FIC: The Extinction Parade - Avengers, Gen
Title: The Extinction Parade
Fandom: Avengers
Author: Lyl (lyl_devil)
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Zombies, Zombie Apocalypse, Crack!Fic
Beta: Casey/strangevisitor7
Prompt: avengers_tables AU table prompt: zombies
Summary: The zombie apocalypse is not all it’s cracked up to be.
Note: This was originally going to be a cross fill for ccbingo and avengers_tables, but even thinking about turning this in to Clint/Coulson was creepy on a level I’m totally not comfortable writing.
Notes: I totally didn’t know about the Marvel Zombie series before I wrote this.
~!~
“This is a highly inefficient design,” says Phil Coulson, shuffling along the empty New York street. Trailing along next to him, Clint Barton merely grunts as he digs a 9mm round out of his left shoulder, a leftover gift from their breakfast.
“I don’t think there was any actual ‘design’, Coulson,” replies Clint, dropping the slug to the ground with a muted ting.
“Really. How is this a viable survival strategy?” Coulson can’t seem to let go of the fact that the zombie apocalypse kind of sucks. Then again, he does have a point.
“Well, we’re still here, aren’t we?” And they are. They might be a little different than before, but they’re still alive and kicking.
Well - still kicking at least. The ‘alive’ part is still up for some debate.
“On a purely ‘survival of the species’ level, we’re all doomed to extinction,” continues Coulson. Clint is positive that the virus has altered Coulson’s brain chemistry in some small way; he was never this talkative before they were bitten by the deranged PA from Accounting.
“Weren’t you the one telling us all that they weren’t a species? ‘Non-living cannibalistic people’ is what you said.” That had been the strangest briefing of Clint’s career which is saying something considering they deal with magic, aliens and gods on a daily basis.
Coulson gives him a dirty look reminiscent of Before, and goes back to shuffling along the street in search of dinner.
“We can’t survive as a species,” Coulson emphasizes, “if we obliterate our food supply.” Clint has to agree with him on this. Their daily foraging is becoming harder and longer as they roam further and further from HQ for food. Their food supply is dwindling as the humans become either food or infected, though most of their brethren try for ‘food’ before their dinner becomes part of their hunting mob.
The scrape of something soft and heavy being dragged along asphalt stops them in their shuffling tracks. Turning toward the sound they watch as a dark haired woman slowly comes into view.
“Jackboot. IPod Desecrator. How’s it hanging?” she greets. Clint watches as Darcy Lewis passes by, dragging a prime piece of twenty-two year old male by his leg. “No, really - what’s that hanging there?” she asks, stopping her slow movement to point. Looking down, Clint sees a piece of muscle flapping through the rip in his shirt - another souvenir from this morning - and sighs. Pulling it off, he throws the piece of flesh over his shoulder, ignoring Coulson’s sound of disapproval.
“That’s so gross, dude,” Darcy says, a look of digust on her grey-tinged face. Coulson makes a choked-off noise that Clint takes to mean ‘you hypocrite’, and Clint finds he has to agree.
“You’re about to munch down on a frat boy,” he reminds her, pointing to the unconscious guy she’s still holding by the ankle.
“Hey! He’s not a frat boy - he’s pre-med.” She tightens her grip on pre-med’s foot, like Clint and Coulson are about to take her treat away from her.
Which Clint is totally considering. He’s hungry, and the smart ones always taste better, like a prime cut of steak. Coulson claims it’s from more firing neurons making it more filling or healthy or something, but Clint had been too busy eating someone from R&D at the time to really care.
“You’d better get that back to HQ before Banner finds you,” Coulson warns with a nod towards her pre-med frat boy. Banner is notorious for snatching and releasing prime snacks - way too much compassion for one of their ilk - but saving the snacks from others always leads to the unintended consequence of a captive food source when he inevitably Hulks out, thus defeating the original purpose. Plus, the Hulk is messy and not a real discriminating eater.
Darcy rolls her eyes, picking up her pace to get away from them, just in case they change their minds about challenging her for her frat boy. A “Later, dudes,” is thrown over her shoulder as they watch her leave.
“Now how is that fair,” Clint whines as they resume their slow shuffle down the street.
“Ms Lewis has certain … advantages … that help her capture her prey,” says Coulson.
Clint snorts. Those ‘advantages’ are truly unfair. Clint and Coulson have to slowly inch their way towards their prey, running them to ground over the course of hours. Darcy sticks out her chest, mesmerizing all the prime rib in a two block radius, giving her the opportunity to taser them and eat sweet for the next couple days.
