Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on Nov 24, 2010 15:23:27 GMT -5
Boone didn't bother to comment as he just silently waited and listened, his gun at the ready if they tried to burst through. They all shuffled past and he hit the safety on his weapon, returning it to his holster. He removed his sunglasses and folded them up to look back to the other man and lifted his duffel bag onto the desk next to him. "I worked in the Black Market between the end of the '98 outbreak and this one. Got my hands on a ton of them as well as other weapons, but my shop got cleaned out."
Unzipping the duffel bag, Boone pulled out a can of chicken noodle soup that was to expire in 2014, he held it up and looked to Michael. "Chicken Noodle Soup?" He said as he put it on the table, pulling out another can as he took out a switchblade. The blade popped out as he stabbed it into the can and began cutting to open the soup as he didn't say much else.
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Post by vampiremessiah51 on Nov 24, 2010 15:49:26 GMT -5
He sighs and holsters his own weapon and walks over to the can of soup picking it up. "So you don't have any spares that'll fit a Smith and Wesson then huh?" He leans into his table and glances around the room making sure the doors were all secure pulls out his own knife grimacing at it. It definitely was no longer fit for cooking of any sort. He wipes it on a nearby bolt of cloth and stuffs it back into his makeshift sheathe.
Looking around the room he finds a relatively clean looking nail and wipes it off as best he can. He holds the head in a piece of cloth and lights a match running the flame over the nail to burn off anything else that might still be on it. Once he was certain that he had satisfactorily sterilized the nail he places it on top of the can and drives it in with the handle of his knife and tugs it along the edge of the can to open it. He tosses the nail aside and begins eating the soup carefully not wanting to spill any of it.
He glances over the stranger cautiously as he eats making sure his case was next to him as he ate. He sighs and sets the can down once finished and looks over it curiously. "So what brings you out here?" He sighs leaning back into his chair his eyes still swiveling around the room carefully.
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on Nov 26, 2010 9:34:36 GMT -5
"A Smith and Wesson huh? Don't have one on me, just for my Beretta. Probably in my storage shed down in California."
Boone said as he exhaled from finishing drinking his soup, swallowing the last of it. It wasn't a decent meal like he'd been used to, but in this day and age it tasted like the most beautiful meal in the world. Putting the can quietly back on the table, Boone looked over to Michael as he kept his calm expression.
"Name's Boone. Been out here looking for my brother. He was a cop in Boston last I heard. Haven't seen 'em since a few months ago. Been explorin' the States tryin'a find 'em. What about you?"
Boone said as he removed the Beretta from its holster, placing it on the table. His Winchester came from his back and was placed on the table, all this was being done at a quick pace. Boone unloaded the Beretta, popping a bullet from the chamber and removed a screwdriver from his duffel bag as well as a small carrying case which held his weapon cleaning tools. Boone began to rapidly take apart his weapon with ease, preparing to clean his Beretta.
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Post by Rhinn on Jan 15, 2011 17:24:13 GMT -5
[Entering from Fort Belvoir] Jake and his convoy didn't make it to the Intelligence Building. The road was too littered with the burned out hulks of cars. They were probably from the people fleeing the city at the beginning of the outbreak... and then from the looters going into the town to steal whatever they could. Those type of things disgusted him. When someone was in need, those that preyed on them should be shot. As he turned the corner to head down the Main Thoroughfare (calling it a street would have been an understatement), Jake didn't think he would make it farther than a mile before the way was completely clogged. He came to a stop and then call the other vehicle. "We will try to go around them, but if we can't then we cut across any vacant lot. If we can't get in, then we do what we can, look for survivors and then head back." "Copy that Hero, lead the way." Putting the HumVee back in drive, Jake continued on as a snail's pace. He looked over to see Cooper taking his rifle off safety. Attachments:
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Post by Rhinn on Jan 23, 2011 13:12:12 GMT -5
== Washington DC == == Main Street == == Now ==
Jakob felt the crunch as the wheels of his HumVee smashed two more heads of the undead flat into the pavement. His ride was jolted side to side and it wasn't from the uneven payment or taking corners too fast. His squad was under attack... by a swarm of zombies. Jakob didn't remember how it happened but for one minute he was round the corner of a vacant but cluttered street and in the next moment, hundreds of the undead slammed into the two army vehicles. With no where to go, Jake had pushed on, with Matthew riding right on his tail. They had pulled so close together that no zombie could get between them.
