ridleybank Resistance Front and has defended the homeland, conquered its enemies, and spread Barhah. |
 |
Hammer of Barhah! |
| This user crushes safehouses with the Hammer of Barhah! |
|
Proud To Be Dead |
| This user is a zombie and proud of it. |
|
Blot It Out! |
| RottenImbecile supports the Blood Smear Grafitti ability for zombies |
--RottenImbecile 21:17, 1 September 2008 (BST)
