the dead isn't the only thing that's rising in here [1/?]
anonymous
March 1 2010, 20:37:47 UTC
Warning: Some Dead Rising spoilers. Contents are extremely retarded. Please write another fill to counteract author's stupidity. “Hey, you mentioned something about research for a story, right?” the helicopter pilot called out, shouting to be heard over buffeting winds and whirling blades, his grin insatiable as he flew over a patch of small-town America.
“Yes,” Matthew Williams said normally, his soft answer snatched away before it reached the cockpit of the moving helicopter.
“What was that?! You got to speak up, lightweight, or no one’s ever going to bother listening to you, especially not the awesome me!”
Matthew’s eye twitched slightly as the retired air force pilot cackled gleefully. Even before he left the ground, Matthew regretted hiring Major Gilbert Beilschmidt. He may have been desperate to get to Willamette, Colorado as quickly as possible and the Major may be the best freelance pilot in the state, but was that really an excuse? His bank account was almost empty now … and Matthew’s head was still pounding from the drinking contest he had to join in order to get the Major to sign on with him.
Between the pilot and his Danish drinking buddy, Matthew had lost. Horribly.
Matthew tinkered with Kumataro (or was it Kumajiraiya? He could never remember what Kiku named his camera …) and sighed before he shored up his resolve. This was all going to be worth it. He had the skills, he had the talent, he had the experience of working with the top photojournalists in the business. All he needed now was to land a big story of his own and every serious political newspaper, magazine, and website in the country - no, the continent - no, the world! - was going to beg him to be on their staff.
“Yo, lightweight, aren’t you ever going to ans- Holy shit, what the hell is the military doing out here?!”
The camera was already zooming in and clicking away before the Major even finished his sentence. It was time to get to work.
[¬º-°]¬
Zombies.
Trigger-happy soldiers.
Crazy Russian guys on mall rooftops.
Zombies.
If - and at this point, it was a very big if - if Matthew ever got out of this town alive, he was going to kill Kiku.
The budding photojournalist thought that over as he descended the mall’s staircase. When he saw the mob of zombies trying to get in through the front doors, held back only by haphazardly placed furniture, Matthew quickly revised his statement.
First he was going to burn all his friend’s anime, manga, and porn for leading him to this job. As Kiku cried in front of the bonfire consuming his 2D fantasies, then Matthew would kill him.
Still, it wasn’t all bad. The leg injury he sustained from flinging himself off the helicopter and onto Willamette Parkview Mall’s helipad wasn’t as bad as he first thought it was. He had managed to save his briefcase from sliding to the ground when the military attacked the helicopter, so that was good luck. He had a ride home in three days and he’d found some people to interview and maybe even help out.
“Madonna? Where are you, Madonna?!” an elderly woman screamed hysterically, brushing past Matthew as if he wasn’t even there.
Matthew suppressed a sigh. Well, he would help if anyone actually noticed him. His almost supernatural ability to fade into the background was essential when he wanted to document a story. In practically every other situation, Matthew was immensely annoyed by it.
As the barricade against the undead wave seemed to be holding for the moment, Matthew seized the chance to get some shots. He took several wide-angle photographs of the zombies, trying not to shudder too much as it would ruin the focus. There were survivors of all ages and types, like the half-crazed middle-aged man with a baseball bat, an older couple that was constantly arguing, a beautiful woman with a large chest, a grumpy young man who walked with a cane, and a handsome man who was scribbling furiously … into his … notepad … ?
the dead isn't the only thing that's rising in here [2/?]
anonymous
March 1 2010, 20:40:46 UTC
Pausing, Matthew lowered his camera to stare at the blond man just shy of thirty. The man was completely absorbed in his writing, his glasses sliding precariously down his nose. His lean muscles were gigantic compared to Matthew’s scrawny frame. His outfit was a casual jeans-and-t-shirt combo, yet surprisingly free of any mustard or ketchup stains. He still wore that ridiculous bomber jacket, but he seemed to have finally filled it out.
The photojournalist stepped forward, unsure whether to be happy or horrified to find someone familiar here.
