The skeletons of countless skyscrapers towered over the rubble of a long-lost civilization, now serving only as shade for the monsters that now prowled its littered streets. Well, them and the select few who hunt them.
A small group of resilient and resourceful humans, likely with backstories soaked in blood, compromise and loss (as well as a few other symbolic fluids), warily made their way through this ancient labyrinth.
“I’m… not so sure about this…” came the meek, uncertain voice of the smaller human trailing in the middle of the pack, its reflective mask appearing almost fluid as it caught what little light traced through the decaying ruins. Her frame was clearly feminine--but significantly less revealing than the one worn by her superior. “Shut the hell up, Joan.” < this is her speaking > “We’ve nearly cleared this entire area already. If we do run into trouble, just step back and let us handle it.”
“Okay, Ms. Hail.” Joan replied before falling silent and nodding obediently, pretending not to notice the other hunters’ eyerolls and snide comments. “That said, we might be in for a big one… I haven’t seen any animals in a couple of hours.” lazily continued the one known as Ms. Hail, once again scanning the area unsuccessfully for any signs of life. “Then again, this particular area doesn’t have much grass or vegetation for them to eat, so… it isn’t necessarily because of a zombie.”
The group passively nodded in agreement, clearly unconcerned with the barrenness of this area. All except Joan, of course, who tightly gripped the disproportionately large wrench-like weapon in her hand and walked a bit closer to Ms. Hail.
Block after block of lifeless structures slowly passed, their hollowed interior yielding no signs of any potential threat. It seemed eerily peaceful, actually, which was something Joan hadn’t anticipated for her first trip outside of the settlement. As minutes turned to hours, even the more experienced hunters became a bit unsettled, though no one spoke their concerns.
Until…
“GAD DURNIT!” abruptly shouted the older man bringing up the rear, breaking the tension and causing a couple of the other hunters to jump or curse under their breath from the unexpected noise, “DER HALE IS ALLOVTHA FUHKIN ZAWMBIES!?”
“Jesus, Whitman, what the hell is wrong with you!?” Ms. Hail shouted, turning towards the source of the senile inquiry, “Can’t you just never talk? Like, ever again?”
“AH YEUSTA FAIHT ZAWMB-” “Whitman! We’re five goddamn feet away, just talk normally!” The continued rambling was interrupted by a younger man, looking to be in his early thirties. His uniform was much more modern than Whitman’s (which mostly just meant “tighter”), but the intimidating black spear resting on his shoulder was clearly an heirloom from the Pyroman Era (2157 - 2180, started when a hunter--named Steve--who called himself “Pyroman” set ten zombies on fire at once and ended when humans found that, while setting zombies on fire was fun… it’s not very effective).
In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Zombies carry a parasitic technology called the Bugborg. This little miracle worker, while deteriorative to everything that makes humans “human”, is capable of rapidly regenerating and optimizing muscles, bones, organs and even blood while simultaneously destroying/digesting harmful foreign material or organisms. Naturally, they all require a “manager” (or “host”)--which is implanted in the brain--and if this is destroyed, the Bugborg become stagnant.
Because of how the Bugborg function, zombies become hyper-aggressive--even towards each other, and will effectively tear apart any person, creature or image of popular celebrities they come across. However, they are unable to reproduce, since being a zombie requires a Bugborg brain implant, making their population finite.
“Faihn, ah’ll speek at uh toan yer lil dan-dee-laihn eers can heer!” continued Whitman sarcastically, “Wen ah wuz yer ages, ah ain’t spend no time not wastin’ mah lahf awn no Englishes er Maths. Ah’uz out huntnin’ them der zawmbie wit muh bois! Zer’uz me, John Phillip, Bucky Ireland, Alex--but ev’r one jus called ‘im Dumbass cuz...”
Thirty minutes. For half an hour, Whitman prattled on about the 2160s, but before he was able to conclude this riveting tale, he was interrupted by the young man once again: “What’s that smell?”
“Ah dunno, ah ain’t smell nuthin’ since 2189 wen Jimmy (but ah called ‘im “stinky”) stuhk uh curlin’ iron in muh-” “I smell it too.” interjected Ms. Hail, holding up a hand to silence Whitman. The old man grumbled to himself about youngsters taking over the world, but decided to comply anyway.
The group came to a stop, then started looking around for the source. While faint, the repugnant stench was undoubtedly something most hunters were very familiar with: decay. If they were lucky, this smell would belong to animals, or zombies that were killed by humans. The latter, however, was unlikely since any competent hunter knows you have to place the zombie corpse in a bin and burn it to collect the Bugborg from it. If you don’t, then a nearby zombie’s host might connect to and adopt more Bugborg into its system. In small amounts, this doesn’t really make a difference, but in larger amounts… it can result in an evolution to a much more dangerous kind of zombie.
