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The Game - Short Story

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The Game - Short Story

Post  Bladewind23 on 17th August 2011, 12:21 am

The Game

COMPLETED, LOOK FURTHER DOWN THE PAGE



I was planning to finish this tonight and have it up, but I didn't have enough time, I'll leave the topic as-is and work on the story through Word tomorrow. Expect it up later tomorrow evening.

Although I will leave a teaser (keep in mind, this is an extremely rough draft I scrounged up in an hour):

((Dashes indicate new paragraphs.))

--------Liberty City is dark and quiet, a low fog envelops every alleyway and street. Cars are scattered about and some are destroyed, having been that way for months. Sound is completely absent, albeit the distant echoes of metal on metal.
--------From the mist a large military truck emerges, absent of the damage that has taken over the surrounding vehicles. The truck drives down the main road at a slow pace, cautiously weaving through the decaying cars. After a few more turns it makes a sudden stop in the middle of a large intersection. The engine dies, and sounds of a struggle come from the truck's bed. Five men are bound and gagged in the cargo area, and one of them has been struck into a panic. His distress doesn't last long; the bindings all disappear, as if they never existed. The men all look around in confusion, not sure of what to do next.
--------One of them stands up, awkwardly shuffling around in place. Minutes pass, and he finally speaks, "Before we do anything, we should introduce ourselves, eliminate any future confusion when we figure out what the fuck is going on, my name is York." he said. The others hesitate, but eventually reply, "Mike."
"Greg."
"Mashkov."
"Amold."
--------York nods to each of them, immediately assuming that he is the take-charge person of the group. He notices a large crate in the center of the bed, and quickly removes the lid. The inside reveals a plethora of weapons of all kinds: automatic rifles, sub machine guns, pistols, sniper rifles, and more.


Last edited by Bladewind23 on 17th August 2011, 8:23 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Re: The Game - Short Story

Post  B Mane65 on 17th August 2011, 3:18 pm

That was actually really good, please write the next installment soon cause its seems like this could turn into an excellent zombie story
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Re: The Game - Short Story

Post  Bladewind23 on 17th August 2011, 5:55 pm

You should read my other stories. My first ones weren't perfect but they received great reception.

BTW, I'm currently in full writing mode for this story, I hope to get it up before the day ends.
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Re: The Game - Short Story

Post  Bladewind23 on 17th August 2011, 8:25 pm

I want to dedicate this story to UX, GTA Zombies, and the incredibly enjoyable scenarios that have been played time and time again.

(Dashes mark new paragraphs.)

The Game

-------- Liberty City is dark and quiet; a low fog envelops every alleyway and street. Cars are scattered about and some are destroyed, having been that way for months. Sound is completely absent, excluding the distant echoes of metal on metal.
--------From the fog a large military truck emerges, seemingly absent of any damage. The vehicle drives down the main road at a slow pace, cautiously weaving through the decaying cars. After a few more turns it slows to a stop in the middle of a large intersection. The engine dies, and sounds of a struggle come from the truck's bed. Five men are bound and gagged in the cargo area. They are all moving about to try and remove the binds; their struggle stops short as the bindings disappear, leaving no trace. The men all look around in confusion, not sure of what to do next.
--------One of them stands up, awkwardly shuffling around in place. Minutes pass, and he finally speaks, "Before we do anything, we should introduce ourselves, save the extra confusion when we figure out what the fuck is going on, my name is York." he said. The others hesitate, but eventually retort, "Mike."
"Greg."
"Mashkov."
"Amold."

--------York nods to each of them, immediately assuming that he is the take-charge person of the group. He notices a large crate in the center of the bed, and quickly removes the lid. The inside reveals a plethora of weapons of all kinds, automatic rifles, sub machine guns, pistols, sniper rifles, and more. Mike is the first to get up and begin examining the weapons. "These are all real, and in brand new condition to beat." he said, with an obviously excited tone. The others subsequently stand up and arm themselves, still not knowing the direct reason why.

