User:Macampos

Right... for once I have some free time. What to write about?

Well, first off, I guess I'll start out of character: I have no idea how to work a wiki page, lol, so if this looks FuNkY, it's because I'm testing stuff out. Anyway... (In character now)

	Roleplaying Notice
	Notice: This User or Group enjoys the RPG aspect of MMORPGs, the category of games that Urban Dead falls into. As such, there is probably quite a bit of roleplaying and/or creative writing on this page and in said User/Group's in-game actions. In other words, if you think the difference between IC and OOC is "One has an 'I' and the other has two 'O's," buzz off.

	The Drama Llama is Watching You
	The Llama protects this page with an iron hoof; all who touch it shall be EATEN.... |}

This story is part of the Malton Chronicles. This story is fan-made, and is not officially part of any background history for Urban Dead.

While going around your fellow survivor's stuff (hoping not to be caught... many of them are rather trigger-happy) you find this journal underneath a load of pistols, shotgun shells, a wine bottle, and a few first-aid kits. Feeling that within these pages the survivor might be talking about past love-lifes, you begin to read it...

Journal

There was a date here, but it's been scratched out.

I was once a combat medic for a newly made (albeit secret) army division,known as the J.A.C (Junior Army Corps). Having (barely) survived junior boot camp, me and my comrades were sent on our first mission.... liquidating the threats in this city of Malton.

Sounded a hell of a lot easier than it really was.

First off, when we reached the city, the first thing that came to mind was this strange odor... it seemed to be rising from the city itself. Most of us didn't mind it... someone called "knobs" randomly... a few still sleeping from the two-hour trip.

Then, the gunshots came....

Bullets bounced off the hull of the transport chopper we were riding in, startling and awakening several members of our band. Guns drawn, everyone steadied themselves for whatever was about to happen.

Another problem: We constantly asked ourselves during the trip "Why were we only issued pistols?" Some of the younger ones were expecting some of the heavy weaponry... or at least some submachine guns, like the P90's that S.W.A.T teams get to play with. Me? Heh, I remember back then... I couldn't hit the broadside of a fricking semi I was so bad, lol...

I always worked better back then at healing people anyways. (that, and I DID want to escape having to go through the REAL boot camp, after all.)

Then, there was a sound... a breaking noise, if you will, like something exploding... the cling-clank of metal on metal. At first, no one noticed this, or took note of it... until the pilot in front asserted our fears:

"I've lost control, we're going down!"

Now, this part, I don't remember as well.... We weren't given helmets, so I guess... most of us got concussions. Even worse, HQ had only supplied me as the lone medic of our band. Joy.

What I do remember is blurry; Knocked from the coptor, those of us that were still moving searched around our surroundings. Quiet. Too quiet.

"AGHHGH!" *splurt*

Yep, too quiet.

Instantly, the other 5 surviving members of our band began firing at the noise... some THING was covering Private Bradley, liquid moving down his uniform. It was dark... couldn't see what it was. Idiotically, my comrades were so panicky that they actually shot Bradley at the same time as the interloper. Of course, I guess that goes for me too.... Couldn't even get my pistol out of it's holster.

Whatever it was, it got Bradley, and it began to lurch it's way towards us. The clicking noise of empty clips was heard next... that, and the sound of us screaming our heads off and running. Private Green was apparently the next target, and, finding a crowbar on the ground, he smashed the thing with it. Whatever it was, it was down... we went in for a closer look.

The corpse seemed to be mutilated....bits and pieces falling off at a mere touch. A pool of blood surrounded the thing, which looked almost human like.... but was too grotesque to be considered one.

Sergeant Davis, (the equivalent of being on the honor roll at school) being our assigned leader, took the initiative:

"Alright, let's look at our options. We're here, and it looks like we all... minus Bradley, made it in tact. This one was probably a rioter..."

"Or a mad blood cultist"

"Or a zombie."

The group looked at the one who had said this incredulously; Zombies. Right. We've all heard that one before....

"I'll take Private Ben's theory. No doubt this city has it's share of crazies... Only making our job a lot easier."