Physiologically, your average zombie looks… normal. Actually, they can even be very attractive, since they are always at the peak of their potential health--but if you connect too many Bugborg to one host, it can result in an overdevelopment or even a complete restructuring of certain features. Typically, since they are aggressive beings, this means they become exponentially more dangerous. However, it can also result in fairly harmless or stupid evolutions (like one Whitman encountered in his youth and often talked about, which could dig really well… but not at an unbelievable rate, so it wound up just putting itself in a hole, making it very easy for the hunters to kill).
However, it is more common to find overdeveloped zombies with large builds or curved legs that allow it to sprint at stunning speeds.
Fortunately for hunters, most of these zombies have only one attack style: reckless and direct. Zombies don’t go around obstacles, they just try to go through them, so walls with spikes are usually very effective for passive defenses. Of course, chances of those spikes penetrating the host in the zombies’ brains are very slim, so these “defenses” usually act more as traps.
“Over there.” After several minutes of silence, the young man calmly directed the group’s attention by pointing towards a trail of dark, dried gore leading around a nearby corner. “Looks like some kind of struggle took place… probably a family of deer.” Ms. Hail pointed out, gesturing both to the numerous piles of organs, some barely covered by a ruined hide.
“Probably a zombie.” the young man stated neutrally. Ms. Hail rolled her eyes and looked back at him, clearly unimpressed with his analysis, “Clyde.”
The young man, named Clyde, locked eyes with his superior, clearly confused, “Hm?”. Ms. Hail rolled her eyes again, making sure he saw this time, “Remind me, what was your major in college?”
Clyde’s confused expression became more pronounced, “Blacksmithing.”
Ms. Hail rubbed her temples in an exaggerated attempt to alleviate her headache, “...and your minor?”
“Batteries.”
“And your favorite book?”
“I… don’t really have time to read.”
“Your favorite television series?”
“Oh! Surprise Suplex! It’s a reality show about these big sailor dudes who-”
“Okay… okay, now…” Ms. Hail walked over to Clyde, placing one hand on his shoulder and adopting an insincere look of concern, “So… let me just profile you really quick. You are, in fact, a twenty-seven year old man whose chosen specialty is beating metal with… other metals.”
Clyde nods, still visibly confused.
“You chose this, even though we have machines… that build other machines… which can mold metals so precisely that no human could tell the difference between each item it produces.” the hostility in her voice surfaced for a moment near the end of her sentence, causing Clyde to cross his arms defensively.
“Yeah, well… what if we get stranded out here and lose our weapo-”
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“-and stumble across a working forge in a broken down city in a dead world which used to be so advanced that only a small group of geniuses really understood their own specialized application of technologies that managed every aspect of… everything. And this is where you would spend countless hours without proper protection, crafting weapons that likely couldn’t even penetrate a zombie’s skin.”
“Well… but-”
“And your fallback was learning about the history, development and design of a device that has existed for over four hundred years, and is also made by machines.”
“Y-yeah. So what? I have a good job.”
“Yeah, you do. A job that is more relevant to your favorite television series--a 2080s reality show that was cancelled after a dozen seasons and a producer’s dozen of broken necks live on the air--than your education.” Ms. Hail turned and immediately began walking away, continuing to rant and rave at the thoroughly demeaned young man who mumbled angrily to himself as he followed.
Joan stuck to the back of the group, unable to relax as much as the other hunters considering the looming threat of an attack that likely awaited them at the end of this literal blood-marked path.
“It makes me wonder: who gave this man a job as a hunter?” Ms. Hail continued, flailing her arms comically for effect, “Who looked at this man’s useless credentials and thought ‘you know what? We should give this man a pointy stick and send him out to poke the monsters that threaten our society.’, because… well, I could really use an easy promotion, and with a bit of persuasion, I bet he’d agree.” Ms. Hail continued like this for several minutes as they followed the trail, the subject rapidly increasing in gratuitous sexual detail--accompanied by visuals in the form of hand gestures.
“...before finally grabbing the horny bastard by his nipple piercings and fucking his newly extend...ed…” Ms. Hail froze after rounding one last corner and just stared. Curious, the others in the group caught up, rounding the corner just to lay their eyes on the largest pile of human corpses any of them had ever seen. Well, I say human, but considering how all of them clearly had their heads caved in, they were likely zombies.
“Der Hale…?” Whitman said what everyone was thinking. A brief silence, then Joan’s voice was the next to break the silence… though all she could let out were a few terrified squeaks.
“We have to burn these. Now.” Ms. Hail looked over at Clyde, who nodded in response… then turned back to face the mountain of dead zomb-”NOW, CLYDE!” the commanding officer shouted the command, snapping the young man out of his daze and back into reality.
