02-20-2015, 03:00 PM
(NOTE: for more info on the setting, go to 1d4chan.org and look up Walmart Apocalypse.)
(OTHER NOTE: I've left out the mechanics because 1. I'm a lazy bugger and 2. I wanted the story to read cleaner.)
(Setting is a massive Walmart the size of a city. I'm a Topdweller--an agile pseudo-ninja who lives in the rafters of the Wal and scavenges for a living.)
First order of business is to heal myself. I reach in my backpack and pull out some old rags scavenged from a roving band of exiles from Clothing. I remove my bladed gloves and begin to assess the damage to myself.
I wince as I see the damage the arrows have done; I've already pulled out the shafts but I'm bleeding pretty bad. I wrap up the wound and don my gloves again, thinking back on why I've descended from the safety of the Rafters to begin with.
Ah...yes.
We've been tracking the party of Nevergrown for weeks now, watching them from above as they draw ever closer to the Canned stockpile. What they want there, I have no clue. Their miserable little colony must've run out of supplies, forcing them to step beyond the Toy department for once...But it's become an orgy of ambush and slaughter, their original purpose forgotten as they wander ever closer to our primary source of supplies from below.
Perhaps it was against our leading Raptor's better judgement to order us to split up…
I freeze. Movement below. I crouch on the edge of the shelf, inviting a sickening plunge should I lose my balance, but I'm a Topdweller and heights don't faze me in the slightest. They're a constant threat, but I keep my cool.
Holy…
Greeters. A swarm of them. I don't think I've ever seen so many in one place before.
I'm about to hurl a grappling line to the next shelf over when I stop myself, knowing that they're probably not aware of me yet and any noise will only alert them. Instead, I remain motionless, waiting for them to make their move, flexing my claws a few times in anticipation of a battle.
Shit, they've spotted me!
They look up at me and the haunting calls begin. "Welcome to the Wal...Looking for anything in particular? How are we doing tonight?..."
This is intermingled with desperate sobs and pleas for death--a wish I'm happy to grant. A group this large is a serious threat to all and MUST be eradicated. There's no time to get backup; I'm on my own.
I secure my line to one of the support struts and with a yell I hurl myself over the side, descending like the fury of Sam Himself upon these misbegotten abominations, not that I'm one of His worshipers.
Before they can even adjust to my sudden descent I'm upon them, slashing furiously.
Two are decapitated and one more is mutilated by my savage strikes. I whirl my claws around myself in sweeping arcs, knocking the Greeters back and nicking a few more of them. Snarling, I hurl myself aside as they lurch stutteringly towards me, and I rake my claws along them as I go, barely scratching one but wounding two more. Several of them lie bleeding out on the floor but they're closing in...Time to withdraw.
I hurl a grappling line--I've already stashed the one I used to get down--but it falls back down; I misjudged the distance, damn!
However, I've got the range now, and my next throw lands right on target, wrapping securely around the Shelf frame. I climb up nimbly, detach the line, and throw it across the aisle to the next Shelf, swinging on it to cross. The whine of servos, followed by a blaring siren, suddenly fills my ears--a Stocker! Cursing under my breath, I sprint along the top of the Shelf. At this point, most sane Topdwellers would retreat to the safety of the rafters, but my mission remains incomplete and I WILL change that. The Stocker stomps towards me and I curse my lack of a Sporting Good.
I get an idea then, and my grappling line lances out, wrapping around the giant guardian's head; I'm nearly pulled off the shelf by its strength as it struggles to get away.
ERROR. ERROR. ENTANGLEMENT. REQUEST ASSISTANCE. ERROR. ERROR.
I've got to disable that Stocker before it attracts more with that Sam-damned alarm!
I pull myself hand over hand towards, dangling over empty space, hoping against hope that the Stocker won't figure out how to dislodge the rope...Soon I'm standing on its head, a feral grin on my face as I begin prying loose various metal sheet plates with my claws, looking for a weak point. Suddenly an ominous whine sounds and I realize what's happening just in time for a nasty shock from the Stocker's anti-tamper 'Tron. I manage to hold on to my line, at least, and I swing in front of its face mockingly, kicking at it viciously with my clawed climbing boots, putting out one of its eyes in the process. I swing closer each time, pushing off from its face, then rebounding off the shelf behind me as it continues to blunder half-blind along the Aisle, crushing many Greeters beneath it.
Now for the killing blow.
I swing forward one last time, one clawed fist extended in front of me, and I use my momentum to plunge it deep into the machine's face with a shout.
The Stocker begins to spasm wildly and I detach my line, freefalling briefly before I dig my claws into the Shelf and grind to a halt, sparks flying. I pull back to the safety of the space between empty Shelves and watch as the machine staggers and finally falls, crushing the remaining Greeters beneath it. I give a quick fist pump and gather up my line, before returning to the rafters above and continuing my journey towards the Canned 'part.