Jake slammed the accelerator down and felt the wheels spin on the slimy goo that used to be the rotten insides of the downed zombies. Beside him, Cooper was slamming another magazine into his M16 and lifting it to the space in the reinforced window and put the muzzle of the gun out into the crowd. The report of multiple rounds deafened the interior of the HumVee and Jake shook his head to clear out the sound. Too much more of this and he would be deaf, but that was the least of his concern right now.
Frack that Colonel, he thought. Spinning the wheel, the convoy turned down a vacant street... and into a dead end. Jake slammed on the brakes and slid to a stop. As close as Matt was to them, he didn't have time to stop. The 2nd HumVee slammed into the back of Jake, lifting up the back of their truck and then slamming it down. Coop was thrown into the dashboard, but his helmet kept him from being severely injured. Jake through it into reverse and saw that Matt was doing the same. Behind them the horde of undead were closing in. Jake thought that they might just make it when Matt’s HumVee backed into and over a burned out hulk. The back wheels got stuck momentarily and it went offbalanced. Before he could switch gears, the zombies hit the side of the HumVee. Normally they would just shake it, but at the angle it was sitting, they were able to be under it. Jake watched with in horror as the HumVee tipped over under the pressure of the undead. Shots could be heard as Matt and Reynolds were unloading their round at point blank range. The front window was smashed, cracked under the constant pressure of all those bodies. Jake couldn’t look anymore. He knew what would happen. He revved the HumVee’s engine and pulled forward, almost slamming into the wall. Then he jammed it in reverse again and gunned it. They were just able to get around the HumVee. Blood had splattered the inside of the vehicle and the shots were more frantic. With a final push, more hands and teeth tore into the cab of the HumVee. Jake could hear the screams as his men were bitten and torn to pieces.
“We can’t leave them there”, yelled Cooper trying to grab for the wheel.
“They’re already dead and you know it.” Yelled Jake. He knew that it was hit fault that they were dead. “We just got to get out of here.”
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Post by Rhinn on Jan 27, 2011 15:00:47 GMT -5
Two blocks away the HumVee he was driving slammed through some debris and was stuck. As he tried to muscle the vehicle through, the rear axle broke. Jake and Cooper grabbed their weapons and tried to make a run for it, but ran into another wave of undead.
Deciding to hole up, they ran toward a deserted building, attempting to climb to the roof. As they reached the sidewalk, the undead caught Cooper, pulling him back into the crowd of fingers, and teeth. Jake had never heard the sound of fleshing ripping… not on a live person anyways, but it was a sound he thought he would never forget. Cooper screamed for help as the undead bit down into his skin. Jake did the only thing he could think of… he shot his friend in the head, ending his pain immediately. Then he ran.
As he made it to the building he slammed the door shut and readied himself in case any of them burst through the door. Outside, he heard the sound so squealing tires and saw a convoy of black military trucks pull up. Machine guns and grenades tore through the ranks of the undead, ripping them to shreds. The zombies assaulted the convoy, but the trucks where too heavily armored and defended for the undead to do anything. It was only a few minutes before the area was cleared. Grateful for their help, Jake exited the building to thank them. That’s when they turned on him. He didn’t have time to even duck out of the way as three of the soldiers targeted him and shot. At first, he thought they missed, but the stinging in his neck and face made him realize that they had used darts. As blackness from the drug set in, he fell to the ground. He was dimly aware of hands grabbing him before he blacked out completely.