Clyde brought the spear down and pointed it threateningly at the pile of mangled flesh, its surface already beginning to glow its trademarked shade: Radiance Red. The air churned and rushed away in response to the change in temperature. The moisture that had built up on its handle from the damp environment instantly turned to steam and twisted, matching the movement of the surrounding air.
“Clyde, I swear to God, if you say-” “FLAME-RUPTION!” Clyde’s announcement of his special attack cut Ms. Hail off mid-sentence.
Then, with a flash of light and an intense burst of heat, a concentrated flame erupted from the tip of the spear and plunged into its target--which promptly exploded into a rain of flesh (and probably disease). The squad did their best to dodge the chunks while Ms. Hail activated her suit, which rapidly grew from its previous revealing style to one that covered her entire body mere moments before she was doused in rotten blood.
A few seconds of chaos ended with a penetrating silence, broken only by the occasional wet flopping of organs as they fell off of… everything. Clyde, who had shielded himself with a wall of flame and was relatively clean. However, it could not protect him from the three sets of glaring eyes from three very dirty, very angry hunters.
“Cly-” Ms. Hail began, but was interrupted by a deep, guttural scream from what remained of Mount Corpse. A loud, deafening, almost desperate scream, followed by another and then another--all seeming to come from the same source.
The three more experienced hunters turned and scanned in the general direction of the screaming, searching for the source. Joan took her position cowering behind them, shyly peaking around Ms. Hail to see what’s going on.
“It sounds like a big one… be careful.” All emotion drained from Ms. Hail’s voice as she pulled a small device from a pouch strapped to her waist and held it up cautiously. It was a simple laser-gun; smooth, white and precise, a skilled user can do a lot of critical damage to any threat with a few well-placed shots. However, Ms. Hail didn’t assume command of this group for combat skills alone. It was clear from the various odd protrusions and audible whirring that Ms. Hail was a master engineer who was capable of modifying weapons.
Why a master? Because anything less than a master would probably get themselves killed messing with weaponized lasers, and definitely wouldn’t be successful in improving it.
The pile stirred, catching everyone’s eye. Clyde’s spear was already prepared, as was his tongue, for his next attack--and for some reason, Whitman was simply clenching his fists in anticipation.
“Whitman, hold back. Don’t do anything unless we miss our target.” Ms Hail commanded, never taking her eyes off the pile, which continued to shift and scream. “And Joan,” she continued, “stay out of this one. If things go wrong, I want you to run, okay?”
“O-okay.” came her shaky response.
Its eyes appeared for barely a moment, peering through a deceased zombie torso and staring directly at the small group… then it erupted into an immediate sprint, it’s nine-foot burly frame blowing away any corpses in its path as it charged haphazardly towards them with an almost gleeful look on its face.
“FLAME-URDERER!”
With a resounding shout, Clyde swung his spear diagonally and down, seemingly flinging a blade of fire at their enemy. The attack struck the dead center of the massive zombie’s chest, and even succeeded in severing iit from the right shoulder to the left waist as well as setting it on fire. However, it was quickly put out by the blood pouring from the wound, and did not stop the creature from using its one remaining arm to continue dragging itself closer.
Already, they could see the Bugborg at work slowly regrowing its lost limbs. However, Ms. Hail didn’t waste a moment in stepping forward and firing a single, bright-orange bolt into its skull.
The zombie fell limp. An underwhelming, but very relieving end to a fairly dangerous situation. Had there been more than one, that could’ve ended very poorly.
“I kind of expected more, honestly.” Clyde stated while he, Whitman and Ms. Hail walked forward to inspect the body, “I mean, how many times have you met a zombie that’s killed this many of its own kind? Much less one that stashes its victims… I’m happy, I just expected more.”
Ms. Hail’s serious expression still hadn’t relaxed. As unfortunate as it may be, Clyde was on to something, even if he didn’t realize it. After a few seconds of thought, she shrugged it off and looked back down at the monstrous naked corpse in front of her.
“Hm…” Clyde stared down at the zombie thoughtfully, “I guess I’ll burn it. FLA-” the commanding officer interrupted his unnecessary incantation with an irritated smack, “Do that again, and I’ll popsicle you with that thing.”
“U-um guys?” Joan’s voice was barely loud enough to reach their ears, but not loud enough for them to care.
“Mumble mumble terlet mumble wawshin musheen.” Whitman grumbled incoherently to himself.
“You’d have to get it from me first!” Clyde retorted.
“Yeah, good job, you figured out what I’d do first.” Ms. Hail teased.
“U-um… Ms. Hail?”
“Mumble witchcraft mumble non-fungible tokens mumble mumble.”
