(no subject)
Metal Gear Solid
untitled work in progress
If it weren't so disastrous, Hal Emmerich would have exclaimed it was just like every zombie movie ever. Dave never was one for pop culture, though, so the appreciation of the macabre irony would be lost on him. But, the situation was indeed disastrous, so Hal's expert opinion remained unspoken. It was, in theory, a simple explanation: nanomachines. Any conspiracy nut could have (and probably did) called it. Hal wished he knew better than that, but in the end the fact remained that they were out of their league. Previously, Philanthropy's fight felt isolated. It was really just between them and the Patriots. Now, things had gotten out of control; expanded past the unspoken boundaries of their personal fight. Now, the whole world was involved...almost to the point that the fight had been put on hold.
Now, they had a zombie outbreak to deal with.
"What the hell am I supposed to do, Hal?" The tone of voice implied he would have thrown his cigarette to the floor in rage if Hal wouldn't have called him out on it. The message came across loud and clear without the gesture anyway.
"No amount of stealth is going to help us here," Hal admitted. "We'll have to try something new."
Shadows painted a frown on Dave's face. He didn't appreciate being caught off guard, being unprepared. It was obvious, but they didn't have much of a choice.
"I'll try to keep things familiar for you. Let's start with a mission briefing." Hal spread his arms wide, offering a truce. With a grumble, Dave accepted. He shifted in his seat and only put his cig out when a sideways glance from his partner said it was time.
Huddled in the cheapest apartment in the sketchiest part of the city, the latest base of the two-man team rested uneasily. Everything had happened almost overnight - or so the illusion of time zones preached. Nothing had reached them yet, but the effects snowballed regardless of location. The streets were empty, the people hidden in self-imposed quarantine. This was no comfort, however; things would come. They were not safe, and they had to move quickly.
"The stereotypical zombie is a remnant of humanity: a decaying body with moans reminiscent of a drunkard. There have been variations on the subject, but they generally come back to the idea of a human being without the humanity. They come in two flavors - comedy and horror; either the situation is contained with some bullets or throws the whole world into chaos with little to no hope of salvation."
The look on Dave's face said it all.
"I know it sounds like a movie, but that's the nature of the beast."
untitled work in progress
If it weren't so disastrous, Hal Emmerich would have exclaimed it was just like every zombie movie ever. Dave never was one for pop culture, though, so the appreciation of the macabre irony would be lost on him. But, the situation was indeed disastrous, so Hal's expert opinion remained unspoken. It was, in theory, a simple explanation: nanomachines. Any conspiracy nut could have (and probably did) called it. Hal wished he knew better than that, but in the end the fact remained that they were out of their league. Previously, Philanthropy's fight felt isolated. It was really just between them and the Patriots. Now, things had gotten out of control; expanded past the unspoken boundaries of their personal fight. Now, the whole world was involved...almost to the point that the fight had been put on hold.
Now, they had a zombie outbreak to deal with.
"What the hell am I supposed to do, Hal?" The tone of voice implied he would have thrown his cigarette to the floor in rage if Hal wouldn't have called him out on it. The message came across loud and clear without the gesture anyway.
"No amount of stealth is going to help us here," Hal admitted. "We'll have to try something new."
Shadows painted a frown on Dave's face. He didn't appreciate being caught off guard, being unprepared. It was obvious, but they didn't have much of a choice.
"I'll try to keep things familiar for you. Let's start with a mission briefing." Hal spread his arms wide, offering a truce. With a grumble, Dave accepted. He shifted in his seat and only put his cig out when a sideways glance from his partner said it was time.
Huddled in the cheapest apartment in the sketchiest part of the city, the latest base of the two-man team rested uneasily. Everything had happened almost overnight - or so the illusion of time zones preached. Nothing had reached them yet, but the effects snowballed regardless of location. The streets were empty, the people hidden in self-imposed quarantine. This was no comfort, however; things would come. They were not safe, and they had to move quickly.
"The stereotypical zombie is a remnant of humanity: a decaying body with moans reminiscent of a drunkard. There have been variations on the subject, but they generally come back to the idea of a human being without the humanity. They come in two flavors - comedy and horror; either the situation is contained with some bullets or throws the whole world into chaos with little to no hope of salvation."
The look on Dave's face said it all.
"I know it sounds like a movie, but that's the nature of the beast."