“Hey, Ken. Did you hear about the group of Lost Boys roaming around?” the Remnant asked. “I hear they’re saying more than a couple phrases. I hear they’re saying complete sentences and actually conversing. Do you think the Zed are evolving?”
His Genjian friend shook his head. “No,” he explained. “See, Zed don’t have the ability to communicate like that. I promise you, it’s just some stupid rumor.”
“Okay, good,” the Remnant replied. “Because it’d be terrifying if--”
“If we could speak?” came a voice from behind them. They whirled around, weapons at the ready. The Remnant gasped softly as he beheld the six zombies, all Lost Boys, all shambling toward them. “Good thing we can,” the creature continued.
Ken shook his head disbelievingly. “No...way…” he breathed. He brought his sword to bear but surprise had dulled his reflexes. The Lost Boys were upon him quickly, tearing into his soft flesh.
As the Remnant forced his legs to move, fleeing through sheer force of will, he heard a zombie murmur behind him.
“Did you hear about that Final Knight shrine in Hell Dorado?” a teamster asked his associate as he passed the caravan.
“Yeah, what about it?” his teammate replied, hoisting another package into the cargo bed.
The first teamster looked around furtively. “Well,” he explained, his voice lowering to barely above a whisper. “It’s said that Final Knight shrines have unholy energy coursing through them. And when the plants took over, they absorbed all that dark energy from the shrine.”
“So...what the fuck does that mean?” his friend asked.
“It means,” the first teamster replied with a shudder. “It means that there’s a giant Final Knight plant monster running around, probably slaughtering people.”
“Fuckin’ hell!” his associate exclaimed. “Please let that be some horseshit that someone made up!”
“Hey, Ricard!” Johnny-Sue nudges his sleeping friend.
“Mrf,” comes the muffled response from the bedroll next to him.
Johnny-Sue nudges his friend again. “Ricard, I was just thinking...how come no one’s ever seen Donnie and Shitty Bill in the same place? You reckon one’s disguising himself as the other?”
“Who the fuck are Donnie and Shitty Bill?” Ricard retorts, sincerely wishing he could just knock his friend out. “You been hanging out in Hell Dorito again?”
“It’s Hell DORADO, Ricard,” Johnny-Sue corrects him. “Do-Ra-Do. Also, Donnie and Shitty Bill are part of this Telling Visionist guild called Sesame Street where they harvest Orphan’s Tears, but nobody’s ever seen them around at the same time.”
Ricard, riled as he is, gives this some thought. “I don’t know who or what you’re talking about, but I’m pretty sure that ain’t right,” he replies slowly. “Look, you probably just hallucinated again. You do that when you get really fucked up. Can we just sleep?”
“Yeah, sure,” Johnny-Sue agrees. “Besides, they’re probably both really Paco in disguise.” He closes his eyes.
Ricard does so as well, but mutters one last question to no one in particular. “What the fuck is a Paco?”
“Holy shit!” Tall Fred exclaimed. His foot shifts tumbling several large rocks into the hole below.
“What’s up?” shouted Clem, knee deep in the bushes.
“There’s a fuckton of Silver here!”
“Really? I’ll be damned, there was a vein here underneath the Wall the entire time!”
“Better keep this secret though. You can keep a secret, right Clem?”
“The group observed the Creeping Death from a distance, they needed to get though it to get to the wall but none knew how to pass it. The bravest of them approached it and tried to cut down a stalk, but the vine was to thick and the blade was stuck. Vines quickly reached out and enveloped the Natural One, and he screamed as he was pulled in. Then the Death Eater walked up, calling fourth inner power and unleashed hellfire upon it, and charring it. Vines withdrew, but the blood red tendrils of the Devil’s Sprout launched out grabbing the Psion by the head, lifting it high into the air as it struggled cursing out in rage, till it too was pulled into the weeds. Then lastly, the mightiest of the group strode forward. As the rest of the survivors whimpered in terror, he rushed in and before the vines could react tied them all to each other. The vines struggled to free themselves but they were to dumb. Cheering in joy the others rushed to their hero, who would think that I! A Remnant! Would save all those people-”
The story teller was interrupted by a cup to the head. “Hey! Shut up Leftover we’re trying to sleep! Everyone knows you guys didn’t go anywhere near those plants, you fucking were beating up tumbleweeds!”
