Board Thread:Lores/@comment-27026309-20190803100155

1930's Kingstreet is a small town located among the dozens of other towns. It was built after a wealthy man found the area through his son's hitchhikes in 1921. It was inhabited by insects and the occasional pigeons. Covered by mountains on the left and surrounded by the ocean on the right, it was loosely connected to another piece of ground with dirt sticking out from the mountains. The man of wealth first requested the construction of the bridge for the two loosely connected lands to be together. From there on, the town was withholding a small population of 10, reaching  it's peak of 680 people in 1974, and dropped to 310 in 2000 after residents found the town to be "too small" for them.

Year 2001 was when I was travelling to Kingstreet to meet a friend. There were only two ways of travelling to Kingstreet, a small tunnel capable of fitting one truck, and a subway, which was my choice of transportation. I was browsing my phone when I overheard a man who was in extreme distress, mutter the words to a woman, "Please... tell them to stop the train. Ever since I got on here, I've been feeling serious motion sickness." The man, soon I learned to be a scientist, started vomiting and his skin was turning to a dark green.

Eventually, the man started biting and scratching the other passengers and mass panic ensued. More and more people were being infected, some transforming into horrible creatures with eyes bulging out and even spontaneously combusting. Hiding in the front of the train, I noticed a light green-skinned muscular man in nothing but shorts, holding up a huge club approaching. He was right in front of me. He held up the club, and smashed it into the ground, dealing me heavy damage to my legs. Out of sheer luck, the train fell off a small bridge, built with the intent of supporting a train, and not meant for people to waltz on.

I had reached Kingstreet, and the man, who we decided to classify as "Brute" caused the train to lose balance. As the train fell, I held on the the seats as I watch the Brute tumble its way into the ocean, causing a huge splash. I then waited in that spot, holding onto the hanging seats with my injured feet. Then comes another monster, who we classified as an "Edgar" was grabbing my throat with its long, durable tongue and hanged me whilst pulling me upwards.

As I gave up on life, a man came and slit the throat of the Edgar using broken glass. I was saved, by luck, timing, and that man, who when I saw him face to face, was my friend whom I intended to meet. What followed next was simply peace and quiet, nothing of any significance happened, I bonded with my friend, other residents and survivors of that trainwreck. All went well, until the day our defenses were breached by sheer strength of a very rare, charged, cyan-coloured, Brute. Then came hordes of zombies.

Our equipment and weapons were never of power, we managed to creats bombs, molotovs, healthkits. However, the most we had was a pistol and a sniper rifle. We could not fight the horde, our only chances to survive was to run. But the only thing we had was a truck, with no tires, and located all the way across the bridge.

My group of survivors gathered all the tires we could and rushed to the truck while being supported from behind and front. Some had fallen, some had stood. The outcome was shrouded in uncertainty. When we reached the truck, we quickly applied the tires while my friend tried starting the engine. Most fortunately, the truck had enough gas to get us out. We had already put in the tires, and all seemed well when a Brute was killed. But from the corner of my eye, I saw it.

The charged Brute, followed along by multiple creaturs in which we've never seen. Some of them were wearing hazmat suits while leaking toxic gas that could kill a human within minutes, some were digging underground and striking us from below. It didn't matter though, as we had all the tires in place and ready to go. However, the charged Brute threw his club at the back of the truck, dealing what some described as "powerful as 10 grenade" force. The survivors who rushed into the back of the truck died upon impact, while my friend in the driver's seat sustained massive damage. None of the tires came off and the back of the truck could only fit a handful of people now. Luckily, if you're the morbid type, half of the survivors were decimated by Elementals who were for some reason dealing electric damage, hooded crawlers leaping onto some of them, and the hazmat suit wearing infected exploded upon having its back shot.

I had pushed my friend to the passenger's seat and slammed the doors shut and drove off, with only 1/20th of the initial survivor count being in the back of the truck. There were too many infected in front of us, but luckily my friend has a pipebomb which I swiped from him and threw into the ocean, leading many infected to their deaths. We had narrowly escaped through the small tunnel in the side of the mountains, and from then on, 1930's Kingstreet will remain as another landmark that was conquered by the infection. 