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Post by COOKIE on Aug 16, 2016 4:03:34 GMT
The sky bled a vast array of purples, oranges, and yellows as the sun began to set over the horizon. Some would argue that going off into the zombie-infested night wasn't the most rational or tactical decision, but when was Cooper ever known for his practicality? Sitting with his legs crossed, the German took to sharpening his blades.
Shiiiiiiiiiink... Shiiiiiiiiiiink..
The sound was like a melodic ecstasy to the nineteen-year-old's ears. Under his breath, he began to softly sing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star in German. His sister was always a fan of the annoying song for tykes, and had oddly become increasingly obsessed with it recently, the tune starting to bounce around in his own head the more the nine-year-old felt the need to religiously chant the tune day and night. Saving himself from another boring night, he rounded up one of his good friends, Fitz and they settled on going out on the town for a fun night of raiding. It was how he got his kicks these days. That, and it never hurt to pick up supplies for the group. Instead of sneaking out to a nightclub, Cooper was now sneaking out to cut the heads off of the walking dead and scavenge what he could in a withering world. He'd found the comparison humorous, and in turn, chuckled almost manically aloud.
Tortured groans sounded behind him, and Cooper was on his feet within seconds. A small posse of the undead were lumbering towards him, their rotted hands grasping for him, desperately looking to get hands on their next meal. They were never satisfied. The three of them all varied in appearance. One had all but one tooth, the smallest one was covered from head to toe in tattoos that someone could still make out if they tried hard enough, another had lost most of her hair aside from a few strands and was clad in a pair of blood-stained pumps.
Letting loose a sinister smile, he charged forward. Taking on a group this size was childs play, especially when one possessed not one, but two beautifully sharp blades. He aimed for the one littered with tattoos first. It was plain in his movements, and the spark in his eye that he found this to be like a sport; a game of sorts. Apathetic to the fact that this was once a living, thinking, and capable human being, he mutilated the body. There was no quick cut jab to the brain and on to the next soulless ghoul. Instead, Cooper sliced the body multiple times, laughing joyously as he hacked off limbs. After rendering one a pile of rotted body parts, he went on to the next, easily out maneuvering their slow, labored movements with his rapid, sporadic ones.
tag: FITZ | notes: once again, i did not proofread. have fun love ^^ | words: 461
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Aug 17, 2016 18:31:42 GMT |
Post by FITZ on Aug 17, 2016 18:31:42 GMT
The setting sun casted the dark tent in a warm glow. The black tarp absorbed the rays causing the human that laid inside to become a tad too warm for her liking. Soft snoring emitted from beneath the propped up tarp. Outside the tent, sat a loyal black lab, his watchful brown eyes staring down a lone squirrel. He was tempted to bark but he was trained better. The black dog stood up on all fours, his stomach growling like a caged bear. In a blur, the dog left his spot at the entrance of the tent and chased down the animal that had caught his eye earlier. The squirrel never knew what was coming. With his broad head held high and long tail wagging, the lab trotted back to his master’s tent, pleased with himself. Upon reaching the makeshift tent, he gently place the dead animal in front of the girl’s sleeping face. He then nudged the girl with his cold wet nose. Fitz murmured and shielded her face from her beloved pet. She desperately wanted to sleep as the past couple of nights contain little. Opening one hazel eye, she groaned. “ Pheasant! How many times have I told you to not bring dead animals into the tent?” she exclaimed fully aware that dog could not understand. Pheasant opened his mouth and perked his ears at the mention of his name. Maeve picked up the carcass, holding it out in front of her with a disgusted look on her face. “ I appreciate the thought but I have no desire to eat squirrel. You should go and see if Bubba will use it.” Although the hunting lab understood a few of the words she had spoke, he took the dead squirrel from her and padded off to where the camp kitchen was. Fitz snorted and shook her head. Noticing the sky, she groaned once more. She had forgotten she was supposed to go raiding with Cookie. Reaching back into the tent, her fingers found her grey backpack and her trusty spiked bat. She swung the empty backpack onto her shoulders and zipped up the black hoodie she wore. After pulling her dark hair into a high ponytail, Fitz made sure that her knife was accessible by placing it into it’s holster located on her belt loop. The hoodie covered the hunting knife from view. Pheasant had returned with his tail wagging and treat in his mouth. Pulling her hood over her head, she whistled, the dog falling next to her, ready. The two walked towards the meeting spot. Human and dog. Master and loyal servant. Friend and friend. ----