“Al …” Matthew shut his mouth. Did his voice just crack? Impossible. That was monumentally stupid, even for him. He tried again, attempting to project more confidence this time. “Alfred F. Jones, is that you?”
The man looked up. The wide grin that spread across his face oozed positive energy, enough that Matthew could feel himself relax, feel like everything was going to be alright.
“Mattie!” he shouted.
His hug was still the same.
[¬º-°]¬
Alfred was here for research, apparently. He was taking a road trip across the United States, the same way his latest characters would as they chased down a lost alien genius. But, he had been stranded here yesterday with everyone else when the zombies began to appear. He warned against going into the mall alone, as some of the survivors had been driven insane by the invasion.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to be watching your back and we’ll be fine! I might even make this my new book!”
It had been ten years since high school, but Matthew still knew his best friend and Alfred didn’t seem sure of anything at the moment. No matter how optimistic he sounded, they both knew they were in trouble.
“It’s amazing you’ve survived all those crazy assignments,” Alfred said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “My little Mattie’s all grown up!”
Matthew failed to stifle a snort. Why had they ever lost touch? “This is the craziest assignment yet, you know. How about after the helicopter picks us up, we go take a vacation together up in Canada? I have a cabin on the west coast there.”
His friend looked startled for a second, before he smiled. It wasn’t his usual 1000-watt grin. This smile made Alfred’s entire being calmer, his eyes gentler. Seeing a smile like that was something that made this whole disaster worthwhile.
“You sure about that? I distinctly remember driving you up the walls,” Alfred teased.
“Yes,” Matthew answered around the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m sure.”
He blamed his rapid heartbeat on the zombies breaking in a mere second later.
[¬º-°]¬
Between Matthew’s briefcase and the two-by-four Alfred picked up near a pile of discarded furniture, they managed to make it through the horde of zombies and to the staircases in front of the mall. The pair tried to save a few people, like the arguing couple and the man with bat, but they were caught and eaten before they could make it to salvation.
Even after hearing their tortured screams, Matthew knew Alfred wanted to save them anyway. Alfred was always the hero, the one who saved the day, who protected the weak against the abusive strong. That mentality was probably why his books sold so well. It was also the reason that they had met.
Catching Alfred’s eye, Matthew shook his head. They couldn’t go back. They couldn’t help them, not if they wanted to survive. Matthew could see something die inside Alfred because of it.
Matthew swung his briefcase viciously at a zombie’s head. No, there was nothing they could do for those people.
They both made it to the room Matthew had entered the mall from. After telling the man with the Cuban accent, the same man who had yelled at everyone to get to safety, that no one else was coming, he chewed his lit cigar slowly and ordered the janitor to seal the door behind them. Now the only way out was through the roof exit or the air ducts, which were currently being explored by the Cuban man.
the dead isn't the only thing that's rising in here [3/4]
anonymous
March 1 2010, 20:42:05 UTC
Matthew leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the ground, Alfred flopping down beside him. The only other survivor of the mall entrance fiasco was a woman named Bella and she told them the Cuban’s name was Brad (which was apparently all she was authorized to tell them). She was also oddly interested in the photos Matthew had taken, particularly the ones of the man with the cane. Matthew filed those facts and everything else that had happened today to think about later, too exhausted both physically and mentally to mull over them right now.
The janitor, who’s name was Otis, gave them some food and water he found in the mall’s staff room. Thanking him profusely, Alfred and Matthew ate their meal silently, trying to get past the horror they just experienced.
When the were done, Alfred reached into his jacket and pulled out two pistols. Matthew wasn’t surprised by this, considering his friend was a little gun-crazy, but he did raise an eyebrow when Alfred pulled out a magnum from his back waistline.
“Why didn’t you use these when we were … when we were being attacked?” Matthew asked.
“… All my spare ammo is in the parking lot with my car, surrounded by those … those undead bastards!” Alfred shrugged off his jacket and Matthew tried not to take note of his bare forearms or his very obvious six-pack. “The only gun shop in the mall is being guarded by its psychotic owner, so once I’m out, I’m out.” He hitched up his pants leg and removed a pea shooter. He also extracted a small kit from his seemingly infinite jacket and began to strip down and clean his weapons. Matthew had long ago realized that the methodical chore usually set Alfred at ease.