“No, wait, you couldn’t take it from me. You can’t.”
“Yeah? I’m your commanding officer, hand over the stick and drop your pants, then submit a disciplinary popsicling.”
“Mumble mumble confusing context mumble.”
“There’s another one!” Joan shouted, pointing out to the area behind them where, sure enough, there stood a naked man who looked to be in his early 20s, drenched in blood but seemingly uninjured. The other three were almost amused, “Joan, it’s okay, that one’s nothing, you could easily handle it on your own.” Ms. Hail comforted, ignoring the irate young man next to her trying (unsuccessfully) to think of a way to outwit his opponent, “Just remember to go straight for the head, and roll if it gets too close. It’s good practice.”
“N-no, I…” Joan tried to protest, but she had already lost their attention. The zombie itself isn’t what concerned her most… then again, she was probably overthinking it.
The young(ish) girl slowly turned to face her opponent, lifting a large blue wrench-like object (shaped like a long, narrow plumber’s wrench) with a bit of a struggle before clicking the little button on the side. The surface began to glow, starting from the tip, where the faint whir of machinery could be heard. The zombie started moving forward--it started… walking? Admittedly, it was at a fairly rapid pace, but this movement was very different from the one she was trained to deal with. Like a zombie, it’s stride was uneven and stance was a little awkward--almost like an animal that had just learned to walk.
Could this be a person?
Joan considered the possibility. However unlikely, she wouldn’t want to accidentally kill someone who was just looking for help.
“He-hello!?” She shouted, correcting her voice after it slid a little off-key. The mysterious person stopped and stared at her, now no more than two hundred feet away--so close that she could even start to make out some of his features. His head cocked to the side slightly as if confused.
“H-hello!? Can you understand me!?” Joan tried again, but the mysterious man still didn’t seem to understand. He did, however, start walking forward, this time a bit slower. Maybe he doesn’t speak English.
“Uh… hola! Um... S-Spanish!? Do you spe--ah… Espanol? Es.. E…”
Still no reaction.
“Par… lay voodoo France!? El… la… le français? No?”
Joan tightened her grip on the wrench and took a step back, starting to become unnerved at how close the stranger is getting.
“Joan!?!? Why the fuck are you shouting in French!?”
Ms. Hail shouted, breaking Joan’s focus and causing her to instinctively look back at her superior.
All three sets of eyes grew incredibly wide in a moment, but the first to react was Whitman, who kicked off the ground and propelled himself past Joan at an incredible speed. Only when he passed her did she briefly glimpse the rockets extending from his back, propelling him head-first into the mysterious stranger, whose chest implodes, then explodes out his back before sending him tumbling across the ruined landscape and face-first into a wall.
“Joan!” Ms. Hail ran up to Joan, her face twisted with worry and confusion, “Are you alright? What was that?”
Joan blinked, her mind trying to process the rapid series of events before responding, “I-I was just-he… he was walking. I thought he might be a person.”
Ms. Hail breathed a knowing sigh and rubbed the top of Joan’s helmet, “You can’t trust people out here either. Remember, your first priority is keeping yourself safe.”
“Sehkund iz keepin yer teem safe!” announced Whitman, who was attempting to wipe the blood off his head with a fistful of leaves he picked, “That’s wah ye c’n NEV’R t’rn yer back awn uh-” a dull crunch followed by a loud pop interrupted his thought, “awn… uh…. hhhha.” The old man looked down to see a fist protruding from his chest. It was only there for a moment before receding and allowing him to fall over, revealing the mysterious stranger.
Ms. Hail, having the most experience, reacted almost immediately, firing off a few shots and tearing some big-ass holes in the stranger’s torso… which closed up and disappeared in barely a second. He started walking towards the commanding officer when she pointed her laser gun at his head and fired.
A sudden jerk pulled his head out of the way before Ms Hail had a chance to harm him, which was enough to leave her absolutely dumbfounded for the first time since Joan had met her (a few weeks earlier), “H-he… dodged?”
Seemingly unfazed, the stranger continued, walking right past Joan and Clyde as if they didn’t exist.
Clyde finally snapped back to reality, “FLAME-AELSTROM!”. In a flurry of emotion, he released a wide blast of flames that consumed the stranger entirely… until an arm covered in melted flesh reached out and punched him, causing his entire head to explode and shower the earth behind him.
With the flames gone, the stranger was once again visible. Joan watched in horror as his flesh pulled itself back together, enabling him to better pursue the now slowly fleeing Ms. Hail. The commanding officer looked over at her last remaining ally full of desperation, “RUN!”
Ms. Hail’s final shout struck Joan like a bucket of water, snapping the young hunter out of her shocked state. She obeyed, turning from the traumatic scene sprinting away as quickly as possible.