As Jake’s body laid on the ground, one of the soldiers pulled off his helmet and went over to him, nudging him with the barrel of his rifle. A medic… the one soldier in black sporting a red cross on his sleeve came over and felt Jake’s neck for a pulse.
“He’s alive and his breathing and heart rate are steady. He hasn’t been infected by the virus or bitten or clawed. I’d say that he is just what the Doctor wants.”
The first soldier just gave a snort and pulled his helmet back on. “Well, the sod would have been better off if we killed him. I saw the last experiment and I would rather you shoot me in the head before I go through that.” Then he turned back to the others. “Let’s get moving. Chopper will be up in 30 minutes and I plan on being back there with this git before it leaves.” The soldier made a move to the lead vehicle and climbed inside as two others moved to take Jake and his equipment. They drug him to the 2nd vehicle and the medic climbed in with him. As the convoy rolled out, the first soldier typed in a number on his cell phone. Seconds later, he was talking to someone on the other end. “I’m sure he’ll make a find test subject Colonel. The Doctor thanks you for your service. Your account will be credited the $8000.00 once we get back and another $12,000.00 if the experiment is successful.”
On the other end of the phone, Colonel Marcus, the CO of Fort Belvoir just smiled. He got rid of one of his more annoying officers, earned some money and now had Collins free to himself. In fact, he would go tell her the bad news and then spend the night helping her deal with her grief...
Jake only woke up once, during the van ride. He opened his eyes, but couldn’t move. He was strapped down to a stretcher by his legs, hips, torso, arms and shoulders. He could barely raise his head up, so he just sat there, listening. The droning of the vehicle’s engines drowned out much of what was going on, but he could hear two men talking nearby. All he could make out was that they were heading toward a chopper. He moved his head to look around and that is when the medic noticed him.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be awake!”
“Let me out of here. I’m an officer in the US Army”, yelled Jake struggling against the bonds. He felt the vehicle slow down and turn. They left the hard surface of concrete and seemed to be on a quieter, though bouncier ride. Somewhere, they had turned off the main road.
The medic was busy grabbing a syringe from a pack and filling it up a clear liquid. Jake was sure that he didn’t want that syringe anywhere near him. The other man grabbed Jake’s head and held it still. “No, you aren’t mate”, he said with a rough raspy voice. Jake belatedly thought the accent was either British or Australian.
Jake blinked several times. His mind was still foggy, but he was sure that he was an officer in the army. “I’m not?!??” he asked, confused.
“Nope”, the expression on the man’s face was one of ugly contempt… but also regret. “You are karkin’ slagged, mate. Sorry.” The pressure on his head increased and Jake felt the needle jab into his neck. An alien fluid seemed to burn through his veins. He vision seemed to swim for a moment. He felt like he was floating on air and couldn’t tell if the van had stopped or not. He was vaguely aware of another prick on his arm as an IV was inserted into his arm. He tried to struggle against it, but all he could muster was a weak arm flop. Then, as he was fading out, the medic spoke. “If he knew where he was going, I bet he would pay all he could to just have you shoot him in the head.”
The other man rubbed a hand over his scraggly stubble on his chin and nodded. “Aye, it would probably be better for that bugger.”
Jake’s consciousness sank back into the realm of the deep as the vehicle doors were thrown open. Sitting out in the middle of a flat grassy field, a Black Osprey was sitting with her twin propellers spinning. Quickly the men loaded Jake and a few others onto the plane and then back away. The Osprey increased its power and lifted off from the ground. It would be a ways until it reached it destination, but none of their occupants would be around for it. It banked right and gained altitude, leaving the US Coast, heading out over the Atlantic Ocean.
[leaving Washington DC Main Street heading towards the Ocean]
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on May 25, 2011 15:38:37 GMT -5
The loud engine of a motorcycle screamed its way across the highway, pulling off the ramp as it weaved through cars with massive ease. The rider's face was hidden behind the raven black helmet that was worn over his head which matched with the Suzuki motorcycle. Turning the next corner nearly got the rider killed however, swinging too soon and slamming into a pickup truck. The rider was ejected forward, launching into the air and landing harshly on the ground hands first with their helmet covered head slamming second.