"Easier said than done, you mean. Look what that guy did to Bradley! He ******* bit him!"

"Enough of your language Private. Speaking of which, Private Mark, check on Private Bradley..."

I was already at Bradley's side as he said this, examining the neck wounds he had received. They were deep... blood was flowing freely from the holes... I shook my head slowly left to right, as I was sure Bradley was gone... and I didn't even know him that long...

What was interesting though, it looked like the cultist had torn off Private Bradley's skin... like he was eating him.

"Private Mark, is he going to make it?"

I was about to answer when Private Bradley suddenly moved.... his head stood up and faced me. I was shocked.... I didn't even feel his heartbeat. Of course, I screwed up on that many times during army medical school... kept forgetting where to feel them for their pulse...

I pushed him back down, telling him that he needed to remain still, or he'd lose more blood, and was about to bandage his wound when...

*CRUNCH*

Private Bradley's mouth came up and bit my hand, engulfing it entirely in his mouth. I yelled. It was then that I noticed that his eyes.... Bradley's I mean, were blank, grey, like that of a long-dead fish. He continued to chew harder on my wrist, and for a moment I was afraid he would break it off... if that didn't, then my swapping around, crazily trying to throw off his head from my hand would of.

After a pause of fear and curiosity from my teamates, the rest of the group finally intervened, two of them digging their hands in Bradley's mouth, wrenching his incisors from my wrist. I stumbled back, moving as away as possible as I could from Private Bradley. Meanwhile, the Sarge was giving Bradley a chewing out... as if it would somehow end his cannibalistic tendicies. Instead, Bradley stood up... the guys drew away from him as he did so... and, moving out his arms in front of him in true zombie fashion, he lurched towards Sergeant Davis.

Within seconds, he had the Sarge entangled in his grasp, and began to chew on him as well, aiming for the jugular. Muffled yells from the dying Sarge were heard as Bradley began ripping his neck to pieces. The rest of us, frozen in fear, stood (or sat) our ground, watching the horror.

Stopping for a moment, the creature that was once Bradley raised his head to the sky, uttering a loud growl of inhumane noise that I guess went for "dead-speech". Then, everything happened all at once:

People began appearing out of houses, one falling outside a third-story window, some from the streets, others from ally-ways, and a few from a nearby manhole. The surviving guys in my group, having reloaded, aimed their pistols at the newcomers:

"Alright, all of you hands down, and..."

"Uh, Private Bailey, shouldn't that be "Hands up"?"

"Yea, sure, whatever. Anyways, We're here for your protection, please stand down or be shot!"

The people, either being too deaf to hear what he had just said, or having not cared, raised their arms alright... in the same position Bradley had when he had attacked Sarge. He had finished him, in fact, and was heading towards us as well.

"Ahh... ****. FIRE!"

The group began firing at the oncoming horde. Even I managed to get out my pistol and helped... Alas, my marksmanship sucked.... only got one of the corpses' left leg.

"They're too many Bailey!"

"EVERYONE RUN FOR YO..ULK!"

Bailey screamed as three zombies overtook him, quickly and efficiently pulling him to the ground feasting on his flesh. Green began hitting the oncoming zombies with his crowbar, but, to his surprise, one of them stopped his makeshift weapon in thin air. And, after wrenching it from his hand, used the weapon against him.

Green went down, several zombies going down with him.

The group scattered in a feeeble attempt to escape, running mindlessly into the horde. The left over zombies, having not been content with my comrades, turned their cold, fish-ball eyes towards me. Un-able to think of an alternative, I ran in the opposite direction, carrying my first-aid-kit and half used pistol with me, brushing quickly past a newly ressurected Sergeant Davis.

And so I ran. Ran so far away, like in the song. Not looking back, I was only intent on getting as FAR AS POSSIBLE from the evil dead that had ravaged what remained of our company. Obviously, I was going to get tired.

I stopped near a red-bricked building, sitting against the wall, panting, and layed on the floor. What the hell was I going to do... nightmares from a video game came to life, and there was definitely no Jill Valentine or Chris Redfield here to save me either.