(OTHER NOTE: I've left out the mechanics because 1. I'm a lazy bugger and 2. I wanted the story to read cleaner.)
(Setting is a massive Walmart the size of a city. I'm a Topdweller--an agile pseudo-ninja who lives in the rafters of the Wal and scavenges for a living.)
First order of business is to heal myself. I reach in my backpack and pull out some old rags scavenged from a roving band of exiles from Clothing. I remove my bladed gloves and begin to assess the damage to myself.
I wince as I see the damage the arrows have done; I've already pulled out the shafts but I'm bleeding pretty bad. I wrap up the wound and don my gloves again, thinking back on why I've descended from the safety of the Rafters to begin with.
Ah...yes.
We've been tracking the party of Nevergrown for weeks now, watching them from above as they draw ever closer to the Canned stockpile. What they want there, I have no clue. Their miserable little colony must've run out of supplies, forcing them to step beyond the Toy department for once...But it's become an orgy of ambush and slaughter, their original purpose forgotten as they wander ever closer to our primary source of supplies from below.
Perhaps it was against our leading Raptor's better judgement to order us to split up…
I freeze. Movement below. I crouch on the edge of the shelf, inviting a sickening plunge should I lose my balance, but I'm a Topdweller and heights don't faze me in the slightest. They're a constant threat, but I keep my cool.
Holy…
Greeters. A swarm of them. I don't think I've ever seen so many in one place before.
I'm about to hurl a grappling line to the next shelf over when I stop myself, knowing that they're probably not aware of me yet and any noise will only alert them. Instead, I remain motionless, waiting for them to make their move, flexing my claws a few times in anticipation of a battle.
Shit, they've spotted me!
They look up at me and the haunting calls begin. "Welcome to the Wal...Looking for anything in particular? How are we doing tonight?..."
This is intermingled with desperate sobs and pleas for death--a wish I'm happy to grant. A group this large is a serious threat to all and MUST be eradicated. There's no time to get backup; I'm on my own.
I secure my line to one of the support struts and with a yell I hurl myself over the side, descending like the fury of Sam Himself upon these misbegotten abominations, not that I'm one of His worshipers.
Before they can even adjust to my sudden descent I'm upon them, slashing furiously.
Two are decapitated and one more is mutilated by my savage strikes. I whirl my claws around myself in sweeping arcs, knocking the Greeters back and nicking a few more of them. Snarling, I hurl myself aside as they lurch stutteringly towards me, and I rake my claws along them as I go, barely scratching one but wounding two more. Several of them lie bleeding out on the floor but they're closing in...Time to withdraw.
I hurl a grappling line--I've already stashed the one I used to get down--but it falls back down; I misjudged the distance, damn!
However, I've got the range now, and my next throw lands right on target, wrapping securely around the Shelf frame. I climb up nimbly, detach the line, and throw it across the aisle to the next Shelf, swinging on it to cross. The whine of servos, followed by a blaring siren, suddenly fills my ears--a Stocker! Cursing under my breath, I sprint along the top of the Shelf. At this point, most sane Topdwellers would retreat to the safety of the rafters, but my mission remains incomplete and I WILL change that. The Stocker stomps towards me and I curse my lack of a Sporting Good.
I get an idea then, and my grappling line lances out, wrapping around the giant guardian's head; I'm nearly pulled off the shelf by its strength as it struggles to get away.
ERROR. ERROR. ENTANGLEMENT. REQUEST ASSISTANCE. ERROR. ERROR.
I've got to disable that Stocker before it attracts more with that Sam-damned alarm!
I pull myself hand over hand towards, dangling over empty space, hoping against hope that the Stocker won't figure out how to dislodge the rope...Soon I'm standing on its head, a feral grin on my face as I begin prying loose various metal sheet plates with my claws, looking for a weak point. Suddenly an ominous whine sounds and I realize what's happening just in time for a nasty shock from the Stocker's anti-tamper 'Tron. I manage to hold on to my line, at least, and I swing in front of its face mockingly, kicking at it viciously with my clawed climbing boots, putting out one of its eyes in the process. I swing closer each time, pushing off from its face, then rebounding off the shelf behind me as it continues to blunder half-blind along the Aisle, crushing many Greeters beneath it.
Now for the killing blow.
I swing forward one last time, one clawed fist extended in front of me, and I use my momentum to plunge it deep into the machine's face with a shout.
The Stocker begins to spasm wildly and I detach my line, freefalling briefly before I dig my claws into the Shelf and grind to a halt, sparks flying. I pull back to the safety of the space between empty Shelves and watch as the machine staggers and finally falls, crushing the remaining Greeters beneath it. I give a quick fist pump and gather up my line, before returning to the rafters above and continuing my journey towards the Canned 'part.