Rolling on the ground, the shotgun attached to the rider's bike separated from him and slid along the ground. The pistol attached to the rider's waist slammed into his side and caused a minor bruise but remained in its place. As the rider rolled on the ground, they eventually came to a stop and slowly began to push themselves to their feet. One gloved hand lifted the helmet from his head and shoved it off to reveal his identity as a male.
Marc dusted himself off, remaining in a sitting position as his body was too sore in order to move so much. Dusting his legs off, Marc looked over his body and saw no major injury other than soreness from the impact. Slowly forcing himself to his feet, his first instinct was to move in case any of the infected were still around. Beginning to slowly limp into a fast-walk, Marc made his way to his shotgun and grabbed it before stumbling forward to an abandoned shop.
His feet stumbled once more as he reached out his left hand to catch himself against the wall, holding the shotgun in the opposing right hand. Heavy breaths escaped his lips, the scar that had been on his abdomen still stung like a b*tch. After he'd left Louisiana, he'd run into some kid who tried to mug him in the middle of an apocalypse. That butterfly knife nearly would have killed him if he hadn't been as lucky as he was and had minor medical supplies to treat the wound.
The entire mugging combined with the accident just now had irritated him, and his eyes had been weary from his lack of sleep. Living life with running on forty eight hours of awake time without sleep was murder on his body. His stomach growled for food he didn't have, beginning to slowly move his way and look into each window to see if he could find any place he could stock up on supplies such as food or ammunition.
"There's gotta be food somewhere..."
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Post by NotAvailable on May 25, 2011 15:45:47 GMT -5
In the nearby drug store, Angela Mason had locked herself inside, barricading the doors and windows with cheap wood and metal that she broke the shelves into. There were a group of undead stalking the entrance desperate for their meal. Their hungry moans had collided with one another's though not in sinc, it was terrifying.
She had a weapon she'd acquired from a young woman months ago but she was severely low on ammunition and had an injured leg. She'd grimaced and was near the back of the store in tears. She reached down to touch the darkening bruise and the gash within it.
She'd hissed and winced. "Ah! Ow..." she breathed, meekly.
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on May 25, 2011 15:59:33 GMT -5
I'm just a step away, I'm just a breath away, losing my faith today... His attention shifted from the window he'd been looking at to the distant groans of zombies clawing at a door and struggling. Where zombies piled up, there was usually a survivor, perhaps this one had food or something that could help him. His exhaustion was kicking in however, making his vision begin to blur and double in the process. Raising his shotgun, Marc began to run as best as he could towards the infected creatures. Last he counted, he has a full set of shells in his weapon. He counted six of them so far, with a seventh and eight approaching. This was going to be tricky, but doable. The Firewing slid the slide back, then forward as the weapon was loaded now and an empty cartridge landed on the concrete below. The echoing explosion of the shotgun discharging a shell was released into the air as a zombie dropped. "C'mon!" He screamed, releasing another shell and loading in another with the slide as he stumbled a bit and fired off again but missing completely. A soft 'Tch' escaped his lips before he did it again, watching as their attentions shifted from the door to him. Beginning to lurch their way towards him, he raised his shotgun once again and fired into the crowd to remove two at once with a single blast. As the distance between them closed, Marc switched hands with the shotgun and pulled out his sidearm. The Silver Ghost handgun known as Massacre by Dawn, suddenly bullets began to fly as he emptied the clip into several of them in the torso area. His primary targets were their decayed heads but the torso did well as his left hand raised the shotgun in a unsteady motion. Suddenly unleashing another shell and before he'd known it, they were all down. The zombie count was miscalculated by his blurring vision, his body falling to his knees as he tried his hardest not to fall asleep in the middle of the area. His body was beginning to shut down, however and needed to sleep which was making it harder to get a grasp for his surroundings.
