User:Muzzleface

History: Sarah Pomanari was nothing spectacular in the days before the outbreak. She was just one more tired and apathetic drone among many, a self styled artist who never produced anything worth a lick. She spent most of her time on the internet talking with various friends and favored acquaintances such as the straponistas whom she met through a particularly exciting Bikini Kill concert. Sarah was liked by most people but for the most part unnoticed. This suited her fine though she did often wish for something more, something that would set her apart from the rest of the crowd. Sarah wanted to be special and, though she rarely spoke about it, she wanted her name to be remembered. She wanted the world to keep on talking about her long after she died.

When the zombies first rose and all of Malton seemed to be in a panic Sarah kept her cool surprisingly well. It turns out that she had been watching far too many zombie movies in her free time and was actually one of those creepshows who read the Zombie Survival Guide like a bible. She was well prepared and had even fashioned a suit of armor that she considered to be mostly zombie proof, consisting of a neoprene wetsuit that had been reinforced with heavy rawhide and scrap metal plating as well as multiple layers of duct tape in certain key areas. Shortly after the outbreak began Sarah stepped out into the streets with an aluminum bat she had lovingly named Slick and went to town on the walking dead, hoping that an aggressive assault early one would diminish the steadily growing numbers of the horde. She was doing quite well all things considered, and caved in the skulls of more than a few walking stiffs. With single-minded determination she made her way through the gore stained streets, hoping to find her friends the straponistas amongst the living. That was until a particularly agile zombie grabbed hold of her long black ponytail and yanked her off her feet. It was the surprisingly severe blunt force trauma of her head meeting the concrete curb that killed her. For several days she laid in the gutter until finally she summoned the strength necessary to rise, and the hunger required for murder.

Fortunately for the living, Sarah had not been unrealistic about the dangers of hunting zombies and had expected to join their numbers eventually. Using some basic metal working skills she fashioned a durable muzzle for herself out of iron rebar and chicken wire, which she then affixed to her face using heavy and durable latigo leather straps. The thought behind this decision was simple enough: If she became a zombie the muzzle would prevent her from eating and further infecting other survivors. Unfortunately far too many survivors witnessed her hungrilly pressing the still warm flesh of survivors through the homemade muzzle, licking at the blood and small bits of pulped gore that became stuck in its vise, to really stop and think about the generous and well-intentioned thought behind the contraption. Instead they named her Muzzleface [1] and word spread quickly to the other straponistas that she was stalking the streets, perhaps still pursuing her old friends with the same single-minded determination she began with.

Recently: Muzzleface had shambled her way slowly to Hildebrand Mall and had spent several nights banging her hands against the barricades. She could smell the familiar scent of Private Jane Holden and Mary MacDonough inside the mall and she could not turn away. Her all-consuming hunger as well as her previous living attachment to her friends had drawn her to the mall and nothing would pull her away, absolutely nothing. Nothing except the moans of her fellows. It had been some time since she had eaten - damn this muzzle that had somehow found its way onto her face - and the sound drew her away from the mall and toward the north end of the suburb. Finally in the middle of the street she found in a survivor in a surprisingly clean white lab coat. He was surrounded by the fallen bodies of the walking dead, an easy meal that was just for her. With a low moan she moved forward until their faces nearly collided. She reached up for the collar of his coat but before her gore caked hands could stain its pristine white fabric he moved and a sharp burning pain pierced the back of her neck. The burning sensation filled her body and her strength began to live her. Muzzleface collapsed to the concrete and her vision slowly went dark.

When she awakened she looked down the street. She was surrounded by dead bodies and her aluminum baseball bat Slick was nowhere to be found. She stood up and rubbed her throbbing head. It felt like the worst hangover she had ever had in her life. Then she heard it, a low moaning coming from behind her. Muzzleface (that was her name ... right?) cocked her head to one side before realizing that she was the food. Thinking without thought she ran straight for the zombie and threw one good punch at his head. Somehow it managed to knock down the shambling corpse and she kept her stride, running straight for the nearest shelter. Why did her head hurt so much? Why did she feel so drawn to the walking dead even though they still inspired the same hunter instinct that she possessed when she first started stalking the streets to take them down? Finally she came across the Summer Building. Lights were on inside and it did not take much effort to climb over the barricade and get inside. There several other survivors were sleeping. Her head was pounding and every muscle in her body throbbed. She collapsed, sick to her stomach, and began to vomit. When she was done at last and looked down into the pool she began to vomit again. It contained blood and small pieces of undigested human teeth. What had happened to Malton, she wondered as she purged the body of the filth. It was not as she remembered it.