AIM: Pancaek Beast | E-mail: shdwdde@gmail.com | Denny's House of Pancaeks
Kairi vs. Claire Redfield (Points: 3/3 Matches: 3/3)
You drop down, off of the foot of the mountain, around its toes and heel. Something dark and intense is burning in your eyes. It could be the fires of hell, motivating you toward the city, or it could simply be the dirt that has somehow become personified. In any case, you like pretty badass and enraged as you gallop into town.
It is midnight by the time you actually roll in, and the city couldn't possibly look more alive... Well, actually, the city could look a lot more alive. Stray lights illuminate scattered houses, but surrounding them are much darker, more forboding apartment complexes. They have a run-down feeling, and you decide to explore one just for the hell of it, knowing full well that no good can come of it.
Or who knows? The door has literally rotted off of its hinges. Your mere approach toward the house generates enough motion to knock the door down and inward, but there is no sound as it hits the floor. You stick your head through the doorway and look downward. The drop looks considerable, but you are mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you are not afraid of anything.
So you step in and fall two full stories into the dark basement. It is extremely cold and damp. Though your layers of fur, muscle, and fat protect you from actually sensing this, you get a generally unpleasant feeling from the place. Not being able to see anything at all also seems to be a minor hindrance, especially when you realize that something particularly cold and damp has clamped down on your forearm. Instinctively, you swing your captive arm into the air. The grip tightens for a second and snaps easily. There is a silence, followed by a squelching, rattling sound, as the thing collides with the wall of the basement.
Cautiously, you make your way over to your fallen assailant. More disgusting grips intercept your path and yank you backward, causing you to slip backward. You fall, landing gluteus maximus first, but you do not hit the moist floor with your fantastic ass but rather something humanoid-shaped and slightly decayed. You push, shove, punch, kick out around you, dislodging these slimy beasts from you. Subconsciously, you know exactly what they are, but even you do not quite want to acknowledge the fact that zombies are attempting to do whatever it is that zombies do to innocent, harmless virgin schoolgirls.
But you are no harmless virgin schoolgirl. You are mother****ing Donkey Kong. Your lashing out easily demolishes the hordes of zombies that are swarming you, and you begin to make your way out, swinging your fists. A few have latched onto your unconquerable thighs and shoulders, but they have absolutely no stopping power to your solid progression across the floor. Total blindness isn't helping you much, but you'll get out... somehow.
BANG! BANG! Sparks of gunfire come out of nowhere. The bursts reveal the hideous faces of the mutilated zombies. Their contorted facial expressions explode as you shove your fists through their mouths and shatter them. The flying bullets also seem to help in doing some mass damage. Getting carried away, you unsheath your Coconut Gun from beneath your skin unload indiscriminantly around you. You have no idea where any zombies are, but judging by the instant splatterings that greet your ears, your rounds are encountering some serious zombie flesh. Over and over, you pull the trigger, spinning around to maximize destructive power. Your coconut supply seems limitless.
After around one minute of trigger happiness, you return to your senses. Gone are the hulking presences in the room. And then a brilliant light shines into your eyes. You hold up your hands in defense instinctively, hearing a shotgun load.
"Another competitor," says the feminine voice. You squint, unable to make out exactly who is talking at you, but you hear the cocking of a shotgun. You shield both eyes and chest.
BANG!
Rounds splatter your chest. They do not pierce your musculature, but they do make superficial wounds, and you are pissed. "AROURGH!" you yell, and though you are entirely blind, you can feel the blood draining out of the zombie killing chick's face. Your imposing hand descends upon her face and smothers it. With your other, you casually wrench the sawed off shotgun from her hand and crumple it into a paper clip. Holding her head in your hand, you stomp very hard on the ground. It cracks open a little, and you force it open with your legs. Running water is audible beneath it.
Taking her flashlight from her, you drop Claire Redfield into a running stream headed for the Pacific Ocean. Or so you think.
(A) Look for a doctor. You're wounded.
(B) Look for a bar. Sex and beer usually help.
(C) Get the hell out of the city. You're mother****ing Donkey Kong, and you've had enough of these mother****ing zombies in this mother****ing mansion.
(D) Take a nap... in the middle of the city streets.
SD
Friday, September 15, 2006
Friday, September 15, 2006
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