The scene she had walked in one might be horrifying to most but after going on several raids with Cookie, Fitz was immune to his sicken ways. She stood, watching his methodical dance with the living dead. Secretly, her stomach was churning at his actions. Why couldn’t he just put them out of their misery? Pheasant whined. He wanted to join Cookie. Instead of walks, Fitz took the dog on raids. The lab had saved their arses multiple times and was a proven member of the team. She placed a hand on the animal’s furry face, telling him to wait there. One of the living dead was within a few feet of her. Dropping her hood so that she could see better, Fitz tightened her grip on the metal bat. She knew Cookie would be annoyed with her if she killed one of his playthings but alas, she could not stand the torture anymore. Using two hands, Maeve swung the light weight bat, one of the spikes entering the head of the zombie with the high heels with a sickening thud. The body crumpled with her bat still stuck in it's head. She yanked on the aluminum weapon but it did not give. If a spike breaks off, I am going to cry. Even though Fitz had seemingly dried up her tear ducts at the beginning of the apocalypse, tears started to form, creating a protective barrier for her brown and green eyes. She strained her muscles, pulling on the weapon. Still no give. She grunted and tried again. Nothing. I could ask Cookie. Fitz pushed air through her nostrils at that thought. Yeah, right. She didn’t need the boy to tease her about her strength as that would lead to her small stature. She knew she was short, shorter than most and that caused many to believe that she was not capable of defending herself. Taking a deep breath in, she placed a foot on the back of the now dead zombie. Fitz steadied her balance while at the same time tightening her grip on the metal bat. With a hard pull, the spike left the hole it made with a pop. Maeve fell hard on her backside. “ Ouch” She clambered to her feet, wincing. “ All yours, “she said to Cookie, gesturing to the corpse. She was not in the mood to loot the body. She pulled out the piece of paper that one of the supply storage managers had given her. “ We need bullets, soap, wax, clothes, wait,” She squinted in the dying light at the handwriting. “ Scratch clothes, I meant cloth, same thing really but whatever.” She looked over at Cookie who had finished his killing rampage, seeing if he was listening. He probably wasn’t but she didn’t care. Reading things off the list was more for her benefit anyways. She scanned the rest of the list, repeating the words out loud, her brain shoving the items names in pockets that she could easily recall them later. She was grateful for her eidetic memory in times like these as they would certainly draw attention with her having to check the list every five minutes with one of their flashlights. She folded the list when she was done with and shoved it in a back pocket of her dark jeans. “ You all set then?” Fitz asked Cookie. “ Where to, Boss?” She grinned at him, her teeth glinting in the dying sun’s rays. “ Slice and dice, eh?” That was their code word for a melee attack which is what just happened seconds before. ‘Oh, fuck’ was code for ‘a large zombie herd was coming’ while ‘Shit!’ meant Fitz had injured herself somehow.
NOTES: Rambled sorry! | COOKIE | 1063 words
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Post by COOKIE on Aug 18, 2016 2:06:27 GMT
On to the last reanimated corpse, Cooper put in some more 'flair' into this one. His breathing was labored as he leisurely approached the soulless female. It was the one with only one crooked tooth hanging from its gums and it surprised him that the zombie hadn't gotten skinny to the point where it couldn't function. It probably wasn't the most easy task to gobble down organs and flesh with one lone tooth yet that would never stop the undead. She stumbled, but managed to stay upright without tumbling to the ground. Laughter surfaced once more, nothing but sadistic glee sounded from his laughter. His eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked at his last prey. Kicking the walker in the shin, she scrambled to the ground, groaning all the way down. Stepping on her back, he pressed down hard until a sickening crack emitted from the struggling zombie. Still, everyone knew that a broken back wouldn't stop a zombie from trying to get a good grip on its desired next meal.
From the corner of his gleaming blue eyes, Cooper noticed Fitz was in a bit of a bind yet he made no move to help her. The majority of it was simply due to the fact he didn't feel compelled to lend a helping hand. She could handle herself and resolving it on her own would help further along down the road by boosting her confidence. It was all part of Cooper's ingenious plan. Besides, he was having way too much fun where he was currently stationed.