“So, I guess we’ll stick to melee weapons with guns as backup?”
“Exactly. Wood and metal last longer than bullets, unfortunately.” Alfred scrutinized his first clean pistol before offering it Matthew. “You remember how to use one of these?”
The photojournalist huffed as he took the gun. “Of course I do. I’ve covered wars, you know.” Matthew sent a sidelong glance at Alfred before he checked over the pistol and tucked it into his waistline. “And I had a good teacher.”
Alfred’s low chuckling as he tossed him two clips coincided with Matthew’s heart racing faster. He blamed it on the zombies shuffling beyond the sealed door.
[¬º-°]¬
Supplies. Weapons. Communications. Sane survivors. Clues as to how this all happened and what the hell was going on now.
This was what Matthew had to get, and quickly. He had three days before they and whoever they could save left Willamette behind. Three days to get his career-making story. Three days to survive.
Alfred was there, as he hadn’t been for the last decade. His best friend was in his element, wielding the katana he had found outside a coffee shop like it was an extension of himself. He was saving innocents, cutting down bad guys both living and undead, uncovering the threads of an evil conspiracy - this was what Alfred wrote and dreamed of, what he always wanted live.
the dead isn't the only thing that's rising in here [4/4]
anonymous
March 1 2010, 20:43:47 UTC
Matthew, on the other hand, had floundered a bit. His goal in life was to be an observer, to record important events and issues in history. He was the farthest thing from an action star or a dashing superhero and had been jealous (was still jealous) of the way Alfred could always easily fill the role.
However, Matthew was not completely useless. He was a decent shot when he needed to be, had become rather adept at swinging the hockey sticks he found at a sports store. His rudimentary skill in Japanese was critical in convincing two surviving tourists to leave their safe house and come with them (maybe Matthew would only maim Kiku now - after all, he was the one to teach him). While Alfred could sniff out a burger from a hundred feet, Matthew could pick apart any lie or half-truth, an invaluable skill to a journalist.
Which was why he had only lasted a day of denial and a night of interesting dreams before he gave up and admitted to himself that he wanted Alfred F. Jones. Not only as a friend and confidante, but as a lover.
Matthew wanted to die. Of all the times he could have picked to want his brains screwed out, he had to choose the time when he was literally wading through creatures that wanted to eat those delicious brains.
Not only was the timing horribly inconvenient, but so was the desired partner. Matthew was aware of his homosexuality, had known he was gay since he became an exchange student visiting the Netherlands and had a very awkward, late-night make-out session with the son of his sponsor family. The relationship had ended peaceably and he had returned home to become the butt of the jokes in school yet again. But what Matthew hadn’t known then was a new boy had moved to the area while he was gone and this boy hated bullies. Alfred protected him daily and had eventually become his best friend.
His very straight best friend, who was already gaining a reputation of being both a lady-killer and a playboy. Matthew had violently suppressed any physical attraction he had for Alfred and continued being friends with him, even coming out to him during their senior year.
Al was alright with it back then, Matthew remembered. He watched and pondered as Alfred cut a zombie in half, a clean, diagonal slice through the torso. Then, he sighed a little wistfully as Al turned back to give him a smirk and a wave before leaping back into the fray.
Beating a zombie down with his hockey stick, Matthew decided Alfred would not appreciate a kiss - or anything more - from him and that it was all for the best.
[¬º-°]¬
Al, Matthew thought as he was shoved against the bathroom wall and soundly frenched, is probably bi.
It was two days since they had met again. Two nights since the plot behind the zombie infestation began to unravel. The helicopter would be arriving tomorrow and they only had hours to sort everything out. They really had to concentrate, to leave, to fight … not lock the restroom door and fuck each other senseless.
Alfred ground his hips against his and Matthew gasped, breaking the kiss and finding himself unable to complain. They were breathing heavily, Alfred’s hands gripping fistfuls of Matthew’s shirt and Matthew’s fingers threaded between Alfred’s hair. They were close, inches apart, but in that moment, the distance was much too far.