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Post by NotAvailable on May 25, 2011 16:18:47 GMT -5
When the thundring sounds of shots had echoed through the empty store and streets, Angela had gotten up and moved toward the front of th store. She couldn't hear the zombies well and when she'd peeked through the barricade, she'd seen them lurching after a man whom looked to be in trouble.
"Who...oh no, I better get out there," she said in a cracked voice. Unbarring the strips of metal from the door, she'd checked the clip of her sidearm. She had six bullets left and still had a crowbar.
Leaving the store behind, she'd holstered her sidearm and pulled the melee weapon out of her belt loop. Moving toward the remaining two undead that surrounded the weary man, she'd brought the melee weapon back like a baseball bat and swung with all her might.
THWACK!...THWACK, THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!
She'd swung over and over again until both corpses were on the ground, one dead with a heavy dent in it's skull and the other trying to get back up. She'd kicked at it with her good leg, smackin it's head back onto concrete. A crunching noise was heard and without the bat of a lash, she'ssmacked her crowbar bluntly into it's face once more.
Breathing hard, she'd looked over at the man, worriedly. "Are you alright...?"
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on May 25, 2011 21:24:48 GMT -5
The male slowly reached into his pocket, having dropped his sidearm onto the ground as he pulled out a syringe labeled 'Epinephrine'. He slammed it into his thigh and pressed the button, injecting it into a vein and caused his heart rate to increase rapidly. The adrenaline rush woke him up but would only last for the next five minutes and only took away some of the side effects of being so exhausted. His head shook itself out, attempting to wake up as he exhaled heavy breaths.
"Y-Yeah, yeah I'm good... I just...need a secure place to sleep...For a good...twelve hours."
Dark circles were visible underneath his eyes as he threw the syringe away, letting it roll away. He pushed himself to his feet, picking up his handgun and sliding it into its holster as he felt his stomach grumble but made no mention of it. Lifting his gloved hands to his forehead, he wiped the sweat away before looking to the female. She was cute, beautiful even, but compare that to him. He looked like a drug addict, messy hair, no sleep, dirt over his face and clothes. Suddenly a crash came from the alley beside them as a massive horde of infected began to swarm through the alley in an attempt to reach them. They were slow, but there was at least fifteen, way too many to take care of.
"We need to go. We need to go now."
He started looking around, pointing to an apartment complex down the street. Without a word he launched forward, grabbing her by the arm and began pulling her with him. His hand pulled out his sidearm, he had about four shots left from the original seventeen. Marc kept his weapon aimed ahead and looked down each alley as they passed, repeating this until they got to the apartment complex with the swarm starting to pour down the street. He opened the door and began to sweep the lobby as he signaled her inside, moving to some large comfy looking chairs and beginning to push them to the door to barricade them and keep them from coming inside.
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Post by NotAvailable on May 25, 2011 21:33:05 GMT -5
Angela hadn't much time to speak or show much concern when the man had grasped ahold of her and started darting into the nearby apartment complex to escape the undead. She'd helped him barricade the doors, since the winows were heavily boarded already. Grasping onto a chair in the main hall, she'd rushed back with it sticking it's back beneath the doorknob as a finishing touch. After awhile, they'd successully barricaded theselves in.
The young woman turned around and looked the apartment up and down, all around. It seemed quiet and seemingly safe. Still, she wasn't ready to put her guard down just yet. Upon further inspection, she's glanced back at the man and tilted her head at him. He looked terrible.
"Are you gonna be okay? You looks tired and...hungry...when was the last time you'e eaten or slept?" she asked. Not too long afterwards, she'd reached into her bag and shuffled around. Before long, she'd pulled out a ration she'd acquired from scavenging an old destroyed checkpoint. There were a few left over and some water. She could spare him some help.
"Here, eat this," she told him, smiling reassuringly.
