09-01-2020, 11:53 PM
Decided to try this site out as a lark, just randomly generating stuff and see what came out. Guess it's been too long since I've worked on one of my novels.
Who am I?
Resourceful official
What am I good at?
Running
Engineering
What do I have in my possession?
Vibro-sword
Below average helicopter
Where am I?
Poorly guarded underpass
What is my goal?
Escort civilians to the burrow.
What is its purpose?
Block / Benefits
Who or what is trying to stop me?
Blood-soaked butcher
What is the first thing I need to do or take care of?
Take
Brian Todd, a resourceful official, skilled in running and engineering and carrying a vibro-sword, flew a beat-up helicopter to a poorly guarded underpass where a group of civilians was trapped by a zombie horde.
His mission was to escort civilians to "The Burrow", an underground bunker safe from the zombies, but he arrived to find the gates to the outer defensive perimeter open and zombies swarming the place.
He perched on the top of a soot-blackened pile of cars that had driven off of the broken bridge back at the beginning of the zomb-demic. Staying out of sight of the zombies below, he first checked the cars for lurkers before pulling out his radio.
"This is Brian Todd of the Long Beach Volunteer Search and Rescue, to the survivors at the 405 interchange. Do any of you have a radio on? Can you hear me?"
He listened to nothing but static for a minute. It was a hopeless sound, but he'd heard worse over the radio plenty of times before. More than once he'd jumped out of bed to the high-pitched screams of men dying, the guttural snarl of zombies, gunshots, splintering wood, and children crying... only to find his radio playing nothing but static.
Even his worst nightmares couldn't compete with his actual memories. They'd given up trying to frighten him and simply compiled the worst part of the last six months of his life and played it back to him night after night.
"To the survivors at the 405 interchange, this is--"
"Here!" A woman's voice called out from the static.
Brian poked his head around the rear tire of the upturned car on which he hid. A young soccer mom wearing a blue denim shirt had stood up from behind a pile of shipping pallets and was waving at him.
"Down!" he snapped. "Don't attract their attention."
"We hear you! Have you come to rescue us?"
"That's why I'm here. How many of you are there and what is your situation?"
"Eight," the woman choked on the word. "We're down to eight. There were a dozen of us last night. But one of us was infected and turned on us. We've had to lock ourselves in the supply enclosure."
Brian made some quick calculations. He might just be able to carry them all back in the chopper in a single trip if he dumped the supplies and safety gear. --Assuming it didn't fall apart on the way. He doubted that any survivors he left behind would survive long enough for a return trip.
"...Er, Over?"
Lost in thought, Brian fumbled for his radio. He was going on nearly 30 hours without sleep. "Ah, yes. I might be able to get you out of here. Do you have a way out of the enclosure."
"No!" Her reply came with a sob. "We're padlocked in here. Bob had the key."
"Bob?"
"He's the fat one wearing a butcher's apron."
Brian peered around his tire, then shifted to the other side of the car. Sure enough, there was a blood-soaked butcher down there absentmindedly waving a clever around. His left arm had been torn off just below the elbow. He also had a number of self-inflicted wounds, as did some of his neighboring zombies, but none of them seemed to notice.
"Just great," he muttered. He checked the vibro-sword at his belt. His battery was below 30%. He wouldn't be able to fully extended it without immediately draining the battery. And he had no way to recharge it. More of a vibro-knife, really. That meant _really_ close in fighting. He'd have to be very fast and even more lucky to take the keys from the butcher and survive.
He wondered, if he were bitten, if he could fly them to safety before he turned.
"What was that?" the woman replied.
"Ah. Nothing. I think I can get you all out in the chopper, but I'm going to need some help getting that key."
"What? Anything."
"I'm going to need a distraction so I can get close to him."
"What do you want us to do?"
"I want you to stand up and make a lot of noise to attract the zombies."
"But you said--"
"I know. But we're all going to have to do some really stupid stuff if we're going to survive this..."
Who am I?
Resourceful official
What am I good at?
Running
Engineering
What do I have in my possession?
Vibro-sword
Below average helicopter
Where am I?
Poorly guarded underpass
What is my goal?
Escort civilians to the burrow.
What is its purpose?
Block / Benefits
Who or what is trying to stop me?
Blood-soaked butcher
What is the first thing I need to do or take care of?
Take
Brian Todd, a resourceful official, skilled in running and engineering and carrying a vibro-sword, flew a beat-up helicopter to a poorly guarded underpass where a group of civilians was trapped by a zombie horde.
His mission was to escort civilians to "The Burrow", an underground bunker safe from the zombies, but he arrived to find the gates to the outer defensive perimeter open and zombies swarming the place.
He perched on the top of a soot-blackened pile of cars that had driven off of the broken bridge back at the beginning of the zomb-demic. Staying out of sight of the zombies below, he first checked the cars for lurkers before pulling out his radio.
"This is Brian Todd of the Long Beach Volunteer Search and Rescue, to the survivors at the 405 interchange. Do any of you have a radio on? Can you hear me?"
He listened to nothing but static for a minute. It was a hopeless sound, but he'd heard worse over the radio plenty of times before. More than once he'd jumped out of bed to the high-pitched screams of men dying, the guttural snarl of zombies, gunshots, splintering wood, and children crying... only to find his radio playing nothing but static.
Even his worst nightmares couldn't compete with his actual memories. They'd given up trying to frighten him and simply compiled the worst part of the last six months of his life and played it back to him night after night.
"To the survivors at the 405 interchange, this is--"
"Here!" A woman's voice called out from the static.
Brian poked his head around the rear tire of the upturned car on which he hid. A young soccer mom wearing a blue denim shirt had stood up from behind a pile of shipping pallets and was waving at him.
"Down!" he snapped. "Don't attract their attention."
"We hear you! Have you come to rescue us?"
"That's why I'm here. How many of you are there and what is your situation?"
"Eight," the woman choked on the word. "We're down to eight. There were a dozen of us last night. But one of us was infected and turned on us. We've had to lock ourselves in the supply enclosure."
Brian made some quick calculations. He might just be able to carry them all back in the chopper in a single trip if he dumped the supplies and safety gear. --Assuming it didn't fall apart on the way. He doubted that any survivors he left behind would survive long enough for a return trip.
"...Er, Over?"
Lost in thought, Brian fumbled for his radio. He was going on nearly 30 hours without sleep. "Ah, yes. I might be able to get you out of here. Do you have a way out of the enclosure."
"No!" Her reply came with a sob. "We're padlocked in here. Bob had the key."
"Bob?"
"He's the fat one wearing a butcher's apron."
Brian peered around his tire, then shifted to the other side of the car. Sure enough, there was a blood-soaked butcher down there absentmindedly waving a clever around. His left arm had been torn off just below the elbow. He also had a number of self-inflicted wounds, as did some of his neighboring zombies, but none of them seemed to notice.
"Just great," he muttered. He checked the vibro-sword at his belt. His battery was below 30%. He wouldn't be able to fully extended it without immediately draining the battery. And he had no way to recharge it. More of a vibro-knife, really. That meant _really_ close in fighting. He'd have to be very fast and even more lucky to take the keys from the butcher and survive.
He wondered, if he were bitten, if he could fly them to safety before he turned.
"What was that?" the woman replied.
"Ah. Nothing. I think I can get you all out in the chopper, but I'm going to need some help getting that key."
"What? Anything."
"I'm going to need a distraction so I can get close to him."
"What do you want us to do?"
"I want you to stand up and make a lot of noise to attract the zombies."
"But you said--"
"I know. But we're all going to have to do some really stupid stuff if we're going to survive this..."