“I thought you were straight,” Matthew said calmly. His hair was likely mussed and his cheeks flushed. There was no use hiding his attraction now.
“I thought you didn’t like me that way!” Alfred snapped back before leaning down to bite his neck. Matthew’s breath hitched and he let out the most embarrassing whimper. That only encouraged Alfred and there wasn’t really much to say after that, as too much noise would attract more zombies.
It was good thing that Alfred had snatched a bottle of lube from the pharmacy when Matthew wasn’t looking. Otherwise, it would have been much harder fight off the zombies that came when they did. Loudly.
OTL Okay, so I never finished the game and I can't write porn. At least there's cameos?
“Hey, you mentioned something about research for a story, right?” the helicopter pilot called out, shouting to be heard over buffeting winds and whirling blades, his grin insatiable as he flew over a patch of small-town America.
“Yes,” Matthew Williams said normally, his soft answer snatched away before it reached the cockpit of the moving helicopter.
“What was that?! You got to speak up, lightweight, or no one’s ever going to bother listening to you, especially not the awesome me!”
Matthew’s eye twitched slightly as the retired air force pilot cackled gleefully. Even before he left the ground, Matthew regretted hiring Major Gilbert Beilschmidt. He may have been desperate to get to Willamette, Colorado as quickly as possible and the Major may be the best freelance pilot in the state, but was that really an excuse? His bank account was almost empty now … and Matthew’s head was still pounding from the drinking contest he had to join in order to get the Major to sign on with him.
Between the pilot and his Danish drinking buddy, Matthew had lost. Horribly.
Matthew tinkered with Kumataro (or was it Kumajiraiya? He could never remember what Kiku named his camera …) and sighed before he shored up his resolve. This was all going to be worth it. He had the skills, he had the talent, he had the experience of working with the top photojournalists in the business. All he needed now was to land a big story of his own and every serious political newspaper, magazine, and website in the country - no, the continent - no, the world! - was going to beg him to be on their staff.
“Yo, lightweight, aren’t you ever going to ans- Holy shit, what the hell is the military doing out here?!”
The camera was already zooming in and clicking away before the Major even finished his sentence. It was time to get to work.
[¬º-°]¬
Zombies.
Trigger-happy soldiers.
Crazy Russian guys on mall rooftops.
Zombies.
If - and at this point, it was a very big if - if Matthew ever got out of this town alive, he was going to kill Kiku.
The budding photojournalist thought that over as he descended the mall’s staircase. When he saw the mob of zombies trying to get in through the front doors, held back only by haphazardly placed furniture, Matthew quickly revised his statement.
First he was going to burn all his friend’s anime, manga, and porn for leading him to this job. As Kiku cried in front of the bonfire consuming his 2D fantasies, then Matthew would kill him.
Still, it wasn’t all bad. The leg injury he sustained from flinging himself off the helicopter and onto Willamette Parkview Mall’s helipad wasn’t as bad as he first thought it was. He had managed to save his briefcase from sliding to the ground when the military attacked the helicopter, so that was good luck. He had a ride home in three days and he’d found some people to interview and maybe even help out.
“Madonna? Where are you, Madonna?!” an elderly woman screamed hysterically, brushing past Matthew as if he wasn’t even there.
Matthew suppressed a sigh. Well, he would help if anyone actually noticed him. His almost supernatural ability to fade into the background was essential when he wanted to document a story. In practically every other situation, Matthew was immensely annoyed by it.
As the barricade against the undead wave seemed to be holding for the moment, Matthew seized the chance to get some shots. He took several wide-angle photographs of the zombies, trying not to shudder too much as it would ruin the focus. There were survivors of all ages and types, like the half-crazed middle-aged man with a baseball bat, an older couple that was constantly arguing, a beautiful woman with a large chest, a grumpy young man who walked with a cane, and a handsome man who was scribbling furiously … into his … notepad … ?
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The photojournalist stepped forward, unsure whether to be happy or horrified to find someone familiar here.