Twigs snapped and grass rustled. There was the unmistakable sound of feet pounding as the dark shadows ripped through the night. The two scroungers, an Unborn and a Rover, threw themselves at the ground, making themselves as small as possible as the familiar looking Raiders ran by. Gatorkin. The twisted monsters cried out savagely as they descended on a group of green glowing figures at the other end of the field, who returned the cry in kind. Waves of radiation coursed through the field as the two groups tore into one another. The two huddled together, ignored by the combatants. As the sound of the fighting continued, a huge shape moved out of the swamp and grabbed one of the raiders running by. The Unborn seizing the opportunity picked up the Rover, now crying in pain, and dragged them back to the Wall.
A Diesel Jock walks up to a old storage closet and pulls out a jacket and stares at it. It has a knife sized hole in the back along with dried up blood around the hole. The DJ sighs and grabs his weapons and armor. He looks into a nearby mirror and murmurs, “Not again, not this year.”
An Accensorite walks into the room, and says, “Caravan one is ready when you are.” The Diesel jock chugs a nearby hootch and throws it against the wall. “Let's give them hell!” as he storms out of the room.
The two cloaked figures started to walk into a large tower building. “He thought he could hide, but no one hides from us”, one of them says softly. They picked the lock to the window and crept inside. They drew their blades and slowly made it up to the bed chamber, where lay Inside a sleeping retrograde. They quietly walked in and closed the door, and turned towards their prey, blades at the ready.. “Long live the family”, one of them intones a split second before the Retrograde’s eyes fluttered open. The blades descended on the figure, stabbing repeatedly until there was no sign of life, a large pool of blood spilling off the side of the bed and onto the floor.
Two figures in worn lab coats wrestled bringing in a large crate. “Here is the Semper tube you asked for doctor.” The doctor grabs a crowbar and pries off the cover, and then freezes, a huge confused look on his face. “Is there a problem doctor?” The two lab coats walk over to the crate to see what he was starting at. “I thought you said it was a full tube?”, he said, frustration apparent in his voice. As the two looked into the crate, they noticed the Semper pod has a large hole down the center, and a vicious liquid slowly pouring out the hole. They look up at the doctor’s angry face and gulp at the same time, as one of them stammers,“Well it was full when we grabbed it!”
A few Pure Bloods were waiting next to a caravan that has trade union flags. “What is taking those mercs so long? Don't they know that we are on a busy schedule!”
Off in the distance a caravan advances towards them, the dust in its wake masking its approach as it rumbled down the road. “Finally!”, of the Pure Blood exclaims, their annoyed look turning into one of relief. The caravan pulls up alongside of them, and as the dust settles a door opens.
One of the Purebloods starts to walk up to the caravan. “Do you know how late you are you were suppose to be here 30 minutes ago?”, he says, indignation all over his features. A large blue creature walks out of the caravan and turns on a giant chainsaw. “It's time to play the music” Another figure covered in flames walks out from the other side “It's time to light the lights”.
The Purebloods look these figures up and down, and then at each other, smiles on their faces. “Perfect, he will be quite pleased”, says the first.
The disheveled figure sits at a desk drawing on a piece of paper laughing to himself. He looks up and his eyes focus on nothingness, his hands grasp and clenches the metal scalpel with an iron grip that he uses as rudimentary quill. He pauses, dabs his quill into the bloodied flesh on his forearm, and scribbles on the paper. After moments of writing, he stops, screaming “No no no no NO NO NO!”. In a fluid motion, he balls up the the bloodied piece of paper and throws it into a large pile of crumpled up paper, the dull lamplight bringing up the perfect shade of crimson from the blood that still showed through the pile of wattled paper. “It has to be perfect, no screw ups. This year will be different they will all see the masterpiece that I am creating.”, he said, a maniacal look in his eye. He grabs another piece of paper from a rack, stabs his flesh again, and goes back to drawing. He starts to hum a tune. “One, Two…. Freddy's coming for you.”