And that, right there, is what really bothers Clint about this entire zombie apocalypse situation. Any belief he had in the survival instinct of the human race has been systematically wiped out - just like the human race is in danger of being. If one of the security guys at SHIELD HQ hadn’t come to work in the early stages of zombification and infected them all, Clint likes to think that he, Coulson and the rest of the Avengers would be fighting the zombie hordes. Instead, Clint is shuffling along next to Coulson at a speed of approximately five feet a minute, looking for his next meal.
Seriously, if the humans would just run, they could easily out pace the packs of infected wanting to eat their brains. Instead, they stand and fight - a truly stupid idea when it’s Clint and Coulson - or try to hide in buildings where they eventually get boxed in. It may take an hour or two, but it always happens and Clint enjoys the meal more for it - adrenaline, he thinks.
On the bright side, he’s a lot harder to kill. Bullets are nothing, as was proven this morning, though Coulson likes to remind him that bullet holes are permanent. They don’t heal anymore and Clint’s heard Coulson’s speech on avoiding injuries, but all that caution leaves him when he’s inches from a fresh meal. Stupid zombie instincts.
Clint will sometimes think about the future, though it gets harder as the weeks go by. He doesn’t dwell on a long life like Coulson often does, but Clint lived his whole life like every day was his last, and he’s not stopping just because he’s some non-living corpse that needs to eat brains to survive and who’s top speed is just shy of old-lady-in-walker.
“Hey, can we go after Natasha again?” asks Clint, perking up. The Black Widow is the only one of the Avengers still alive and fighting, though Clint’s heard some stories that Tony Stark is hidden in a bunker somewhere, building a weapon to fry everyone’s brains. But that’s probably just rumour.
Natasha is a formidable foe, as Thor would sayC, one they have yet to conquer - she’s quick which is always a challenge when the best they can manage is a slow shuffle. However, she also can’t bring herself to kill her former team, which surprises Clint more than Coulson. It’s really only a matter of time before she’s joining them on their dinner runs.
“After we eat,” says Coulson, head pivoting towards a dark storefront - they were all dark and abandoned, but whatever. Coulson has the uncanny ability to figure out where the remaining humans are hiding, which comes in handy at times like this.
Clint takes a single step towards the store, and hears a muffled scream and three pairs of feet hastily moving away from the street.
Excellent. Dinner time.
END
Fandom: Avengers
Author: Lyl (lyl_devil)
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Zombies, Zombie Apocalypse, Crack!Fic
Beta: Casey/strangevisitor7
Prompt: avengers_tables AU table prompt: zombies
Summary: The zombie apocalypse is not all it’s cracked up to be.
Note: This was originally going to be a cross fill for ccbingo and avengers_tables, but even thinking about turning this in to Clint/Coulson was creepy on a level I’m totally not comfortable writing.
Notes: I totally didn’t know about the Marvel Zombie series before I wrote this.
~!~
“This is a highly inefficient design,” says Phil Coulson, shuffling along the empty New York street. Trailing along next to him, Clint Barton merely grunts as he digs a 9mm round out of his left shoulder, a leftover gift from their breakfast.
“I don’t think there was any actual ‘design’, Coulson,” replies Clint, dropping the slug to the ground with a muted ting.
“Really. How is this a viable survival strategy?” Coulson can’t seem to let go of the fact that the zombie apocalypse kind of sucks. Then again, he does have a point.
“Well, we’re still here, aren’t we?” And they are. They might be a little different than before, but they’re still alive and kicking.
Well - still kicking at least. The ‘alive’ part is still up for some debate.
“On a purely ‘survival of the species’ level, we’re all doomed to extinction,” continues Coulson. Clint is positive that the virus has altered Coulson’s brain chemistry in some small way; he was never this talkative before they were bitten by the deranged PA from Accounting.
“Weren’t you the one telling us all that they weren’t a species? ‘Non-living cannibalistic people’ is what you said.” That had been the strangest briefing of Clint’s career which is saying something considering they deal with magic, aliens and gods on a daily basis.
Coulson gives him a dirty look reminiscent of Before, and goes back to shuffling along the street in search of dinner.
“We can’t survive as a species,” Coulson emphasizes, “if we obliterate our food supply.” Clint has to agree with him on this. Their daily foraging is becoming harder and longer as they roam further and further from HQ for food. Their food supply is dwindling as the humans become either food or infected, though most of their brethren try for ‘food’ before their dinner becomes part of their hunting mob.
The scrape of something soft and heavy being dragged along asphalt stops them in their shuffling tracks. Turning toward the sound they watch as a dark haired woman slowly comes into view.