“Al …” Matthew shut his mouth. Did his voice just crack? Impossible. That was monumentally stupid, even for him. He tried again, attempting to project more confidence this time. “Alfred F. Jones, is that you?”
The man looked up. The wide grin that spread across his face oozed positive energy, enough that Matthew could feel himself relax, feel like everything was going to be alright.
“Mattie!” he shouted.
His hug was still the same.
[¬º-°]¬
Alfred was here for research, apparently. He was taking a road trip across the United States, the same way his latest characters would as they chased down a lost alien genius. But, he had been stranded here yesterday with everyone else when the zombies began to appear. He warned against going into the mall alone, as some of the survivors had been driven insane by the invasion.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to be watching your back and we’ll be fine! I might even make this my new book!”
It had been ten years since high school, but Matthew still knew his best friend and Alfred didn’t seem sure of anything at the moment. No matter how optimistic he sounded, they both knew they were in trouble.
“It’s amazing you’ve survived all those crazy assignments,” Alfred said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “My little Mattie’s all grown up!”
Matthew failed to stifle a snort. Why had they ever lost touch? “This is the craziest assignment yet, you know. How about after the helicopter picks us up, we go take a vacation together up in Canada? I have a cabin on the west coast there.”
His friend looked startled for a second, before he smiled. It wasn’t his usual 1000-watt grin. This smile made Alfred’s entire being calmer, his eyes gentler. Seeing a smile like that was something that made this whole disaster worthwhile.
“You sure about that? I distinctly remember driving you up the walls,” Alfred teased.
“Yes,” Matthew answered around the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m sure.”
He blamed his rapid heartbeat on the zombies breaking in a mere second later.
[¬º-°]¬
Between Matthew’s briefcase and the two-by-four Alfred picked up near a pile of discarded furniture, they managed to make it through the horde of zombies and to the staircases in front of the mall. The pair tried to save a few people, like the arguing couple and the man with bat, but they were caught and eaten before they could make it to salvation.
Even after hearing their tortured screams, Matthew knew Alfred wanted to save them anyway. Alfred was always the hero, the one who saved the day, who protected the weak against the abusive strong. That mentality was probably why his books sold so well. It was also the reason that they had met.
Catching Alfred’s eye, Matthew shook his head. They couldn’t go back. They couldn’t help them, not if they wanted to survive. Matthew could see something die inside Alfred because of it.
Matthew swung his briefcase viciously at a zombie’s head. No, there was nothing they could do for those people.
They both made it to the room Matthew had entered the mall from. After telling the man with the Cuban accent, the same man who had yelled at everyone to get to safety, that no one else was coming, he chewed his lit cigar slowly and ordered the janitor to seal the door behind them. Now the only way out was through the roof exit or the air ducts, which were currently being explored by the Cuban man.
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The janitor, who’s name was Otis, gave them some food and water he found in the mall’s staff room. Thanking him profusely, Alfred and Matthew ate their meal silently, trying to get past the horror they just experienced.
When the were done, Alfred reached into his jacket and pulled out two pistols. Matthew wasn’t surprised by this, considering his friend was a little gun-crazy, but he did raise an eyebrow when Alfred pulled out a magnum from his back waistline.
“Why didn’t you use these when we were … when we were being attacked?” Matthew asked.
“… All my spare ammo is in the parking lot with my car, surrounded by those … those undead bastards!” Alfred shrugged off his jacket and Matthew tried not to take note of his bare forearms or his very obvious six-pack. “The only gun shop in the mall is being guarded by its psychotic owner, so once I’m out, I’m out.” He hitched up his pants leg and removed a pea shooter. He also extracted a small kit from his seemingly infinite jacket and began to strip down and clean his weapons. Matthew had long ago realized that the methodical chore usually set Alfred at ease.
“So, I guess we’ll stick to melee weapons with guns as backup?”
“Exactly. Wood and metal last longer than bullets, unfortunately.” Alfred scrutinized his first clean pistol before offering it Matthew. “You remember how to use one of these?”
The photojournalist huffed as he took the gun. “Of course I do. I’ve covered wars, you know.” Matthew sent a sidelong glance at Alfred before he checked over the pistol and tucked it into his waistline. “And I had a good teacher.”
