ENTRY TRYOUT WUT
Some formal investigation this chick is running.
Fifty zombies greet me on the way in, groaning and yelling for my brains and all that, and above it all? A screeching harpy in a loudspeaker blasting out the latest in starvation and torture. Lady, I'm real sad for your loss, but breeding zombies is not the most healthy way to cope. Especially when you do it so damn much that you recall too many souls and start messing up the underworld, and Koenma thinks, oh hey! I'll try to get Yuusuke in to check it out! He's not busy!
So here I am, in the great outdoors of Camp Fuck You Die, ready to reacquaint myself with poison ivy, campfires, undead squirrels, all those good old nostalgic traditions. Nevermind I'm also supposed to make sure the crazy director doesn't go cracking into the demon deparment... and find out just how she's making these zombies, and check out that shield and how it keeps everyone in. Oh, and help find whoever killed her dead loverboy, just in case she'll be a nice megalomaniac and let everyone go.
On my summer vacation. Fuck you, lady. Fuck you.
Nice name for a camp, though.
Oh well. I'm stuck, so I may as well settle until more info comes my way. This ain't as bad as the last investigation that brat Koenma sent me on. That one had cockroaches the size of my hand and they spit acid that made you their slaves. Yuch. And hey, some of the people here don't seem half-bad. I even heard there were shinigami here, but I don't see anyone that looks like Botan... doesn't hurt to ask around!
At least these zombies are total B-movie brand - one well-aimed blast at the nose and blam! they go down for at least five minutes before the bits start crawling back together. Good stuff. I don't know about that monster in the lake I saw on the way to the cabins, though... It reminds me of one of Kurama's... hair-seed... things. I asked this one guy in a uniform about what it was, and he started crying. Better steer clear for now.
...And I gotta give the place some cool points for giving all its walk-ins a gun, though I've got my own "shotgun," thanks. Not that I won't hang on to it. I'll probably give it to someone who needs it, but some of these happy campers have a few screws loose. Better scope it out before I go handing out something that can blow a hole in my face.
Fifty zombies greet me on the way in, groaning and yelling for my brains and all that, and above it all? A screeching harpy in a loudspeaker blasting out the latest in starvation and torture. Lady, I'm real sad for your loss, but breeding zombies is not the most healthy way to cope. Especially when you do it so damn much that you recall too many souls and start messing up the underworld, and Koenma thinks, oh hey! I'll try to get Yuusuke in to check it out! He's not busy!
So here I am, in the great outdoors of Camp Fuck You Die, ready to reacquaint myself with poison ivy, campfires, undead squirrels, all those good old nostalgic traditions. Nevermind I'm also supposed to make sure the crazy director doesn't go cracking into the demon deparment... and find out just how she's making these zombies, and check out that shield and how it keeps everyone in. Oh, and help find whoever killed her dead loverboy, just in case she'll be a nice megalomaniac and let everyone go.
On my summer vacation. Fuck you, lady. Fuck you.
Nice name for a camp, though.
Oh well. I'm stuck, so I may as well settle until more info comes my way. This ain't as bad as the last investigation that brat Koenma sent me on. That one had cockroaches the size of my hand and they spit acid that made you their slaves. Yuch. And hey, some of the people here don't seem half-bad. I even heard there were shinigami here, but I don't see anyone that looks like Botan... doesn't hurt to ask around!
At least these zombies are total B-movie brand - one well-aimed blast at the nose and blam! they go down for at least five minutes before the bits start crawling back together. Good stuff. I don't know about that monster in the lake I saw on the way to the cabins, though... It reminds me of one of Kurama's... hair-seed... things. I asked this one guy in a uniform about what it was, and he started crying. Better steer clear for now.
...And I gotta give the place some cool points for giving all its walk-ins a gun, though I've got my own "shotgun," thanks. Not that I won't hang on to it. I'll probably give it to someone who needs it, but some of these happy campers have a few screws loose. Better scope it out before I go handing out something that can blow a hole in my face.