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on May 25, 2011 22:52:17 GMT -5
Upon barricading the door, Marc sat upon one of the comfortable chairs and felt relaxation. He let his guard down for the moment, they were half-safe and he couldn't move much anymore. Closing his eyes for a minute, he snapped them open as it showed how exhausted he was and how quickly the adrenaline shot was wearing off. Upon being offered food he looked at it and shook his head, not liking the thought of taking food from someone before his stomach growled again. He reached out and took the two before nodding his head in thanks.
"Th-Thank you..."
The male looked at the ration, he'd hated them. They never tasted good but at least it was in a container this time. Opening the lid, adding in a bit of water, he began to eat. His attempts at eating with manners failed as Marc began to scarf down the food as quickly as he could to satisfy the hunger in his stomach. After ten minutes of eating, Marc felt rejuvenated but still exhausted as he looked up at her.
"The name's Marc, Marc Firewing. Pleasure to run from infected with you."
He chuckled softly, attempting to lighten the mood but a sigh followed his chuckle as he rubbed his eyes. Shaking his head for probably the third time in two minutes, Marc exhaled a soft sigh of displeasure.
"I haven't slept in two days again, every place I find usually has a door kicked in and never any deadbolts. I'm pushing my luck with my sanity."
Marc spoke aloud as he began to feel the pain from the accident start to reverberate through his body again. Wincing, Marc began to massage his forearms and body as he looked up to her with a small smile, showing that he could possibly comfort her as to not worry so much about him.
"What's say we rent a room for ourselves eh?"
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Post by NotAvailable on May 25, 2011 23:03:08 GMT -5
Angela frowned when she'd watched the poor guy chow down on the rations almost like a malnourished animal. She'd crouched down infront of him and examined the bruises he had momentarily when he introduced himself. Smiling again, faintly, she shook his hand.
"I'm Angela, Angela Mason, it's a pleasure, Marc," she responded, politely. When he'd suggested finding a room, she'd looked around the corner of the stairs where a stretch of an empty hallway had been, lined with apartment doors. Almost all of them were wide opened and trash, broken glass, things of that sort had littered the ground. Probably from looters.
"Well, we should probably make sure it's safe first, right?"
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on May 25, 2011 23:21:16 GMT -5
My love is, just waiting, to turn your tears to roses. The male nodded somewhat as he ejected the clip that was in his weapon, catching it with his legs and slipping it into his right pocket. Reaching into his left pocket, the male pulled out a spare clip, loading it into the weapon and hearing the satisfying click of the clip being locked into place. He wanted a full clip rather than the four bullets in the other one and getting caught stupid in an encounter with more than he could handle. Lifting himself slowly, he turned on the flashlight attachment he had for it and aimed it at some of the dark ground floor rooms. Slowly beginning to approach some of the closed doors, Marc reached out and grasped the knob as he tested each one. Some of them had been locked until as his fourth try, he'd reached an unlocked one. However, before he pushed the door open, a scent arose to his nostrils, one he was all too familiar with. Dead flesh was further down the hall as he lifted his hand to cover his mouth. "Corpses down the hall, always fun..." His attention shifted back to her motioning for her to wait as he shone the flashlight attachment down the darkened hallway. There were more doors but only one was open where the scent was most likely originating from. Slowly beginning to creep down his way, he finally reached it after a few minutes and shone his flashlight in to see a closet with something growing on the walls leading to the left. The scent was strong that it was taking everything he had not to vomit everything he'd just eaten, and the original taste of the ration wasn't helping. Pushing the door open and stepping in with flashlight aimed at the wall that reached out a few feet to the left, it was perhaps the most sickening sight he'd ever seen. Corpses stacked up and mold of some sort growing along the wall, Marc began to cough as he practically threw himself out the door and closed it behind him. Marc's coughs were violent as he threw himself to the floor, the pain reverberating throughout his body as he landed and just wasn't having a good day whatsoever. "G-God...Th-that's...That's so gross..."
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