Board Thread:Lores/@comment-30517583-20180520115312

'''I just want to live. All I have to do is to stay here and wait for my comrades to finish with repairing the truck.'''

'''I can fight to the death. Even if we fail, I have contributed to the Survivors.'''

Or so thought Peter as he relived the last moments of his life, as a horde rushed against the frail timber door as, outside, his friends were slaughtered attempting to haul the remaining tyres gathered from the abandoned tenament buildings of Kingstreet back to the truck.

"Shit! We needa leave the tyres, we're being swarmed!"

"No, we stay with the tyres! We aren't getting out until they get onto the truck!"

Screams flung themselves at the glass pane between Peter and the carnage unfolding below, to no avail as Peter simply tucked his head between his hands and mashed his eyelids together.

A brute's club shattered between the two quarreling survivors, and instantly killed the two of them.

A CK barrel, separated from the gun's main body from the blast, smashed through the brittle glass pane and landed barely a ruler's length away from Peter.

Peter, registering the increase in noise and the dull clink on the hard concrete floor, looked up.

Connected to the blown-off barrel was a trigger-guard twisted so far to the right that it had taken one of the survivor's fingers with it. The blackened stump of flesh looked more like a lump of ash than a finger, with a single discolored bit of bone and sizzling marrow poking out of it.

Peter froze, before twisting his head around to tear his eyes away from the grisly spectacle, which lead to his head connecting to wall in a very uncomfortable manner.

He went out. Cold.

When Peter woke up later, his vision was all tinged with red. Everything, coated with red. It was only then that he felt the dull, thudding pain on the side of his skull.

The setting sun of the late-afternoon had turned into the blood-red of nightfall. Outside, there was only the moans of undead and the tearing sound of flesh being ripped apart by ravenous teeth.

All Peter knew was that he was now truly alone. All the friends that had died outside, all dead.

'''It wasn't my fault. I just wanted to live.'''

If I had helped, it wouldn't have made a difference.

But, the rational part of Peter refused to swallow his own mind's lies, even if he had been spoonfed by them several hours ago.

Maybe, we could have won back then if I had helped.

But, if we hadn't won, at least now you have a chance.

I am doomed now.

If I can sneak out silently, I will succeed.

'''There's no point. They will see you, and you will have to take down the barricade that you had just erected.'''

'''But you have a chance to win. Even if it is that small.'''

'''But, if I had helped back then, I could have a better chance of survival. And I wouldn't die an unfulfilling death like I will die now.'''

If I can sneak out now, I can survive.

And so, Peter stayed in this drunken-like stupor for a whole hour, and wasted the last rays of daylight staring blankly at the barricaded door.

It was only when a straying zombie chanced upon his scent upon entering the building that he was hiding in and attacked the door that he finally rose up.

Peter glanced at the R870 Wingmaster that he had gotten for becoming a veteren survivor... And looked away in shame as his memories threatened to shake him from the real world.

It was because they said that it would be as easy as pie and that all you'd have to do is provide cover fire.

'''I don't have any weapons for accuracy and support. And you could have helped when they were being overrun.'''

I just wanted to live; to survive.

You could have survived by helping, and by doing so avoided this.

The flashbacks cost Peter time, by now, several zombies were ramming full-force into the door.

Suddenly, a sudden glow approaching the doorway shook Peter fully awake.

''An elemental! The whole place is going to be lit up like a beacon! Zombies will flock over here! And I'll die!''

Immediately, the sudden groans alerted Peter to what was happening outside.

I'll die.

You should have helped them.

If I can get rid of that elemental...

'''You can't. It's trying to approach, but is blocked by the zombies. You may kill it with your Wingmaster, but that'll defeat the purpose of staying silent.'''

'''Dammit, I might as well take a few down with me! For my friends!'''

The 'friends' felt incredibly sour inside Peter's mind.

Nevertheless, Peter lifted up the Wingmasted, unloaded a shot into the door, creating a hole large enough for him to see the cramped staircase, and the snarling faces of the undead.

Without hesitating, Peter unloaded another four shots into the stairwell, before being hit by a wave of sudden nausea.

Tickers!

'''I should stay and defend myself. If I can last until daytime, maybe they can send some help...'''

'''That isn't going to happen. Make a run for it.'''

'''I can stay. I can brave out the radiation and kill some more.'''

'''You only have 6 shots left. After that, you can only repel attacks with a fire axe, and you aren't going to last very long. And if combat doesn't kill you, radioactive overdose will.'''

I just want to survive.

'''Then you should have helped. Survive, to show that your friends' deaths were not for nothing.'''

And so, Peter shoved another 5 shells into his Wingmaster, before leaping out of the window.

Straight into the eyes of a brute rounding the corner.

Peter brought up the shotgun, fired, and worked the pump of his Wingmaster, as the ejected shell tumbled past his face...

'''I just wanted to survive. I never wanted to fight. I never wanted to die.'''

As his last thoughts pressed themselves into his mind, Peter laughed inwardly at how they had led to his death.

Peter yanked on the trigger again, watched the brute's eyes go blank, before the club flattened against him against the wall of the tenement block. 