User:TripleU/Mold Man: Difference between revisions
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{{User:TripleU/Navigation|: The Radical Fundamentalist}}<br> | |||
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|'''Templates:''' | |||
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|{{No Escape}} | |||
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|{{BigBash3small}} | |||
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|{{BigBash4small}} | |||
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|{{Flagbox|#006|zombieHand.gif|Proud To Be Dead|This user is a [[zombie]] and proud of it.}} | |{{Flagbox|#006|zombieHand.gif|Proud To Be Dead|This user is a [[zombie]] and proud of it.}} | ||
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|{{BrainRot}} | |||
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{| cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" border="1" style="margin-left:0.5em" width=67% | {| cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" border="1" style="margin-left:0.5em" width=67% | ||
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! bgcolor="#555588" align=center colspan=2 | <font color=#bbccbb>Mold Man</font> | ! bgcolor="#555588" align=center colspan=2 | <font color=#bbccbb>Mold Man</font> | ||
|- | |- | ||
! bgcolor="#BBBBBB" align="center" | | ! bgcolor="#BBBBBB" align="center" | [[Image:Mold_Man.jpg|250px]] | ||
| | | | ||
{|- | {|- | ||
| '''Joined:''' | | '''Joined:''' | ||
| 2009-03-26 | | 2009-03-26 (Third Character) | ||
|- | |- | ||
| '''Character class:''' | | '''Character class:''' | ||
| Line 21: | Line 27: | ||
|- | |- | ||
| '''Favorite equipment:''' | | '''Favorite equipment:''' | ||
| | | Claws | ||
|- | |- | ||
| '''Current status:''' | | '''Current status:''' | ||
| Rotten | | Rotten | ||
|- | |||
| '''Group:''' | |||
| [[No Escape]] | |||
|- | |||
| '''Location:''' | |||
| [[Malton]] | |||
|- | |- | ||
|} | |} | ||
|} | |} | ||
<center>''A small droplet of slime splashes on the top of her head.<br>She looks up.<br>A huge brown, oozing, moving, bubbling, slithering shape is clinging to the ceiling of the basement. Sticky goo and ooze is falling in droplets off it’s hideous, moldy body and forming puddles on the floor. It’s face resembles a human and it’s evil eyes bubble and shift, staring angrily at her. The thing forms a sort of mouth and it opens it wide, leering at her. Suddenly, slimy tentacles of ooze reach out to grab her.<br>The mother screams and races up the basement stairs. The sticky thing on the ceiling oozes towards the door, trying to get there before her. She grabs her young son as she runs and just about makes it to the door as the thing is flowing down the wall like slime to cut off her exit.<br>She slams the basement door shut and locks it. Her son is still chanting, 'The Sticky Man is here, the Sticky Man is here.' She backs away from the door, her son still clutched tightly in her arms. She sees the ooze pushing it’s way under the door. The door is creaking, straining at it’s hinges as a huge force behind it tries to push it down.''</center> | |||
<br> | |||
From what he remembers, he had a family once. He's not sure how many members it had, but he does know this. When the outbreak first began, his household was attacked by the dead. His family was killed, and he was forced to flee. He headed North, hoping to escape the city before a proper border could be erected, however, he encountered a massive horde of zombies while passing through the zoo. He dove into the nearest bank, sealing the vault with him inside. He had considerable rations, enough to last for months, and he probably would have been able to survive where he was. But, in an odd twist of fate, he choked to death on a slice of lemon pie. | |||
Eventually, the vault's climate control failed, allowing rot and mold to spread throughout it, and he was completely encased. He lay there. Months went by. Then years. But something was happening. The bank had been expecting to be robbed shortly after the outbreak, and all of it's money had been tagged with radiation, so they could track down who spent it afterwords. While there was only a low amount of radiation, the vault was filled with the marked bills. After almost four years of exposure, The mass of mold and rotten corpse began to mutate. The brain began to function again, yet the body was crippled. Gradually the brain gained the ability to communicate with the mold. The brain could command the mold, coordinate all of the individual hyphae, stretch them and bend them all in unison. | |||
His new found body could move. And it did. It formed a blob in the center of the room. It looked around with its less damaged eye. The room was dark, moist. It was good. But something was missing. Food. The mold had consumed his rations long ago, part of what allowed it to thrive. Now there was nothing left to feed the brain. | |||
The brain commanded the mold. It formed a humanoid figure. It was stiff, and somewhat slow, but it was familiar. It slammed against the vault door. Weakened by years of decay, large cracks formed across it. The man made of mold slammed once more against the door. It collapsed, and he stumbled into the bank. The eye saw more rations. The brain was happy. The mold lurched towards the nearest chunk. At first it remained still, but as the Mold-Man grabbed it, it suddenly started to squirm, almost escaping his grip. The Mold Man saw orifices in the ration, and flooded them with it's Mold-Appendages. The ration soon was still, and Mold Man began digesting it. It was good. Mold Man was happy. Soon he wanted to eat more of the rations. And he has done so, and continues to do so to this day. | |||
Latest revision as of 05:48, 9 July 2013
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She looks up.