Returning his attention down to the sad pile of flesh before him, Cooper gave it multiple quick jabs to the head, rendering it inanimate at this point, but the crazed nineteen-year-old male didn't stop there. His blades cut through the skin on the back of the zombie, shredding it and exposing the spine. When he got into these situations, Cooper could feel himself slipping. It felt like he was watching himself while someone else took the controls to his body. The pleasure that wrapped around him and embraced him whenever he took taking out a zombie too far frightened him to his very core. Would it get to the point where he would never escape his blood lust haze? Would it reach that brink where he would struggle to differentiate the living from the undead? Cooper never spoke of it to anyone, but the last time he went on a big raid and the group was powering through a miniature horde, he'd almost gone straight for another raider in his daze. The thing that took him out of it was Fitz. At the last second, he'd realized it'd been her just as he'd raised one of his blades to strike merrily in her back. At Disney, he'd found it difficult so much as look at her without being engulfed by guilt.
Panting, Cooper got off of the corpse before kicking it to the side with a satisfied grunt. Wiping the sweat forming at his brow, he sauntered over to Fitz where she stood next to her prey. Or attacker, depending on how one looked at it. The previous ones he'd taken down didn't have much on them, one however, had a pack of gum which his hands quickly swiped up. He threw the pack at her. It was watermelon flavored and he already had a strip in his mouth. Blowing a large bubble, he popped it as he crouched down next to the body, only half listening to Fitz as she read of the desired items. He didn't really care what got checked off. He raided more for the exhilarating zombie killing bit. Sighing, he reached into the last pocket on the zombie. She didn't seem to have much on her. Figures. Cooper could've already guessed that she wouldn't have much for loot on her. No one in this retched world would dare wear heels. The fashion statement could easily get one turned into zombie chow. Cooper's fingers did however graze something in her pocket. Pulling it out, he was disappointing to see it was a family portrait.
It was taken during Christmas time. The backdrop to the picture was a glittering tree with homemade ornaments. No doubt some crafted by the younger boys in the picture. The woman wasn't hard to spot as she was the only woman in the photo. Whistling, Cooper nodded his head in approval. She'd been quite the attractive woman back when she didn't have a hankering for human flesh. Her husband stood next to her, looking at least twenty years older. They had three young boys, ranging from the ages of seven to eleven. Rolling his blue eyes, he tossed the picture to the ground, "Nothing but garbage," he reported monotonously, standing up, resisting the urge to rip his wallet out from his back pocket and gaze longingly at his own family photo. He wasn't sure why he even did it, but he tore himself out of the picture long ago. Perhaps it was because he thought he didn't deserve to be a member of his family? To be considered a Walter. He was the eldest and yet his younger siblings all succumbed to the afterlife before him. If he couldn't protect them, what good was he?
Waltzing over to Fitz and her list, Cooper pointed at the list, specifically soap with a bloodied finger, "Let's make this priority number one," he winked as he continued teasingly, "from one pal to another, you stink." Chuckling at his own little jab, he turned to look in the distance, putting a hand up as a feeble attempt to shield his squinted eyes from the dipping sun. Clicking his tongue, Cooper only answered one of Fitz's questions, "That way my minion!" He gestured grandly towards some buildings ahead. They looked to be storefronts. He assumed one was a bakery of sorts and another to be a department store of sorts. From this distance, it was too hard to get a closer look at the other stores.
"You know that's the only way I do it," he hummed, sending Fitz a goofy grin. Internally, he winced. Oh how she'd been so close to being on the receiving end of the slice and dice maneuver.