--------Greg speaks up from the commotion, "There are other supplies here, look: maps, watches, headsets, first aid kits--"

--------“Grab one of each; they wouldn’t give us all of these items for nothing.” York commands. He is the first to step out of the truck, looking around with a Kalashnikov over his shoulder. As the others join him, circular orange lights appear floating inches over their heads, with according names attached to the side. “What the hell?” Mike remarked.
“Ignore them; I believe we have bigger problems on our hands.” York said. He points down the street at a mob of people running towards them. The men stay put, waiting to see what happens. The truck that brought them there suddenly starts back up and speeds away, disappearing into an alleyway. Mashkov makes a move to run after it but York grabs his shoulder, once again redirecting his attention to the mob that is now closing in.
--------“Don’t be stupid, it’s long gone.” York mutters. He readies his rifle and, taking aim at the closest member of the mob, squeezes off several rounds. The bullet-ridden body falls to the ground but none of the others stop. “I’ve seen this before, in movies, those aren’t people, man, those are zombies!” Greg yells. He breaks into a run in the opposite direction, and the others follow.
--------In the ensuing retreat, York checks his watch. He is dumbfounded to see that time has passed much faster than normal; almost one minute has gone by for every second. Next, he pulls out his map, and yet again he discovers something unusual. The map is updating in real-time the positions of himself and the others, who appear as orange dots. Looking further down the map; he notices a mass of green dots has also appeared and are steadily giving chase. After some more studying, he stuffs the map away and changes his pace to catch up with the others. Greg, who is still leading them, makes a sharp turn towards a building and kicks the door open. It reveals an apartment building, with stairs leading to the roof. The group ascends the stairs, not stopping until they reach the top. “Everyone pull out your things, the maps, watches, and headsets, all of that shit.” York demands. “I need to make sure I’m not going insane.”


--------After almost an hour of observing, studying, and testing, the five have discovered the true nature of their items. The watches are running one minute for every two seconds, the maps are all updating in real-time, and the headsets are all synced. “This shit is insane, how is any of this possible?” Greg said. “The only things here that are even logical are the headsets.”
“Well, what do we know so far?” York began. “We do know that we’ve all been kidnapped and put here for what I would assume is a sick game.”
--------He stands up and walks to the edge of the roof, the endless mob of zombies has gathered at the door, and they too have circular lights over their heads, but instead in green. “None of this shit makes any sense.” he mutters.
“We’re here to survive as long as we can, you’re right, it is a sick game.” Amold said, speaking up for the first time. The men nod to each other, agreeing on that being the most possible conclusion. York stands in silence, appearing to be in deep thought. “In that case..” he stops for a moment to reload his weapon, “we have some surviving to do.”
--------The group bursts from the back door of the apartment building, quickly assessing the area and continuing down the alleyway. They emerge onto a large street, and their presence is revealed to the horde around the corner. The raging mob rushes for them, only to be met by a hail of bullets and shrapnel. The men retreat backwards, dispatching as many of the creatures as possible as they go. A monotone voice plays over each of their headsets.

“FIFTEEN MINUTES LEFT.”

--------“What’s that supposed to mean, fifteen minutes to what?” Mike questions. His voice is barely heard over the gunfire and screams of the zombies. “Fuck it, just concentrate on shooting.” York responded. The zombies begin to approach from all sides, and the men get into a circle formation. The horde gains ground with every member they lose.
--------From afar, two plumes of black smoke race down the street. The sound of an old and poorly maintained diesel engine rumbles over the asphalt. Mashkov is the first to hear it, and immediately afterward a horrendously loud horn blares. “Everyone move, now!” He yells out. Mashkov and three others run for a nearby alleyway. Greg is too late to heed the warning; an enormous dump truck careens through the zombies and runs him down, leaving everything in an unrecognizable mess. “Shit! Greg! What the fuck!?!” Mike screams. York and Mashkov take him by the arms and continue through the alleyway, with Amold covering the front.