Alfred’s low chuckling as he tossed him two clips coincided with Matthew’s heart racing faster. He blamed it on the zombies shuffling beyond the sealed door.
[¬º-°]¬
Supplies. Weapons. Communications. Sane survivors. Clues as to how this all happened and what the hell was going on now.
This was what Matthew had to get, and quickly. He had three days before they and whoever they could save left Willamette behind. Three days to get his career-making story. Three days to survive.
Alfred was there, as he hadn’t been for the last decade. His best friend was in his element, wielding the katana he had found outside a coffee shop like it was an extension of himself. He was saving innocents, cutting down bad guys both living and undead, uncovering the threads of an evil conspiracy - this was what Alfred wrote and dreamed of, what he always wanted live.
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However, Matthew was not completely useless. He was a decent shot when he needed to be, had become rather adept at swinging the hockey sticks he found at a sports store. His rudimentary skill in Japanese was critical in convincing two surviving tourists to leave their safe house and come with them (maybe Matthew would only maim Kiku now - after all, he was the one to teach him). While Alfred could sniff out a burger from a hundred feet, Matthew could pick apart any lie or half-truth, an invaluable skill to a journalist.
Which was why he had only lasted a day of denial and a night of interesting dreams before he gave up and admitted to himself that he wanted Alfred F. Jones. Not only as a friend and confidante, but as a lover.
Matthew wanted to die. Of all the times he could have picked to want his brains screwed out, he had to choose the time when he was literally wading through creatures that wanted to eat those delicious brains.
Not only was the timing horribly inconvenient, but so was the desired partner. Matthew was aware of his homosexuality, had known he was gay since he became an exchange student visiting the Netherlands and had a very awkward, late-night make-out session with the son of his sponsor family. The relationship had ended peaceably and he had returned home to become the butt of the jokes in school yet again. But what Matthew hadn’t known then was a new boy had moved to the area while he was gone and this boy hated bullies. Alfred protected him daily and had eventually become his best friend.
His very straight best friend, who was already gaining a reputation of being both a lady-killer and a playboy. Matthew had violently suppressed any physical attraction he had for Alfred and continued being friends with him, even coming out to him during their senior year.
Al was alright with it back then, Matthew remembered. He watched and pondered as Alfred cut a zombie in half, a clean, diagonal slice through the torso. Then, he sighed a little wistfully as Al turned back to give him a smirk and a wave before leaping back into the fray.
Beating a zombie down with his hockey stick, Matthew decided Alfred would not appreciate a kiss - or anything more - from him and that it was all for the best.
[¬º-°]¬
Al, Matthew thought as he was shoved against the bathroom wall and soundly frenched, is probably bi.
It was two days since they had met again. Two nights since the plot behind the zombie infestation began to unravel. The helicopter would be arriving tomorrow and they only had hours to sort everything out. They really had to concentrate, to leave, to fight … not lock the restroom door and fuck each other senseless.
Alfred ground his hips against his and Matthew gasped, breaking the kiss and finding himself unable to complain. They were breathing heavily, Alfred’s hands gripping fistfuls of Matthew’s shirt and Matthew’s fingers threaded between Alfred’s hair. They were close, inches apart, but in that moment, the distance was much too far.
“I thought you were straight,” Matthew said calmly. His hair was likely mussed and his cheeks flushed. There was no use hiding his attraction now.
“I thought you didn’t like me that way!” Alfred snapped back before leaning down to bite his neck. Matthew’s breath hitched and he let out the most embarrassing whimper. That only encouraged Alfred and there wasn’t really much to say after that, as too much noise would attract more zombies.
It was good thing that Alfred had snatched a bottle of lube from the pharmacy when Matthew wasn’t looking. Otherwise, it would have been much harder fight off the zombies that came when they did. Loudly.
OTL Okay, so I never finished the game and I can't write porn. At least there's cameos?
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And the ending, it's funny and realistic (When I watch zombie movies I always thought "come on, you're having sex when zombies are outside!")
:D
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[¬º-°]¬
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never finished the game either
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