There was a monument, kinda shaped like the arches of Ancient Rome, in front of me. There was a curiously sprayed message on it;

YRC Clinic East

I stood up to get a better look at it, and noticed that there was writing on the building behind me as well, stating: Keep barricades at VS

"V...S?" I said, dumbly. What the heck did that mean? What barricades?

I went over to the other side of the building, and found an entrance, as well as an old firetruck, covered by wooden barricades that looked heavily scratched, clawed, and, in some places, bitten. With some pulling, I moved them away just enough for me to slip in.

To my surprise, there was a load of people also in the firestation... about twenty or so. At first, I thought they were corpses also... but on a closer look, I noticed that unlike the dead I had encountered earlier, these guys were pink... and peach, and any other bright color besides grey. Some had bandages covering them, most of them were sleeping in makeshift beds, and I noticed that many had some sort of weapon in their hands... from pipes, to crowbars, to pistols, one had a shotgun, and even an axe. And none of them suddenly stood up to try and eat me.

I had found humans. Living humans.

Luckily, I noticed a box of fire axes, brand new and stain free. In the coming days it would be worn from use and stained with the blood of many a zombie and human.

Later, I found out that this was none other than Faber Lane Firestation. From then on, I made that my home turf, helping the nearby group of scientists, military, and civilians known as the Abandoned (heh, fitting name for all of us) with controlling the district, which I came to know as Yagoton. It took a while before I decided to join them (which I'll write about some other day) and since then, I'd been keeping a journal... something I picked up in a warehouse, along with some wrist-bound radios that I had found in a warehouse earlier.

What I'm writing here is the new and improved version of how I got into this mess... I guess I forgot most of the stuff that happened from the numerous deaths I've received, lol. But that's news for another time. As of now, I'm in Caiger Mall WAS at Caiger Mall, doing an errand for the Abandoned. There are plenty of things that happened to me between the time I got to Yagoton and joining the Abandoned... but as said, those are stories for another time.

There, you happy Mr.Journal? I wrote in you for the first time in MONTHS! HAHAHAHAHA!

Note to self: Curb the evil laugh/talking to notebook in Journal thingy. I believe I may be going insane.

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Templates

	Christian
	This user is a Christian.

	Medic
	This user is a medic and is probably off healing the troops.

	Remember the 5th of November
	This user or group supports the vendetta against the undead of Ridleybank.

	STFU N00B
	This user recognizes the difference between a Newbie and a Noob.

	U can haz zambahbargar!
	Stuartbman has given Private Mark a zomburger for Just 99C on Sundays!

	KNIVESl
	Private Mark has a very sharp knife and will stab you.

	Viva la revolucion!
	This user/ group supports The Revolution

	Weapon of Choice
	This user's weapon of choice is his SHOTGUN.

	Abandoned Cell Leader
	Private Mark is the head of Charlie Cell

</noinclude>

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^^^^ This dude is part of the Abandoned, Protecting Yagoton, Millen Hills, and the Yagoton Revival Clinic AND blasting zombies since 2005

	respect for !zanbah
	This user will miss the Zombiefied Republic of !zanbah greatly and believes that their disbandment is the beginning of the end of UD.

	Witness To The Mistress
	This user has actually SEEN the self proclaimed mistress and threatened to shoot her if she didn't leave immediately!

	Pistol Ninja
	This user is a pistol ninja He shall bring headshots to barhah!.

	Tusken Raider
	WOOT SNORT ALLAH ACKBAR!!

	CR Whiners Suck
	Macampos considers zombies who "avenge"/complain about combat revives to be whiny hypocritical babies.

	Channel 4 News Team Affiliate
	This user or group entered Glorious Battle beside the Channel 4 News Team. There were horses and a man on fire and this user or group killed a guy with a trident. Afterward, we could barely lift our arms because we killed so many zombies. I don't know if you heard us counting. We killed over 1,000.

	WTFCENTAURS
	This user or group supports the vendetta against the stupid suggestions on the Suggestions Page. Everytime one of them is posted we will Spam it into oblivion. Victory will be ours, and with it, Pie!