tag: FITZ | words: 1045 | notes: wanted to give you matching length so eyyyyy
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Aug 18, 2016 22:31:28 GMT |
Post by FITZ on Aug 18, 2016 22:31:28 GMT
Fitz rolled her brown and green eyes at Cookie. She was glad that she did not ask for his help earlier, his teasing would have been much worse. Although she considered the boy standing near her her closest friend at the compound, she could not shake the feeling that the boy’s mental state was more gone than she had previously thought. Alas, Fitz threw out those thoughts. Unless Cookie attacked her, their relationship would remain the same. If he was to attack, she would not hesitate to kill. She had done it before. She whistled again, the large black lab heeling by her side once more, awaiting her next command. A small smile spread across her face as she looked down at Pheasant. The dog’s long tail was swinging wildly, hitting everything within a two feet radius including Cookie. Why couldn’t could she be like her beloved pet? Always happy and ready to do what was required of them. Her smile drooped into a frown. She knew the answer to that question. It was because she remembered every detail. Every single one. Who was there, the smells, what time a day it was, and how she did the deed. The face of the old woman popped up, still seared into her brain. The face was pale and wrinkled like someone had forgotten to iron a white shirt. Her fading straw colored hair was matted and thrown over her shoulder haphazardly. Leaves and sticks stuck out of her locks along with other oddities. Fitz always wondered if her brush was lost in there as she could see the plastic handle of something poking out. She also wondered how the woman slept. Most likely upside down like a bat. Her overly plump lips full of makeup and always stretched into to a cheerful smile like cooking people was something to be happy about. The elder’s eyes were still a vivid blue but the whites of her eyes had gone yellow. That was probably an effect of the fact that she smoked. A cloud of the tobacco smoke had always seemed to follow her, stench almost masking the smell of blood and despair that had hung around the backroom. The old woman wore hideous shades of bright lipstick that made her eyes appear more sunken than they actually were. Everytime she visited the inmates of the room she wore different mismatched outfits. Velvety overcoats, neon colored pants, patterned dresses, high heeled shoes, and blood stained gloves. Vivian. The name echoed in Fitz’s mind. Vivian, Vivian, Vivian. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breath caught in her throat. No, not now. Go away! She desperately thought of everything but the old woman. It was no use she was stuck. Stuck in the past. Fitz sat in the corner frantically tugging on a rusty metal pipe. She was coming! The phrase rang over and over. The only thing she could think about. Vivian was coming! The old woman always came at the same time, ten fifteen on the dot. Not a second too soon or a second too late. She tugged on the pipe her fingers slipping. She grunted and pulled harder. She had been working on freeing the pipe ever since she found it two nights ago. Since then it had loosened a great deal, however one end was still stuck firmly into the tiled wall. It was difficult to see what color the walls were actually but to Fitz they appeared to be cream. Only a lone naked light bulb hung down from the ceiling casting a eerie glow onto the inhabitants of the room. Most them had given up, save for Fitz, about leaving this place alive. They laid on the ground counting the seconds until one them would be chosen to become a feast for the cannibalistic group that had captured them. The ones that fought the most had been slaughtered and eaten first. Today was Fitz’s turn. She was going to make them pick her. She was done feeling like a caged, helpless animal. Tired of hearing the screams of the ones chosen as their bodies were mutilated and cut into. She was going to get out, alive, as soon as she got the pipe off the wall.
Grasping the pipe with what strength she had left, Fitz yanked on it, throwing her whole weight into it. The rusty pipe left the wall with a dull snap and in its place shot out a stream of murky reddish brown water. The water showered down on the girl but she hardly noticed. In her hands, laid a peeling pipe that was jagged on both ends and was about as long as a baseball bat. She could hear nothing except the sound of blood rushing in her ears. She turned away from the wall, the water now nonexistent. She pushed her now wet dark locks out of her hazel eyes. She crouched near the entrance of the door, her muscles taut and hard beneath the clothes she wore. Her sneakered foot slipped on the account of the puddle she had made but she caught herself. Fitz kept her breath steady even though internally she was freaking out. Before today, she had never killed anyone .Only game animals suffered at her mercy. None of the other inhabitants had moved from their places during the time it took her to free the rusty pipe. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she waited. Her fingers nervously tapped on the the pipe. She shifted, antsy to leave this hell hole. She had not left this room since being captured twenty three days ago.
The heavy door creaked open exposing a shaft of light. Fitz’s eyes adjusted to the newfound light, trying to find the woman. She moved her grip on the pipe so that she could maneuver better. Locking her eyes on her target, she jumped to her feet. The rusty pipe whistled through the air, Fitz’s arms swinging like her father had taught her to when he was teaching her how to play teeball. The metal weapon collided with the side of the old woman’s head. Time seemed to slow as Fitz watched Vivian crumple to the ground. Tears formed in her hazel eyes, as she swung the pipe once more, caving in the woman’s face. As Fitz looked down at her handywork, she felt bile rise up. She fell to her knees her palms face down on the dirty tiled floor. The contents of her stomach emptied onto the ground , mixing in with the blood and dirty water that was already there. Fitz stayed like that for awhile, her head pounding and her brain screaming at her to leave. She slowly dragged herself to her feet, the reason of why she did what she did now realized. Her mind cleared one single thought stayed in her brain. Live.