“TEN MINUTES LEFT.”

--------The four exit from the alleyway onto another, smaller street. York leads them to the main street, and they see the first sign of human life. Two ambulances race past them with survivors hanging out of the windows, guns in hand. This moment of security is short lived; even more zombies begin pouring from nearby alleyways. The first few are easily dispatched, but they quickly group up, becoming increasingly dangerous. In the intensity, Mike’s gun runs out of ammunition. Before he can reload, a few zombies break through and he goes down. The other three are caught up in their own problems and never get a chance to save him. “Run, now!” York yells out. They get through the wall of zombies and cross the street into Middle Park.
--------The sound of helicopter blades looms over them, the men look up, hoping to find rescue. Their hopes are once again dashed, the helicopter is on fire and falling from the sky, it slams into the ground hard to their front, exploding into a fireball. Charred bodies of survivors scatter about, and the remains are swarmed by zombies. York directs the men to the nearby museum, where they rush through the back door. Mashkov stops inside the door, “I’ll hold them off for a while, you two need all the time you can get, now go!” York and Amold run further into the museum, eventually reaching the main room.

“FIVE MINUTES LEFT.”

--------Back in the hallway, Mashkov reloads his machine gun, and prepares for his final stand. The first few zombies shamble through the door and are instantly shredded. A few seconds of silence follows, and then a sudden mass rushes through the entrance. A chorus of bullets meets their growling and screaming advances. The zombies are slaughtered at first but each group that comes through is bigger than the last. After more than a minute of continuous fire, Mashkov’s gun fires its last round, and he is taken by the horde.
--------York and Amold fortify themselves at the front desk of the museum, awaiting the arrival of the zombies that have now broken through. Unlike the previous encounters, this time a massive wave appears from the door. Gunfire overshadows every other noise, and streams of blood and guts emanate from the falling bodies of the horde. Time itself slows down, York’s screams of battle combine with the gunfire as a match made in heaven. Brass casings and blood shower all around the two men as the zombies are slaughtered.

“ONE MINUTE LEFT.”

--------York and Amold retreat from the front desk and ascend the stairs at the rear of the building. The horde is gradually beginning to overpower them, and Amold is down to his last two magazines of ammunition. York kills as many as he can on his own, until he is met with low ammunition as well. Amold takes over, only to be grabbed by one of the dying zombies and dragged down the stairs. York stands up and runs around onto the balcony. He reloads his last magazine and turns to face the horde.

“TEN SECONDS LEFT.”

Blood flies onto York’s face as one zombie after another is cut down. He pulls a handgun from his belt and uses both weapons in unison.

“FIVE.”

York yells out a battle cry like no other as the zombies continue to fall.

“FOUR.”

His rifle makes an unwelcome sound, a slight metallic ring, out of ammunition.

“THREE.”

The zombies swarm up, too much for a handgun to take on.

“TWO.”

York jumps from the balcony, falling towards the ocean of zombies below.

“ONE.”

“GAME OVER.”

York looks around, and sees nothing but blackness. Hours pass, and he still sits in silence, until a slight microphone crackle echoes through the room.

“CONGRATULATIONS, YOU SURVIVED, FOR NOW…”




Last edited by Bladewind23 on 17th August 2011, 10:10 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Re: The Game - Short Story

Post  ABigSoggy Wafle on 17th August 2011, 9:03 pm

Oh god dammit I lost

Cool story. I think, however, using other cameos to refer to members on the site would be a good idea as well. Say, you could have BlackSnow flying the helicopter, or Eaustin reprimanding the group of survivors for running too long, zombie shot gun would be a nice touch to-...

You get the point. It was a fun, quick, read but, a little more humor couldn't hurt. Glad to see someone putting up story and a coherent, well written one at that.
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