User:Patrick MacManus

Patrick MacManus

Patrick MacManus Urbandead ID SWA RG Report Death Cultist Patrick MacManus History Player Killer Sandbox Talk South West Anarchists Patrick riots with the SWA. War Crimes: Mass Genocide Use of Illegal Weapons Serial Killer Crimes Against Humanity Targeting Neutral Parties Executing Wounded Soldiers Invading Massacres Coercion Kidnapping Treason against Humanity They said that in the earliest days of the outbreak many did what they could, even giving their lives, to stop the spread of infection by shutting down the underground railway. Building barricades, destroying structures, clogging the underground passage way in and out of Malton. One would be surprised what someone could do when motivated enough. Many have realized that I wasn't in Malton before or even during the quarantine. Many have heard of the railways, but not many have seen them, even less have made their way through them. I am one of the few who have. I worked my way through for days, only resting when it was necessary. Rebuilding the barricades put into place, climbing my way through the destroyed structures, all just to become a part of Malton's history. Many people looked to become famous before the quarantine, many of them just becoming infamous. I accepted the fact that infamous was going to be what I would be. For cutting down hopeful survivors is frowned upon. I wanted to see and hear my name as much as possible. Hear the fear in others voices while talking about me. I wanted to see fear in their eyes when they saw me. I wanted to know that hate and fear was the common feeling towards my actions. I worked my way through the railways, breaking down the barricades set up to keep people in and out, crawling through destroyed structures, even having to kill military posted in certain sections to keep people from more so escaping than getting into the city. I fought just as much to get into the city as I do inside of the walls. I have worked to kill many who have stood in my way, meddled in my business and fought against my work. My work will be known and feared not just across Malton but across the world. My work will be as well known as the Mona Lisa or the Bible. Many will talk about my work as if it was either something great or in a hushed whispered voice. None will deny my existence or that the fact that they know of me. They will know of my runed blade, my accuracy with a gun, and my devastation to the people of Malton. "Round one, I swear to God I do it for fun Just a dead man walking with a double barrel shotgun Ain't a single fucker left to fear See their lips moving but I don't want to hear." - Dying Breed by Five Finger Death Punch They watch the windows. They man lookout points. They maintain the barricades. They count down the night-time hours. They prime their weapons and ration their supplies and wait for the strike. It comes from behind. Go for the important ones first. The leader, the alpha male. Loud-mouthed egotistical tosser, thinks he's got a plan. Well, here's the plan. The shotgun that some poor blonde kid loaded for me just two hours back is emptied in seconds. Discard it, dead weight. Pistol shots scare the rest of them behind cover, and the big lad's gurgling blood. I watch for a few seconds, hovering over him, and laugh. I laugh at his pathetic beliefs, his structure and his rigmarole and his lust for glory, and I laugh. Then a heavy stomp ends it. Why? Not for the love of violence, or the feeling of playing God. No. Just for shits and giggles. Just because I can. Scream. Thhhhhht. Pant. Tudt. Splash. Groan. Drip. Drip. Drip. Pant. Drip pant drip drip dripdripdripdripdripdriptrickle. Sigh. I'm savouring the kill now, breathing in the acrid copper fumes of hot blood and bile. The knife handle is slick with the wet effluence of what used to be a life, and it slips, begrudgingly, from my hand, and I watch it fall. It makes a splash in the growing puddle beneath me, and I can't help but think of how Bret Easton Ellis might describe this scene, but then I tense up, fearful, at the sound of many footsteps. Maybe they'll actually get me this time, maybe they'll catch me and I'll find out the hard way how this feels from the other side. The noise rushes past below the window, and peering out, I see it's only the horde. Nothing I actually need to worry about, so I retrieve my weapon, and relief washes over me in an awesome wave. There is blood in the cinema seats tonight. There are only two people in the world who know exactly how it got there, me and him. I don't know why I did it, I stopped wondering why I do what I do a long time ago. I stopped wondering why the dead refuse to stay dead a long time ago. I look at the body. He was a healthy man, in good shape and rather strong. Why does it happen? I can cut anyone anywhere, and it doesn't matter. I have stabbed men in the chest, sliced the kidneys of women, even killed a child I saw wandering the streets, crying for fear. They all get back up. I watched that woman twitch as she bled to her death, and walk away. I watched that child, once screaming for its mother, now begin to scream for flesh. I didn't care, I just watched the blood flow and trickle down into the sewer. It is amusing. I made a mess of this man. I drag him to the top floor and throw him out. He falls and lands with a crack. He will get up in a few hours. Maybe I will be lucky enough to see it, maybe I won't. The cinema is well barricaded. The show going on outside is better than the one inside. The healthy human mind doesn't wake up in the morning thinking this is it's last day on Earth. But I think that's a luxury, not a curse. To know you're close to the end is a kind of freedom. Good time to take... inventory. Outgunned. Outnumbered. Out of my mind on a suicide mission, but the sands and rocks here stained with thousands of years of warfare... they will remember me for this. Because out of all my vast array of nightmares, this is the one I choose for myself. I go forward like a breath exhaled from the Earth. With vigor in my heart and one goal in sight: I will kill them.