A huge brown, oozing, moving, bubbling, slithering shape is clinging to the ceiling of the basement. Sticky goo and ooze is falling in droplets off it’s hideous, moldy body and forming puddles on the floor. It’s face resembles a human and it’s evil eyes bubble and shift, staring angrily at her. The thing forms a sort of mouth and it opens it wide, leering at her. Suddenly, slimy tentacles of ooze reach out to grab her.
The mother screams and races up the basement stairs. The sticky thing on the ceiling oozes towards the door, trying to get there before her. She grabs her young son as she runs and just about makes it to the door as the thing is flowing down the wall like slime to cut off her exit.
She slams the basement door shut and locks it. Her son is still chanting, 'The Sticky Man is here, the Sticky Man is here.' She backs away from the door, her son still clutched tightly in her arms. She sees the ooze pushing it’s way under the door. The door is creaking, straining at it’s hinges as a huge force behind it tries to push it down.
From what he remembers, he had a family once. He's not sure how many members it had, but he does know this. When the outbreak first began, his household was attacked by the dead. His family was killed, and he was forced to flee. He headed North, hoping to escape the city before a proper border could be erected, however, he encountered a massive horde of zombies while passing through the zoo. He dove into the nearest bank, sealing the vault with him inside. He had considerable rations, enough to last for months, and he probably would have been able to survive where he was. But, in an odd twist of fate, he choked to death on a slice of lemon pie.
Eventually, the vault's climate control failed, allowing rot and mold to spread throughout it, and he was completely encased. He lay there. Months went by. Then years. But something was happening. The bank had been expecting to be robbed shortly after the outbreak, and all of it's money had been tagged with radiation, so they could track down who spent it afterwords. While there was only a low amount of radiation, the vault was filled with the marked bills. After almost four years of exposure, The mass of mold and rotten corpse began to mutate. The brain began to function again, yet the body was crippled. Gradually the brain gained the ability to communicate with the mold. The brain could command the mold, coordinate all of the individual hyphae, stretch them and bend them all in unison.
His new found body could move. And it did. It formed a blob in the center of the room. It looked around with its less damaged eye. The room was dark, moist. It was good. But something was missing. Food. The mold had consumed his rations long ago, part of what allowed it to thrive. Now there was nothing left to feed the brain.
The brain commanded the mold. It formed a humanoid figure. It was stiff, and somewhat slow, but it was familiar. It slammed against the vault door. Weakened by years of decay, large cracks formed across it. The man made of mold slammed once more against the door. It collapsed, and he stumbled into the bank. The eye saw more rations. The brain was happy. The mold lurched towards the nearest chunk. At first it remained still, but as the Mold-Man grabbed it, it suddenly started to squirm, almost escaping his grip. The Mold Man saw orifices in the ration, and flooded them with it's Mold-Appendages. The ration soon was still, and Mold Man began digesting it. It was good. Mold Man was happy. Soon he wanted to eat more of the rations. And he has done so, and continues to do so to this day.
