Board Thread:Forum Games/@comment-31503594-20170818232630/@comment-30517583-20170819071533

Out of the direction, a column of smoke is thrown up, and you can hear the growl of engines-not just one or two, but a whole symphony- no, a whole orchestra of engines thrumming, growing louder and louder.

The ground begins to shake, shake, and shake.

From every direction streams lines upon lines of trucks, and whole masses of the undead and survivors begin to grow bigger.

Their destination is obvious.

As you look around yourselves, you realise how pitiful you and the FAMAS rioters are. All your weapons, your armour and rank and fame, all pathetic facades of those who call themselves 'pros' or 'scrubkiller'.

There is no way you can run.

You are trapped, you are dead. Backed against a cliff, you determine to go out with a bang.

The lines of figures grow bigger. R2D Veterans, cradling MP5s and Miniguns, and a mix of ranks from R2DA cradling everything from shovels to M249s are now close enough to see enraged expressions, hiding fear beneath an endless facade of bloodlust.

You and the FAMAS rioters reach a general alliance, and you slowly point the shaking barrel of your gun at the endless waves of the enemy.

The first M939 truck barrels at you, followed by an outdated R2D Van. A shot from your RPG puts the occupants snuffs out their lives, cutting off their connections with the living with a simple pull of your fingers.

The Van continues to hurtle at you, and not realising you were there to curb the riot, catches you off guard.

PR, at this point, has dissapeared. Vanished out of thin air.

At this point, you can hear the baying of voices, all tinged with bloodlust.

"KILL THE SHITHEADS!!! WE DON'T NEED THE FAMAS!!!"

The Van is flung out of thin air by a M202 blast to the side, and you gratefully acknowledge the rioter who shot it.

A line of Brutes advances on your position. Undead, with no future, all hopes of life stolen from them beforehand by fellow humans who developed the virus. What do they feel? Why are they aiding those who don't want the FAMAS?

A M939, unseen by you, flings you into the air. The metal grille hurls you upwards, and you hear bones breaking. With just a Firevest on, you land onto the ground legs first.

A sharp jolt of pain now presses through your legs, forcing tears out of your eyes.

So that's how it ends...

You think of the endless undead you've killed, the numerous humans you had to pick off to climb the ladder to your rank. You look back onto your life, and are comforted by the fact that you will die right here, right now.

You can almost hear the mocking voices from heaven, as you descend into hell.

Your CK Swat lies right next to you. You curse the pain, curse those you killed, curse PR, curse yourself, curse the rioters, curse those who had to try and kill you, and you curse everything.

Through the haze film of tears, your finger grip around the comforting handle of the CK Swat.

At this point, the rioters are all dead, and those who have come to kill off the riot deparrt, leaving in their wake a field of broken bodies and the husks of burned of vehicles.

It's a dog eat dog world, huh...

The zombies stay behind, feasting on dead bodies without a care for rioter or riot-crusher.

You say farewell to the world you've lived in- a cruel world, but simple in how it ran.

Tears cover your eyes as you press the cold steel of the CK Swat's barrel to your forehead.

And so in that field, Prestige Officer CENSORED died, surrounded by the dead.

Total dead during riot: Unknown

Total Undead eliminated: 230

Material cost expended: $15 900 000