Fitz stepped over the lifeless body. Her body was numb, the buzzing feeling traveling along every nerve until it reached her brain. She stumbled into the light hallway, the amount of light hurting her eyes. Shielding her eyes with a free hand, she squinted trying to find an exit. There was only one. Through the kitchen then the storefront then finally outside. Once her brown and green eyes had become accustom to the light, Fitz leaned against the wall next to the swinging doors that lead into the kitchen. The clanking of pots and pans sounded out through the wall. Fitz swallowed. Another one. Her stomach dropped. How many people must she kill to live? How many lives are worth her own? Her fingers found the chain of her grandmother’s necklace. Die or live. That was the real question here, she heard her grandmother say. She was a blunt and practical woman. Taking a breath in, Fitz sneaked in through the double doors. Her eyes widen at the sight she saw. If she hadn’t thrown up before coming into the room, she would have done so now. A lone man stood over a body that had appeared to be picked clean of muscle. The man was humming to a foreign tune that played from a radio. He seemed to enjoy what he was doing, frying the dead human tissue that he had removed beforehand. Fitz grabbed the nearest knife, and a few more for the road. He wasn’t bothering her, in fact he hadn’t even noticed her. Did she need to kill him? She stood there, biting her lip. No. As Fitz moved to the door that led to the storefront, she turned at looked at him. No, Fitz. Just go.
She gently pushed through the door, not knowing what she would face. The room was set up like a dining room with a large table in the center that was set for six. Four people sat at the table chatting like old friends. Hatred filled her mind. She was angry. Angry how they could just sit there, totally normal like they are not supporting cannibalism. They did not seem to notice Fitz as she walked closer to them. She had picked up a machine gun that was leaning against the wall. She stopped within five feet of the group, the end of the gun pointed towards them. Fitz could not think clearly. Fear mixed with hatred, battling for the reins of her body. Anger won. She squeezed the trigger, pumping metal bullets into each of the people sitting at the table. They fell, dropping to the ground lifelessly. The man from before barged through the door yelling. Fitz turned the gun onto him, killing him instantly. She dropped the machine gun like it had burned her. With tears streaming down her face at what she had just done, she pushed through the doors out to the street. Sunlight washed over her and she welcomed it, hoping that it could save her from the dark place that the world had become. And also herself.
Fitz came back to the present, time did not appear to have passed. Her hand was on Pheasant and the dog thoroughly enjoying it. After removing her hand from the animal’s broad head, she turned her attention to the looming stores that Cookie had gestured to before. She narrowed her eyes in the dying light hoping to spot some sort of outline of drug store or even a pharmacy. No such luck. She sighed and slipped the package of watermelon gum that he had thrown at her earlier into one the back pockets of her jeans. “ Who wants to do some shopping?” She didn’t expect to be answered. Pulling her black sleeves down past her wrists, Fitz slipped her thumbs through the hole at the end of them. That would hopefully prevent blood and gore from covering her head to toe. Running water was scarce at Disneyland as was soap. She did not want to waste it because she was careless. Once she was situated, she jerked her head into the direction of the first shop. A bakery. The street seemed to be empty of any movement. Leaning her back against the brick near the closed door, she signaled for Cookie to do the honors of opening the door. It was at moments like these that she felt like a FBI agent off of one of those shows she used to watch off of Netflix. Too bad no one made shows about zombies, that would have been extremely helpful.Fitx held her breath as Cookie opened the door. The mewling sounds of the living dead reached her ears. Game time. She signaled for Pheasant to hang back. He whined but planted his behind where he was standing. She gripped her bat, ready to swing at any moment. Cookie went through the door first and Fitz followed cautiously. Judging by the enormous grin that was plaster over his face, there was a zombie horde. Eight living carcass bumped and tumbled into one another like some sort of mosh pit. Fitx caught Cookie’s eye. She smiled at little at his expression. “ Slice and Dice!” she yelled as she charged into the mass, swinging her bat. A twinge of fear registered in her brain. Fear that she actually liked killing.
NOTES: I watch a lot of Criminal Minds and Bones, so yeah. I swear I am normal. XD | COOKIE | 2073 words
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