“Jackboot. IPod Desecrator. How’s it hanging?” she greets. Clint watches as Darcy Lewis passes by, dragging a prime piece of twenty-two year old male by his leg. “No, really - what’s that hanging there?” she asks, stopping her slow movement to point. Looking down, Clint sees a piece of muscle flapping through the rip in his shirt - another souvenir from this morning - and sighs. Pulling it off, he throws the piece of flesh over his shoulder, ignoring Coulson’s sound of disapproval.
“That’s so gross, dude,” Darcy says, a look of digust on her grey-tinged face. Coulson makes a choked-off noise that Clint takes to mean ‘you hypocrite’, and Clint finds he has to agree.
“You’re about to munch down on a frat boy,” he reminds her, pointing to the unconscious guy she’s still holding by the ankle.
“Hey! He’s not a frat boy - he’s pre-med.” She tightens her grip on pre-med’s foot, like Clint and Coulson are about to take her treat away from her.
Which Clint is totally considering. He’s hungry, and the smart ones always taste better, like a prime cut of steak. Coulson claims it’s from more firing neurons making it more filling or healthy or something, but Clint had been too busy eating someone from R&D at the time to really care.
“You’d better get that back to HQ before Banner finds you,” Coulson warns with a nod towards her pre-med frat boy. Banner is notorious for snatching and releasing prime snacks - way too much compassion for one of their ilk - but saving the snacks from others always leads to the unintended consequence of a captive food source when he inevitably Hulks out, thus defeating the original purpose. Plus, the Hulk is messy and not a real discriminating eater.
Darcy rolls her eyes, picking up her pace to get away from them, just in case they change their minds about challenging her for her frat boy. A “Later, dudes,” is thrown over her shoulder as they watch her leave.
“Now how is that fair,” Clint whines as they resume their slow shuffle down the street.
“Ms Lewis has certain … advantages … that help her capture her prey,” says Coulson.
Clint snorts. Those ‘advantages’ are truly unfair. Clint and Coulson have to slowly inch their way towards their prey, running them to ground over the course of hours. Darcy sticks out her chest, mesmerizing all the prime rib in a two block radius, giving her the opportunity to taser them and eat sweet for the next couple days.
And that, right there, is what really bothers Clint about this entire zombie apocalypse situation. Any belief he had in the survival instinct of the human race has been systematically wiped out - just like the human race is in danger of being. If one of the security guys at SHIELD HQ hadn’t come to work in the early stages of zombification and infected them all, Clint likes to think that he, Coulson and the rest of the Avengers would be fighting the zombie hordes. Instead, Clint is shuffling along next to Coulson at a speed of approximately five feet a minute, looking for his next meal.
Seriously, if the humans would just run, they could easily out pace the packs of infected wanting to eat their brains. Instead, they stand and fight - a truly stupid idea when it’s Clint and Coulson - or try to hide in buildings where they eventually get boxed in. It may take an hour or two, but it always happens and Clint enjoys the meal more for it - adrenaline, he thinks.
On the bright side, he’s a lot harder to kill. Bullets are nothing, as was proven this morning, though Coulson likes to remind him that bullet holes are permanent. They don’t heal anymore and Clint’s heard Coulson’s speech on avoiding injuries, but all that caution leaves him when he’s inches from a fresh meal. Stupid zombie instincts.
Clint will sometimes think about the future, though it gets harder as the weeks go by. He doesn’t dwell on a long life like Coulson often does, but Clint lived his whole life like every day was his last, and he’s not stopping just because he’s some non-living corpse that needs to eat brains to survive and who’s top speed is just shy of old-lady-in-walker.
“Hey, can we go after Natasha again?” asks Clint, perking up. The Black Widow is the only one of the Avengers still alive and fighting, though Clint’s heard some stories that Tony Stark is hidden in a bunker somewhere, building a weapon to fry everyone’s brains. But that’s probably just rumour.
Natasha is a formidable foe, as Thor would sayC, one they have yet to conquer - she’s quick which is always a challenge when the best they can manage is a slow shuffle. However, she also can’t bring herself to kill her former team, which surprises Clint more than Coulson. It’s really only a matter of time before she’s joining them on their dinner runs.
“After we eat,” says Coulson, head pivoting towards a dark storefront - they were all dark and abandoned, but whatever. Coulson has the uncanny ability to figure out where the remaining humans are hiding, which comes in handy at times like this.
Clint takes a single step towards the store, and hears a muffled scream and three pairs of feet hastily moving away from the street.
Excellent. Dinner time.
END